Chestnut Ridge
Kershaw Ranch

The morning prairie stretched wide and quiet under the warming sun, its golden grasses swaying gently in the breeze. Jackson stood near the fire pit outside his log cabin, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the horizon. The horses grazed in the pastures, some clustered near the wooden shelters scattered across the land. The air was fresh, but tension lingered, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Beau leaned against the fence a few yards away, his hat tipped low as he watched the horses. His boots scuffed the ground as he shifted his weight, a quiet restlessness evident in his stance. Even at nine years old, he carried himself with the steady presence of a boy raised to match the rhythm of the land.

The soft hum of an engine broke the calm. Jackson turned his head sharply, narrowing his eyes as a sleek, white Porsche Cayenne crested the dirt road. Dust billowed behind it, the polished exterior glinting under the harsh sun. Briar Rose’s vehicle was the perfect blend of elegance and modernity, a stark contrast to the rugged simplicity of the ranch. It rolled to a stop not far from the cabin, the engine cutting off with a subtle purr, leaving an almost unnatural stillness in its wake.

Jackson approached immediately, his boots kicking up dust with each deliberate step. He was dressed in his usual summer attire—worn jeans, a snug short-sleeve tee that hinted at his muscular frame, scuffed cowboy boots, and his old dark brown Stetson tilted low over his sun-bleached hair. As he reached the sleek white Porsche, he opened the driver’s door with a calm, deliberate motion and stepped back, waiting for her to emerge.

Briar Rose stepped out, a picture of San Sequoia glamour against the rustic ranch backdrop. She wore a flowy, floral summer dress in soft pastels, the hem fluttering just above her knees, paired with elegant nude heels that sank slightly into the dusty ground. Draped over her arm was a modern Birkin-style bag in a chic, creamy beige, a contemporary update on the classic icon.

“Where were you? On Monday? Did you seriously forget?” Briar Rose asked, her tone half-joking, half-angry as she reached into her Birkin bag. She pulled out a stack of documents and slammed them into his chest before turning toward Beau.

Beau had already turned from the fence and made his way toward them. His steps quickened slightly, and when he reached his mother, she opened her arms with a warm smile.

“Beau Wyatt, my sweet baby boy, come here,” she said softly, crouching down to meet him on his level. Her dress pooled on the dusty ground as she wrapped him in a tight embrace, her eyes briefly closing as she held him close. He hugged her back without hesitation, his arms firm around her shoulders, the bond between them clear and unspoken.

Then Briar Rose leaned in to kiss his cheek—and his forehead—and Beau squirmed almost immediately. “Moooom,” he groaned, pulling back and scrubbing his sleeve across his face with a dramatic flourish. “C’mon, I ain’t a baby no more.” His cheeks reddened, but the faint smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

She chuckled softly, brushing a hand over his hair before standing. “Oh, you’ll always be my baby boy. I love you, sweetheart,” she said, gently stroking some stray strands of his light brown hair from his eyes, the same shade of light green as hers.

“I … love you too, Ma. But ya know that, I reckon, so I don’t always need to say it, right?” Beau replied, his drawl soft but unmistakable.

Jackson stood silently, his arms crossed, watching the exchange. His gaze, however, remained fixed on Briar Rose. “Where’s Bonnie?” he asked, his voice low and pointed, the drawl adding weight to his words.

Briar Rose straightened, smoothing her dress as she met his eyes. “She didn’t want to come,” she said evenly.

“She didn’t want to come,” Jackson repeated, the bitterness in his tone unmistakable. “She didn’t feel like seein’ her own father? Her brother? Yeah, that ain’t right. Either ya’ll’s lying to me, payback maybe, or yer not parenting her right.”

Briar Rose’s expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of frustration in her eyes. “It’s not that simple, Jackson. Connor tried to give her the injection for her allergies—same as always—but she panicked. Totally frantic. She bolted out of the room crying. She’s scared.”

Jackson’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “Scared,” he repeated, his drawl sharpening the word. “She’s nine, Briar Rose. You’re her mother. You’re supposed to help her work through that.”

“And you think dragging her kicking and screaming into the room so my brother can ram a needle in her arm, after which I then drag a screaming and sobbing child to the car would’ve helped her?” Briar Rose shot back, her voice rising. “She’s not ready. I’m trying to balance her needs, give her choices, not orders, Jackson—something you clearly do not understand.”

“Yer dang right I don’t understand. You’re her mother, Bri, she’s nine years old. She might be pouty and ya just let her get away with it? Are ya tryin’ to raise our daughter strong or are ya trying to raise one of them big city brats?” Jackson retorted, his drawl thickening as his frustration grew.

