Page 60 of Shattered Melodies

Hank chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder. “Looks like you found your kindred spirit, then. Tell you what - why don’t you give him a name? Midnight’s what the rescue folks called him, but he’s yours now. Might as well make it official.”

I blinked, surprised. “Really? You’re giving him to me?”

“Consider it a welcome gift,” Hank said, his eyes twinkling. “Every cowboy needs a trusty steed, after all.”

I turned back to the horse, considering. He was watching me with intelligent eyes, ears pricked forward attentively.

A sudden thought struck me and I smiled, running a hand along his glossy neck. “Pancakes,” I declared. “His name is Pancakes.”

Hank snorted, shaking his head. “Pancakes? For a horse? You city folks sure are somethin’ else.”

But I could tell he was amused, maybe even a little charmed by my unorthodox choice.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” I teased. “Pancakes are delicious and comforting. Just like this guy.”

As if to prove my point, Pancakes nuzzled into my hand, his warm breath tickling my palm. My heart melted, any lingering reservations evaporating like morning mist.

“Alright then, Pancakes it is,” Hank agreed, a smile tugging at his weathered features. “What do you say we take him out for a spin? See what you remember from those lessons way back when?”

“Hell yes. Let’s do it.”

Hank showed me how to saddle Pancakes, his hands sure and steady as he walked me through the steps. I tried to pay attention, but my mind was already galloping ahead, imagining the wind in my hair and the powerful surge of muscles beneath me.

Finally, we were ready. Hank swung himself up onto his own horse, a sturdy chestnut mare, and I followed suit, settling into the saddle with a familiarity that surprised me.

I guess some things you never really forget, even if years have gone by. Muscle memory’s a hell of a thing.

We set off at an easy trot, Pancakes responding to my cues like we’d been partners for years instead of minutes. The sun was high in the sky, warming my shoulders through my thin t-shirt, and I couldn’t help but tip my head back, closing my eyes and savoring the simple pleasure of it all.

God, I’d missed this. The uncomplicated joy of being in nature, of working with animals and using my body for something other than hunching over a computer or fighting my way through crowded city streets.

We rode for what felt like hours, Hank pointing out landmarks and sharing bits of local history and gossip. I drank it all in, feeling like a parched man quenching a thirst I hadn’t even known I had.

And then, as we crested a particularly steep hill, Hank reined in his horse and I followed suit, my breath catching in my throat at the sight that greeted me.

The town of Oakwood Grove lay spread out before us like a postcard come to life. The quaint main street with its colorful storefronts, the white-steepled church presiding over the central green, the patchwork of farms and fields stretching out in every direction.

As we sat there on that hilltop, the beauty of Oakwood Grove spread out before us like a living tapestry, Hank started to share some of the town’s history. I listened intently, fascinated by the stories of the pioneers who had first settled this land, the trials and triumphs they had faced.

“You know, Oakwood was founded two hundred years ago,” Hank said, his eyes distant as if he were seeing into the past. “Bunch of hardy folks looking for a new start, a place to put down roots and build something lasting.”

I nodded, trying to imagine what it must have been like. The courage it must have taken to strike out into the unknown, to carve a life out of the wilderness.

“What made them choose this spot?” I asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, there must have been a reason they settled here, specifically.”

Hank chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, legend has it that the first settler, a fella by the name of Jeremiah Oakwood, had a vision. Folks say he dreamt of a mighty oak tree, standing tall and proud in the middle of a golden field. And when he came upon this valley, with its fertile soil and clear streams…”

“Let me guess,” I cut in, a smile tugging at my lips. “He found an oak tree, just like in his dream.”

“Bingo,” Hank confirmed, tipping his hat to me. “Jeremiah took it as a sign from above. Said this was where he was meant to be, where his family would flourish for generations to come.”

I fell silent, thinking about the power of dreams, of the way they could shape a life, a destiny. It made me wonder about my own dreams, the ones I’d let slip away in the face of heartbreak and disappointment.

Had I been wrong to give up so easily? To let one setback, one shattered illusion, derail me from the path I’d always wanted to walk?

Hank must have sensed the direction of my thoughts, because he reached out and clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring.

“You know, Liam,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “You’ve got a real gift with animals. A way of connecting with them, understanding them. It’s a rare thing, and it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

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