Page 140 of All We Carry Home

Warren met me in the tunnel under the stands as we went back to put Phantom in his stall. My husband slipped an arm around me, kissed the top of my head. “Beautiful,” he said.

I knew he meant me and not Phantom’s performance. My neck and face flushed.

He chuckled, enjoying the way he could draw color to my cheeks.

There had been a lot to do after Warren came back. His work at the Merricks’ farm transformed the property and buildings into an entirely new campus of barns and facilities. We then built connecting roads and outbuildings across the former property lines.

Eddie and Violet moved into the old Merrick manor to oversee the veterans and run the boardinghouse as a family. Eddie was also building his own carpentry shop, and he taught soldiers these skills too. Gramps’s patterns were used daily now, something he’d be proud to know.

Annie stayed at the Birkstrom Ranch house from time to time and grew her collection of animals big and small from across both ranches. Peter had turned his grades around in school and worked often with the horses.

In springtime, Warren and I married at sunrise at Beacon’s Bluff, with nearly the entire staff of the two farms and half of Baker crowded onto the hill. Yellow arrowleaf, purple lupine, and orange tiger lily bloomed all around us.

Eddie had presented us with a wedding gift like no other. The wooden sign destroyed by Victor’s fire, rescued and crafted anew. It was glued, honed, and sanded to perfection, with a few of the charred marks remaining. A reminder of the flames we’d endured.

I hadn’t even realized Eddie had taken the lump of wood, and until I saw it restored, I didn’t know just how much that sign meant to me. A piece of Gramps’s legacy, the name forever tied to the sliver of land. The hope and redemption in something pulled from the ashes.

That morning in October, I’d given everything over to God, and he delivered a life that I’d never imagined.

As incredible as it was to showcase Phantom in front of the global audience in the stadium seats, I itched to get back to our little corner of the world—the little house Warren and I had turned into our own, and the stables that now spanned more than five thousand acres and bustled with soldiers turned cowboys.

Instead of rescuing horses, we’d found the secret to bringing souls broken from wartime into touch with nature and the creatures that somehow connected with them beyond just transportation or sport. In just these few months, lives had been changed, word had spread. Bennett, Lucky, Mason—they’d all called in more of their fellow soldiers who needed work or homes.

“Do you want to catch the rest of the show?” Warren flipped open the program. “Looks like the hunter jumper class is next.”

I slipped my arm in his and leaned my head against his shoulder. “How about a walk through the city?”

He put his arm around me and held me close.

It was the thing I’d miss while he was in DC, though with Captain Johnson on standby to fly me for visits, I figured I’d be taking more trips out east with my husband.

There were so many hands at Birkstrom, I didn’t need to be there day and night. And I caught Warren’s passion for bigger-picture changes, for some of the plans he and Kenneth had been working on. Broader veterans’ programs, better medical care, more funding to rural areas like Baker. Veterans’ farm loans that didn’t get caught in endless loops when the farm owner was an unmarried woman. Perhaps even nationwide programs that connected soldiers with horses in need.

What if Gramps’s tricks could reach more people with the healing power of horses? What would the world look like then?

Our dreams had mingled, merged, and become something entirely more than we’d ever predicted. The paths that seemed so vastly wide had snaked together in the most surprising ways.

My husband held me close as we strolled the bustling city streets and the sun sank on the horizon. Lights flickered on around us.

He’d been right about a lot of things. My distaste of sunsets, my disinterest in flowers—all of that had changed once Warren came along. I had needed the right man to help me appreciate things differently.

I still refused any jewelry other than my gold wedding band. The only shine I wanted was the silver or brass fittings on my horse’s tack.

“Tired?” He kissed the side of my head as he noticed my pace slowing.

I nodded and closed my eyes gratefully. He rubbed my arm gently and turned us back to the hotel.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t fear sleep. Didn’t fear the ghosts and spirits that had haunted my dreams. Ever since I released what I’d held so tightly, the nightmares had faded.

The other dreams I’d long given up on—becoming a mother, having a family—those looked different now.

A pang of nausea hit me just as we reached the lobby of the hotel, and I drew to a stop and closed my eyes again.

When I opened them, Warren watched me with suspicion. I had my own theory, but I wasn’t certain. There had been subtle signs for weeks. Exhaustion, sickness, dizziness. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. Not unless I was sure.

“Eva?” he asked softly.

The shadow of the old me didn’t dare hope for such things. The Eva who didn’t believe I deserved any measure of happiness. I’d been gifted so much in the year since I’d lost Gramps. How could I ask God for anything more?