Beau shifted uncomfortably between them, his fingers brushing the brim of his hat as he looked down. “Bon’s not like me, Dad,” he said quietly, his drawl soft but steady. “Bonnie’s…different. But that don’t mean she don’t care about you. I know she does. But I get why she didn’t want to come. She don’t like us bein’ separated, she has lot of time to think about this, we don’t cos we’re too busy.”

Jackson’s gaze shifted to his son, and the words seemed to land hard. He exhaled slowly, his arms dropping to his sides. When he turned back to Briar Rose, his voice was quieter but still carried the weight of his frustration. “You could’ve tried harder.”

“Now that’s just rich coming from you! But I am not here to argue. She needs time,” Briar Rose said, her tone softening but remaining firm. “Time, Jackson. And maybe, you could try harder for once. That highway I came by goes both ways. You come see her then. At least you do not need an injection for it. That would scare any nine-year-old.”

“Nah Momma, I ain’t scared of needles. I got a shot last week, cos I got a long scratch on a rusty nail on the fence stickin’ out, and didn’t even flinch. Ain’t that right, Dad?” Beau piped up, his boyish drawl cutting into the tension as he puffed up with his usual confidence.

Jackson smirked faintly, nodding once. “Reckon you did, like a real tough man,” he drawled, pride tinging his words.

The wind picked up, carrying the faint creak of the fence and the distant sound of the horses. The prairie seemed to stretch endlessly, vast and quiet. Briar Rose glanced at Beau smiling, while an uncomfortable silence fell.

“Umm, Dad, are ya gonna invite Ma inside or what?” Beau pressed.

“I don’t know if she even wants to come in?” Jackson’s eyes met Bri’s, who nodded. “Of course I’ll stay and visit. I didn’t drive all this way yo say hi and bye. I want to spend time with my sweet Beau.”

Smiling, he ran ahead, Jackson and Briar Rose followed silently.

The cabin smelled like home—or at least the home Briar Rose had once made here. The warm, earthy aroma of hay drifted in through the walls, mingling with the musky scent of leather and the unmistakable presence of horses just outside the cabin. Beneath that was the faint smokiness of the fireplace, its embers still glowing faintly from the fire Jackson had lit earlier. And then there was the rich, familiar scent of coffee—bold and grounding, weaving through the air like a thread tying it all together.

As Beau started wiping off the table, happily chatering about his adventures on the ranch and with his friends, Briar Rose took in the atmosphere, the smells and sounds stirring memories she thought she had buried. She could almost see herself sitting on the old worn couch, a cup of coffee in her hands while her baby girl played on the rug by the fire, her laughter punctuated by Beau’s toddler giggles. Back then, mornings like this had been her routine, the simplicity of ranch life filling her days even as she adjusted to the drastic shift from the coastal estates of her upbringing. That life now seemed millenia ago.

She glanced toward the fireplace, its familiar smokiness a subtle backdrop to the lively chatter at the table. Beau’s animated voice brought her back to the present, his grin bright as he held up his hands to mimic the size of one of his prized feathers. The boy had been collecting feathers with his indigenous friends, Winona and Cheyenne, for years now—a tradition they cherished.

“Ma, it’s huge—red, bright as the fire,” Beau exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement. “Dad says it’s from a cardinal, and I ain’t sayin’ he’s wrong, but I am sayin’ I ain’t never seen a cardinal that big.” His crystal green eyes sparkled, matching the grin stretching across his freckled face.

Briar Rose couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds like quite the treasure,” she said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Are you keeping it safe with the others?”

“‘Course I am!” Beau shot back, his tone defensive yet proud. “Got a whole box of ‘em. Even found a big white one with stripes on it, kinda like brown and black waves. Don’t know what it’s from, though.”

Jackson, standing at the stove with his back turned, poured steaming coffee into a mug then cracked eggs into a skillet. Without looking up, he replied, “White, with stripes? Sounds like a feather from a snowy owl. Seen a few of ‘em lately, late at night.”

“Snowy owl?” Beau echoed, his drawl thick with curiosity. “Nah, Dad, it’s gotta be somethin’ rare. Maybe it’s magic. Like a phoenix, ya know? Real rare, like nobody’s ever seen it before.”

“Oh boy, it sure does sound very special to me,” Bri smiled at the excited boy.

Jackson turned briefly, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk as he flipped the bacon in the skillet. “Special, huh? Bless yer heart, kid—you’ve got yourself an imagination, I’ll give ya that. But I reckon it’s just nature doin’ its thing.” His voice was warm but matter-of-fact, the drawl softening the edges of his practicality.

