Page 86 of Unforgettable
Brew nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said. He did.
His gaze lifted once more toward the house. Toward her. And this time, there was no hesitation in it.
As the afternoon softened into early evening, the rhythm of the ranch moved to a calming lull.
The work was done.
The land exhaled.
Randi had wandered farther out than she realized, drawn again by something she couldn’t quite name. The back pasture opened wide before her, quieter than the main fields, the movement of the horses slower now, more settled.
She had brought the canvas with her. Set it up near the fence line. And began.
The mustangs moved differently here, like a slow, breathing tide across the meadow, their coats—chestnut, bay, and dusty sorrel—shining in the late day sunlight. They resembled a scene from a forgotten time, a small band of five or six mares and a vigilant stallion grazing on the sweet cloverand rugged grasses of the open prairie.
Their movements were deliberate and calm, unhurried, with the only sound being the rhythmic, crisp tearing of grass and the occasional low, soft nicker. Sunlight glinted off their coats, highlighting muscles that rippled beneath dusty skin, tempered by the freedom to roam as they pleased. Tails, long and tangled from days of sun and wind, flicked lazily against fat flies.
They were no longer wild in the same way she had first seen them. Not untouched. But not diminished either.
There was a grace to them now—measured, steady, something that came from understanding rather than instinct alone.
Randi set up her canvas and sat. Before she began, she noticeda dusty sorrel mare had spotted her and stopped grazing. It watched her intently and then slowly and cautiously moved in Randi’s direction. She slowly rose.
She didn’t feel threatened however and knew enough to be still. She wasn’t afraid. The mare was interested and curious, drawn to her somehow, perhaps because Randi had been painting them for hours during her stay.
Fear did not enter her mind. She stood quietly watching, the mare approaching closely.
“Hello, my beauty,” she softly cooed, reaching out her left hand for the mare to catch her scent. It nudged it in rejection and instead stepped closer, lowered its long, elegant neck and nuzzled her right hand still at her side with its muzzle.
Randi gasped and slowly lifted her hand. The mare nickeredacknowledging and licked her injured hand. It’s warm tongue glided across her palm and Randi whimpered as her eyes filled with tears. It was as though the animal sensed her pain.
Randi moved nearer and softly stroked the mare’s mane and withers then drew her arms around its neck and kissed her head.
“You know, don’t you? You sense my pain.”
Her hug deepened and it whinnied in reply, as it stood in quiet, understanding her heart without spoken words.
She drew on the mares strength and spirit and worked carefully, her hand still requiring thought, still demanding patience, but no longer resisting her in the same way.
The mare stayed nearby as she painted and her brush moved with intention, each stroke buildingtoward something she hadn’t fully seen until now. Not freedom alone but trust.
“You found your way out here.”
The voice was gentle.
Randi turned with a smile, radiating contentment.
Blythe approached slowly, her presence as warm as it had been from the moment they met.
“I didn’t mean to wander so far,” Randi said, though there was no apology in it.
Blythe smiled.
“The land has a way of choosing that for you. I see you have been accepted into the fold.”
Her gaze shifted to the canvas.
