The silence on the ranch felt heavier than usual. For a week, the air had been thick with the sound of diesel engines, rowdy laughter, and the constant, watchful presence of Cash and Colt. Now, with the dust of their trailers finally settled, the quiet was almost deafening.
I found myself looking over my shoulder at the water troughs, half-expecting a deep baritone to ask if I'd had lunch yet. It was a strange ache—missing the twins while simultaneously being relieved that the "battlefield" had finally reached a ceasefire.
Axel had kept his word before he left. The morning of their departure had been a revolving door of bad decisions from my past. Two of my "admirers" showed up, including the Sheriff's son, who looked like he'd practiced his apology in the mirror. Axel didn't even let him out of the car. Seeing the Sheriff himself show up with a tow truck to haul his son's car away was the highlight of my month. Axel might be gone again, but he'd left a clear message: the gate was no longer unguarded.
I spent the morning in the rhythm of the chores, mucking stalls and scrubbing the mare's trough. With foaling season looming in late May, the air felt charged with the coming chaos of new life.
I moved to the two-year-olds, checking the fit of their cinch-only rigs. I took pride in our training program—no bits, no rushed starts, and no heavy riders until those bones were set. It was a slow process, but our horses performed better because they weren't fighting a piece of metal in their mouths.
By the time I reached the three-year-old paddock, the Texas sun was starting to bite. I discarded my shirt, hanging it over the fence rail as I caught the chestnut colt I'd been working with. He was high-strung, the kind of horse that tested your seat every chance he got.
I mounted up, feeling his muscles bunch beneath the saddle. He gave a sharp bob of his head before exploding into a series of crow-hops. I sat deep, squeezing my legs against his ribs and guiding him with a steady, bitless pressure until he found his feet again.
"Easy, big guy," I murmured as he settled into a trot.
We did two laps of the ring—smooth, rhythmic, and focused. The bucking was out of his system for the day, replaced by the honest work of a horse learning his job.
The clanging of Grandma's dinner bell broke the afternoon heat. I dismounted, giving the colt a final pat before turning him back out. I snagged my shirt from the fence and started the walk back to the house, the sun warming my shoulders.
It was going to be a long, lonely summer without the twins' shadows, but as I looked out over the paddocks, I knew the work would keep me grounded.