Beau puffed out his chest, undeterred. “Well, Ma’s right—it is special. Winona and Chey said I’ve got the best collection. They’re jealous.” He grinned mischievously, his drawl growing even more pronounced as he added, “Told ‘em the other day, if I go before them, they can inherit the whole dang thing. Only, they gotta split it fair ‘n square.”

The room seemed to pause as Beau’s words hung in the air. Briar Rose’s smile faltered for a moment, the reminder of her grandfather’s recent passing hitting her unexpectedly. “Oh, that is … umm,” she murmured, choosing her words carefully. She glanced at Jackson, catching his eye for a fleeting moment as he turned back to the stove. The shared look between them was brief, almost imperceptible, yet it carried a weight of unspoken familiarity—comforting and bittersweet.

Clearing his throat, Jackson broke the silence, his voice steady as he returned to the task at hand. “Kid’s got more feathers, rocks, and scraps of rope than I know what to do with,” he said, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Practically got himself a dang museum in that room of his.”

He shifted the bacon to a plate and cracked a few more eggs, glancing over at Briar Rose. “How do ya want ‘em cooked? Scrambled, fried, sunny-side-up?”

“I’m not hungry. Just coffee is fine,” Briar Rose replied, folding her arms lightly over her chest.

Jackson turned fully now, fixing her with one of those looks that only he could pull off—equal parts exasperated and tender. “I know I ain’t yer husband no more, but yer gettin’ too skinny on all that health food. So, if yer here for meal times, you get food. Scrambled it is, then.” His drawl carried a firm yet affectionate tone that brooked no argument, and before Briar Rose could respond, he was already whisking the eggs in the pan.

It didn’t take long for him to finish. Jackson plated the eggs alongside crispy strips of bacon and golden-brown toast, the scent of the warm meal filling the small cabin. He set a plate down in front of Beau first, who wasted no time digging in, shoveling forkfuls of eggs into his mouth with a grin.

“Slow down there, kid,” Jackson said with a smirk, setting a plate down in front of Briar Rose. Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl, the sound cutting through the air before she could protest. Jackson’s eyes flicked to hers, one brow raising slightly as a teasing glint sparked in his brilliant blue eyes. Without a word, he gave her a knowing look, paired with a subtle wink that all but said, Told ya so.

“Drinks comin’ up,” he added casually, turning back toward the counter.

He poured coffee into two mugs—the first with a splash of milk for Briar Rose, the second left black for himself and a third cup contained creamy stovetop boiled hot chocolate for Beau. Carrying them over, he placed each drink in front of its recipient with the same deliberate care he had with the plates.

“Here’s yours,” Jackson said simply, sliding the coffee toward Briar Rose as his drawl softened slightly. “I reckon you could use somethin’ strong this mornin’.”

Beau grinned again, launching into another story about Patches, the wild piebald stallion who had always been the ranch’s most unruly horse. “He even let’s me ride bareback,” Beau said proudly, his voice rising as he gestured with his fork. “Dad says it’s ‘cause I ain’t scared of him.”

“You’ve always had a way with animals, sweetheart,” Briar Rose said softly, her voice full of affection as she reached over to touch his hand.

The table was snug, a little too small for comfort when Jackson’s broad shoulders and natural sprawl came into play. As he settled into his chair, his legs stretched forward, his knee brushing against her thigh under the table. Briar Rose’s reaction was immediate—she stiffened, her leg jerking back as her heart gave an unexpected jolt. Jackson did the same, pulling his leg away as though the contact had stung him, his gaze darting to his coffee cup as he covered the moment with a cough.

For a few seconds, there was only the clinking of silverware and Beau’s chatter filling the air. But then, as if compelled by a force she didn’t quite understand, Briar Rose shifted her leg back, nudging his lightly under the table. A deliberate touch. A connection. Her eyes flicked to his, and for a fleeting moment, Jackson froze, his expression unreadable before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he eased his leg back against hers.

Their eyes met again over the table, the faint smokiness from the fireplace and the rich aroma of coffee and fresh cooked food wrapping around them like a shared memory. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though they had stepped back in time—to the days when the cabin had been full of life and love, before everything had fallen apart.

Beau, completely oblivious to the subtle exchange between his parents, dove into another story about Patches. “Dad says Patches is bein’ a better horse now ‘cause I’m not scared of him!” he declared proudly.

Briar Rose smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her son’s forehead. “You’ve always been brave, sweetheart,” she said softly, her voice full of affection.

“Braver than most kids his age,” Jackson added, his voice light but filled with pride. “He’s got more grit in him than half the ranch hands I’ve had come through here.”

Beau grinned widely, shoving another forkful of eggs into his mouth as he basked in their praise. The sound of his laughter mixed with the crackle of the fire and the occasional shuffle of the horses outside, coming in through one of the open windows, creating a symphony of warmth and familiarity that filled the small cabin.

The meal passed in an easy rhythm, Beau’s stories bringing bursts of laughter while Briar Rose and Jackson shared fleeting glances across the table. Each brush of their legs, each lingering look—they weren’t just memories; they were moments of something deeper, something still alive beneath the surface.

Even though Briar Rose knew this cabin was no longer her home, and despite the tension that lay just beneath the surface, a part of her couldn’t help but feel tethered to it still—to the family they had built here and to the man sitting across from her, whose presence still stirred something she couldn’t quite name.

As Beau leaned back in his chair, happily devouring the last few bites of his breakfast, Briar Rose reached for her coffee, glancing at Jackson before speaking. “You know, Jas, Iris, and Ana will be back from their honeymoon this coming weekend,” she said, her tone light but inviting. “I was thinking—it’d be nice for you and Beau to come out to the estate. I am sure their stories will be a riot.”

Jackson glanced at her over his coffee mug, his expression hard to read. Beau looked up, curious. “You sure you want us to crash the party? I could just drop Beau off, thinkin’ I ain’t really all that welcome there no more,” Jackson asked, his voice laced with dry humor.

Briar Rose smiled faintly, shaking her head. “It’s not crashing—you’re family, you’re always invited, and if not, I just invited you. Honestly, Jackson, the wedding was a blast. I know you don’t like parties, but you really missed something.” She paused, her gaze softening. “Is at least the mare okay?”

Jackson froze, his throat tightening as he lowered his coffee mug. He shook his head, swallowing hard, the words catching before he could speak.

Beau, oblivious to the weight of the moment, piped up with blunt honesty, his mouth still half full of eggs. “Nah, Mom. Mesa died. Chayton said she is running free in the big afterlife in the skies now. Saved the filly, though. I’m raisin’ her.” He pushed his plate forward and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Briar Rose’s breath caught slightly as she blinked, her hand still clutching the coffee cup. She turned to Beau, her voice gentle but her gaze fixed firmly on Jackson. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” she said softly, though the words were clearly for Jackson as much as for her son.

Slowly, she reached across the table, placing her hand lightly over Jackson’s. His fingers hesitated for just a moment, then curled instinctively around hers, their warmth anchoring her. He didn’t look at her, his jaw tight, but the tension in his grip spoke volumes.

The silence lingered for a beat too long, and then, almost as if on cue, Jackson shifted. He pulled his hand away with a quiet clearing of his throat, feigning an itch on the back of his neck as he leaned back slightly. “Horses, they’re tougher than folks give ‘em credit for, but… sometimes it just don’t go the way you want,” he muttered, his drawl soft but uneven.

Beau, ever the resilient one, rallied almost immediately. “But, Ma! Dad put me in charge of the filly! I am raisin’ my first horse all by myself! You should see her—she’s somethin’ special, real special and so pretty!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with excitement. “Her name’s Dixie, and she’s a tobiano! She’s got chestnut and black, but with these cool white patches all over her body—one of ‘em even looks like a star if you squint!” His green eyes sparkled as he gestured excitedly with his hands.

“She sounds absolutely beautiful,” Briar Rose said, her smile returning. “You must be so proud to take care of her.”

“Proud? Ma, I’m raisin’ her like she’s my own horse!” Beau puffed out his chest, his drawl thickening with enthusiasm. “Dad says if I do everything right, when she’s big enough, she’ll be mine to ride—just like Dad’s always had his own horses. She even follows me around already, like a puppy. I reckon she knows I’m her person.”

Jackson’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he glanced at his son. “You’re doin’ fine, kid. Dixie’s lucky to have ya and she’ll make ya a fine horse one day when she’s old enough. I’ll teach ya how to train her right,” he said, his drawl steadier now, carrying a quiet pride.

The crackle of the fireplace and the faint shuffle of hooves outside filled the silence that followed, a comforting backdrop to the moment they shared. Briar Rose looked between the two of them—father and son—and felt the bittersweet ache of belonging and distance all at once.

“I’m sorry how that went, Bri,” Jackson muttered after a moment, his voice rough and low. “Soundin’ like a broken record, but I wasn’t tryin’ not to go that wedding. I just couldn’t. I’m sorry I missed it.”

Briar Rose’s expression softened, though her voice carried the weight of disappointment. “Yeah, well, you were sorely missed, both of you,” she said. “We especially missed our ring bearer too. Chris had to take over for Beau last-minute. Oh, he was so pissed, so he decided to make it into a show a la Chris.”

Beau, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the exchange, suddenly burst into laughter. His head shot up, his green eyes sparkling as he imagined Chris—their 16-year-old cousin, almost twice Beau’s age and size, tall, wide and athletic like his father—attempting to fill his role. “Chris? Seriously? And he did it!?!”

Briar Rose reached for her phone, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Oh yes and how. Wait, you’ve got to see this,” she said, pulling up a video. She turned the screen toward Beau and Jackson, leaning across the table so they could all watch.

The clip began to play, and within seconds, the three of them were transfixed. It showed Chris—every inch the showman—sliding down the sandy aisle on his knees, holding up the ring box like a beacon of triumph. The laughter of the guests was audible even in the recording, and the bridal couple, along with the minister, were doubled over with laughter.

Beau let out a loud whoop, his chair nearly tipping backward as he laughed so hard he clutched his stomach. “Oh my gosh! Look at him, Ma! He’s crazy! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” he cried, his green eyes watering from the force of his amusement.

Jackson shook his head, though a crooked smile spread across his face. “That boy ain’t right,” he muttered, though the amused glint in his blue eyes betrayed his true feelings. He glanced at Briar Rose, one brow lifting slightly. “Y’all Camerons sure know how to throw a spectacle.”

Briar Rose chuckled, lowering the phone as the video ended. “It’s what we do best,” she said, her gaze flicking between the two of them—father and son—before resting on Jackson for just a moment longer than she’d intended. Her smile softened, but before the moment could linger, Beau’s laugh cut through the air again, pulling her attention back to the present.

The laughter softened the air between them, easing the tension that had lingered since Briar Rose had first arrived. As Beau finished his hot chocolate, he pushed back from the table, his chair scraping lightly against the wooden floor. Energized, he leaned forward, his green eyes bright with excitement. “Dad, can I get up off the table now to feed Dixie? Mom, you wanna meet my filly?” he asked, nearly bouncing in his seat. “Wanna watch me feed her? I’m fully in charge, my first own horse that I’m raisin’ and trainin’ all by myself—just like Dad! She already comes when I call her name! You gotta see this, Ma!”

Jackson tried to hold back his grin, leaning slightly forward as he rested his elbows on the table. “Son, yer mom don’t have the shoes for roamin’ the pasture, and you know it,” he drawled, his tone teasing but warm.

“Oh, no, honey,” Briar Rose interjected quickly, waving a hand. “I’d love to see her. I can manage—I promise.”

Beau grinned wide, bolting out of his chair. “Alright then! C’mon, Ma!” he exclaimed, darting toward the kitchen counter where the feeding supplies were kept. As he prepped the bottle with all the precision of someone who’d done it a dozen times, Jackson and Briar Rose lingered at the table.

Jackson leaned back slightly, tilting his head toward Briar Rose. His voice dropped, the drawl softening as he spoke just to her. “At that age, orphaned fillies’ll follow just about anyone feedin’ ‘em. Poor thing thinks Beau’s her momma right now,” he said with a faint, almost wistful smile. “Still, I’m lettin’ him keep her instead of sellin’ her off. Figured he needed somethin’ good after seein’ his first horse go down. If she’d been a colt, though, it’d be a whole other story. Already got two stallions barely toleratin’ each other out there.”

Briar Rose’s lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but before she could, Beau called out over his shoulder. “You know we’re gonna have to hustle, Ma! Dixie don’t like waitin’, betcha she’s real hungry. C’mon, guys!”

Jackson chuckled, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. “You run ahead, yer mother and I will clear the dishes and then be right behind ya,” he said, his tone light as he gestured toward the door. “Jus’ run on ahead, kid.”

Jackson chuckled, shaking his head as he watched his son race outside, carrying the oversized bottle like a trophy. “Kid acts like that filly’s gonna starve in the next five seconds,” he muttered, amusement softening his drawl. Rising from the table, he began gathering the plates, and Briar Rose automatically moved to help, their movements in sync as they cleared the dishes.

As she handed him the last plate, Jackson’s gaze fell to her feet, his eyes narrowing slightly at her designer nude heels. “Those them Louboutins ya like, ain’t they?” he asked, his drawl slow and teasing as he pointed with a faint smirk.

Briar Rose arched a brow, clearly surprised. “They are, I am impressed! What do you know about Louboutins?”

“I don’t know nothing about women’s shoes, but I been with ya for over ten years, a lot of those married and I know what ya like. Also know they ain’t meant for pasture,” he replied with a tilt of his head, gesturing toward the door. Without waiting for her response, he crossed the room to a nearby closet, pulling out a pair of worn leather boots—plain, practical, and a couple sizes too big.

He turned back to her, holding the boots out with a crooked grin. “Here,” he said, his tone casual but laced with amusement. “You can borrow these, they’s clean. Ain’t exactly high fashion, but better than sinkin’ those fancy shoes in the mud or some horse apples.”

Briar Rose laughed lightly, shaking her head as she glanced between him and the boots. “Let me guess—you want me to walk a mile in your shoes, is that it?”

Jackson shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Reckon you’d learn a lot ’bout me ya didn’t know yet if ya did,” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with playful challenge. “But mostly I just figured you’d rather not ruin a pair of three-hundred-dollar heels—or however much those things cost.”

“Try thirteen hundred,” Briar Rose corrected with a pointed look, though the corners of her mouth quirked upward. With a sigh, she slipped off her heels and took the boots from him. “Alright, cowboy, you win. Thank you. I’ll probably look like a clown in these, and if I twist an ankle in them, you’re carrying me back.”

Jackson chuckled, his grin widening as he tipped his hat slightly. “Deal,” he said, his drawl easy. “And I woulda done that anyway. See, ya jus’ really don’t know me no more, Bri.”

“Oh, I know you just fine, Jackson,” she retorted lightly, while slipping on the boots. She took a few tentative steps, test-walking them briefly as Jackson watched with amusement. They weren’t exactly her style, but they’d do.

As Jackson headed for the door, he pulled his hat off the hook and slid it on, adjusting the brim with practiced ease. He opened the door for her, the creak of the hinges mixing with the soft shuffle of Beau’s boots outside. Briar Rose stepped out ahead of him, her heels now abandoned and her movements careful on the uneven ground.

“How’s Millie doing these days?” she asked casually as she turned to glance back at him. “Has she taken up her old habit of straying?” Her tone was teasing, her words a fond callback to the dog’s old habits.

The mention of Millie stopped Jackson in his tracks. As Briar Rose moved forward, he froze, his hand still on the door as he shut it behind them. The weight of her question seemed to hang in the air, pulling at the invisible threads of grief woven into his expression. His shoulders sank slightly, and his gaze dropped to the dusty ground below his boots.

When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers, they were shadowed with a heaviness that was impossible to miss.

“She died,” he said quietly. “Last Monday.”

Briar Rose’s hand stilled at her side, her laughter fading as her eyes softened in understanding. “Jackson, I…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

And without saying it, she knew. She understood now why Jackson hadn’t shown up on the divorce date—why he’d missed the wedding, the celebration, the connection. Loss, and the weight of it, had kept him away. Now she felt guilty for being upset about it. In silence they walked around the side of the house to the fence gate, passed through it under the interested eyes of the horses, Bri’s horse Prairie Rose and Jackson’s favorite stallion Blaze came trotting up to greet them before they reached the shelter where Beau sat on the ground, a filly in front of him sucking roughly on the giant bottle, which Beau held steady as the young horse eagerly sucked at the nipple, its soft snorts filling the air. “See, Ma? She likes it better when I tilt it just like this,” he explained, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “You gotta hold it right under her chin so she don’t lose track of it. And make sure she doesn’t swallow too much air, gives them colics.”

Briar Rose stood a few feet away, her arms crossed loosely as she watched her son with a fond smile. The filly was small, still wobbly on its legs, but Beau handled her with practiced ease, as though he’d been doing this for years.

Jackson stood beside Briar Rose, his hands resting lightly on his belt. His gaze flicked to the filly, then back to Beau, his expression softening in quiet admiration. “Kid’s got a knack,” he murmured, his tone low.

“He does,” Briar Rose agreed, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. “Always had a way with animals. Just like his daddy.”

For a few moments, they stood in silence, the sounds of the ranch filling the air—the faint nicker of horses from the nearby pasture, the crunch of Beau on the dirt as he shifted his position to better support the bottle. The sun cast a warm glow over the scene, but the weight between Bri and Jackson felt anything but light.

Jackson shifted, clearing his throat before speaking. “I’m sorry about the horse you lost,” he said softly.

Briar Rose glanced at him, her expression guarded but sympathetic.

“And I’m sorry I missed the weddin’,” he added, his voice dipping lower.

“I’m really sorry about sweet Millie.” She told him. He paused for a moment, the ache in his chest tightening. “I’m sorry I didn’t come on Monday. Now ya know why. I knew it made no difference for us anymore, but it made a difference for Beau. And for Millie. She was a good dawg, old, she deserved me bein’ the one to bury her right.”

Silence fell between them like a heavy curtain, the sounds of Beau chatting to the filly fading into the background. Briar Rose’s chest tightened as she turned to face Jackson fully, her tone steady but firm.

“I know this is the worst possible timing, but I really would like you to come this weekend, with Beau. Come Friday and stay the weekend, please. Your daughter needs to see you.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. Chay owes me anyway, might cash in on a little of that.”

“Great. Now, here is the hitch. If you look at the paperwork I brought for you, the divorce papers, you’ll find copies of me ordering new documents for our daughter,” she began. “There’s something else, Jackson. On her birth certificate, we named her Briony Rose, but you said calling her Bonnie works better here, so we had her officially called Bonnie, IDs made out to that. While getting settled back into the pool house she found her birth certificate and loved her real name and now wants to be called Briony —Bri for short, you know, like me.” Briar Rose hesitated, letting her words settle before continuing. “My parents, Connor, Keira, even Maddie and Colton all spoke to her, but she was serious about it. Truth be told, the type of life we live, she and I, the circles we move in, Briony is the better choice for her, Bonnie is too country bumpkin and that could be problematic later on, so I made it official. That would have been part of the divorce proceedings this past Monday, but since I have sole custody and you didn’t show, the judge decided all I had to do was notify you, so I’m just letting you know. Briony is very serious about this, she gets very upset if you mess it up, so when you speak to her next, please try to remember to call her that and I will speak to Beau about it too and would appreciate if you could help reiterate it with him. She is very adamant about it, maybe it’s part of her healing from the divorce and separation from her brother and daddy, again, just after we only found back together. That kind of back and forth is hard on us, but even harder on the kids, which is why I am doing all I can to help her through it. All her friends already learned her name, the teachers, everyone. Mom and Dad just call her Mini-Bri now. Oh, and… she and I both changed our last names back to my maiden name Cameron.”

Jackson’s brows knitted, his frown deepening as he looked at her, hurt flickering across his face. “Further and further from me…” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration as he shook his head, spitting to the side.

Briar Rose sighed, her tone soft but resolute. “Jackson, it’s not about that. It’s about finding our way. And my way can’t keep leading me back to you like it always has. Briony knows that it’s over for good this time, and this is her way of coping with it. Her therapist even said…”

Jackson’s head snapped toward her, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as his jaw clenched. “Therapist!? My daughter has a therapist now?” he barked, the words cutting sharply through the air. “She’s a lil’ kid, Bri! Little kids don’t need no therapists—they need their parents to parent them! What are you even doin’, lettin’ her think she needs that?”

Briar Rose exhaled slowly, her posture steady though the force of his reaction seemed to hang heavily between them. Her tone softened, but her resolve was clear. “Jackson, it’s not about whether you agree with it. It’s about helping her cope with everything she’s feeling. She’s smart, she knows what’s going on, and she asked for help herself. This isn’t me pushing her into anything—it’s what she needs, and I’m doing what’s best for her.”

Jackson’s shoulders stiffened further, his grip tightening around his hat as he shook his head. “What she needs is her mama and daddy to stop makin’ her feel like she’s stuck in the middle of this mess,” he muttered, his drawl uneven with frustration. “It ain’t right, Bri. Mah daughter don’t need no goddamn therapist! Don’t raise that girl into one of them spineless, brainless Yuppies that ran Beau and me and our horses out of yer town for good! She’s too young for all this.”

Briar Rose met his gaze, her expression unwavering even as sadness flickered in her green eyes. “You’re right, she’s too young for all this, both kids are. Too young for their parents fighting and splitting up, getting divorced, back together, remarry, divorced. That is too much for anyone, especially so young! But it’s our reality, Jackson,” she said quietly. “She loves you. I’m certain of that. A legal name change isn’t gonna change that. But this is her life now, and it’s different and she is adjusting to make it work, like you and Beau couldn’t. She’s figuring out how to deal with it in her own way.”

“Ya thinkin’ me and Beau changin’ our names would have made us fit in better there? It don’t make no damn sense, Bri!” Jackson’s voice roared.

“Dad, why ya yellin’ at Momma! Don’t yell at Momma! That ain’t right! Men don’t yell at women, Dad!” Beau declared firmly as he strode over, his boots kicking up little clouds of dust. He planted himself in front of Briar Rose, his youthful energy underpinned by an air of cowboy-like conviction.

Jackson inhaled deeply, his jaw tight as he adjusted his hat. “I ain’t yellin’ at yer Momma, I’m yellin’ at the air, cos yer sister done gone change her name on us,” he muttered, his drawl uneven. “She wants us to call her Briony now. What is this world comin’ to?”

Beau tilted his head slightly, his hands settling on his hips as he considered the tension between his parents. “You know, Dad,” he began, his voice steady but laced with his usual twang, “the twins—Winona and Cheyenne—they say that the Elders of their people always talk about how names fit a person, kinda like a hat or boots. In their beliefs, a name might change when people change, like when a warrior did something very brave or saved his tribe or so. Some folks stick with the same name their whole lives, like you and me will cos I like my name, but others… they need new ones. Like Momma and Briony. It’s all okay. It’s good, even. Means they’re growin’, figurin’ things out. And honestly, them girls in our class at the school in San Sequoia all had fancy names, boys too, they were always laughin’ at mine. Beau Wyatt ain’t fancy enough, but I like it jus’ fine.”

Jackson blinked, taken aback by his son’s unexpected wisdom. He glanced down at the dusty ground, his lips tightening briefly before softening into a faint line. He let out a slow exhale, his rigid posture loosening as he nodded slightly. “Reckon that makes sense. Don’t mean it’s easy, though. Known her as Bonnie Rose Kershaw all her life, now I got me a Briony Rose Cameron.”

“It ain’t gotta be easy for us, Dad, that ain’t the point,” Beau replied, a touch of matter-of-fact pragmatism in his tone as he looked up at his father. “It is for them. Just means ya gotta try and remember and love ‘em no matter what.”

Jackson let out a quiet chuckle, the sound barely audible as he clapped Beau lightly on the shoulder. “Alright, you wise old Chief. Why don’t ya head inside, and get that meat cut so I can teach ya to make jerky, like we talked about.”

Beau nodded eagerly. “Got it, Dad,” he said, grinning as he turned and bolted toward the cabin, the weight of the moment seemingly lifted from his young shoulders.

Left alone, Jackson inhaled deeply, his gaze lingering on Briar Rose as vulnerability seeped into his voice. “That kid is wise beyond his years. I remember Chayton tellin’ me about his people and their namin’ conventions, just forgot. Beau didn’t. I just don’t wanna lose her, Bri. She’s my girl,” he admitted, his tone carrying a rawness that made Briar Rose’s heart ache.

She stepped closer, her green eyes softening with empathy. “You’re not losing her,” she said gently, her words deliberate and comforting. “You’re a good dad, Jackson. She knows that. But she’s growing up, finding her way—just like I am. I didn’t change my last name to remove you, but to find me and I think Briony is doing the same. It’s scary, and a learning curve, we all slipped up in the beginning, but eventually it becomes second nature, like when a girl gets married and changes her last name, nobody whines about that, so why not the first name. It’s a good thing.”

Jackson sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he met her gaze. The moment lingered between them, heavy yet tender, before he shook his head faintly and adjusted his hat. “Yeah,” he murmured, his drawl low but steady. “Guess I got more to learn about lettin’ go than I thought.”

“She is not letting go, Jackson, neither am I. I am here. I’ll be here whenever you need me. I don’t hate you, Jackson, still, despite of everything. I know why you did all the things you did, they are what makes you you, they are the cowboy in you. And Beau is just like you. You were right saying you both belong here, but Briony and I don’t. We have a big problem and no feasible solution. We have tried everything now, Jackson. All that’s left to do is make the best of the things we cannot change.”

“I just don’t wanna lose her, Bri. She’s my girl.”

“You’re not losing her,” Briar Rose said gently. “You just have to adapt a little, all that happened, all that is real and I need you to adapt to it. For her. She realizes San Sequoia is her life, and she wants to start over right. She loves you. I’m certain of it.”

Jackson exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “Ya know I didn’t do what I did to lose you,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that Briar Rose felt deep in her chest.

“I know,” she replied, her voice almost a whisper. “But you did what you did knowing it would lead to that. We tried everything—at least once, if not many times. We’re out of options now, Jackson.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sounds of the ranch. He nodded, then sighed.

“You wanna watch Beau and I make beef jerky? Can take some home for Bon… Briony. From last week’s batch. Should be nice and ready now.”

Bri smiled at his clear attempt to honor her and her daughter’s wish, even though he clearly struggled with it. “Umm, there is more. Briony is vegetarian now. But I’ll take some for Dad and Connor. They like beef jerky.”

“Vegetarian? Holy shnikes, what kind of snowflake are you raisin’ our daughter into?” he chuckled, making her giggle too, as she nudged him.

“That would be considered very offensive back home.”

“Considered very stupid down here.” he laughed, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they headed towards the cabin.