Page 63 of Saving Grace

“Any excuse to wrap your arms around me, Mackie-boy?”

I stiffen at the ridiculous nickname Laws insists on using. With the next breath, I dig my fingers into her ribs.

“I’m sorry!” She squeals with delight, twisting in the seat, trying to flee my tickles. “Please, stop.”

I splay my hands around her sides, letting my fingers brush under her breasts. “Repeat after me, Grace Weston.”

She nods, wrangling her breaths back to something less hectic.

“I will never ever use a nickname for Mackinlay again,” I command.

She repeats the phrase, mimicking every syllable in my Montana drawl. I nip her earlobe, and she turns and grabs my face with both hands. “As long as we both shall live.”

With a wink, she twists back and picks up the reins. We lope in the direction of home. I wrap myself around her, sending a prayer to the heavens. Hoping somewhere up there Butters is doin’ okay. Finally letting go of the guilt I have hauled along with me since that day.

Vanilla and peaches shroud me as Grace sends Trigger faster.

She is my peace.

The one element of my life that grounds me.

Sometimes because I can’t see a day in the future without her. Sometimes because she needs me to be strong. Sometimes both.

I will never be able to repay her for bringing me back to life.

She’s my home.

And I will use every last breath I have to be hers.

The reins swing, loose in her grip as we walk for home. Trigger, lathered in sweat, was sanctioned a breather by his ever-adoringcrush. Those two really are made for each other. Poor old fella’s gonna be heartbroken when she gets her own mount and he is stuck with me again.

“You never wanted to do anything else, live anywhere else?” she asks, eyes following the horizon as the sun sets behind us, setting the whispering grass to a shimmering gold. We walk through the sea of glimmering grass. When I take too long to answer, her eyes search me out.

“Not really. Army was my plan B.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

I mull it over for a while. It was never the long game. But I always wanted to be the one to decide when to call it quits. I tell her as much.

“I get it. Being able to have the choice is important.”

“Yeah.”

I pluck a long, thin golden strand and put it between my teeth. She chuckles and rubs Trigger’s neck. Home comes into view a moment later, and we fall silent for a while.

Reaching down and grabbing a handful of stalks, she lets them loose to the wind, watching them fly in every direction. “Freedom is, too.”

The words are quiet. I know they run deep for Grace.

“What makes you happy, Gracie?”

She rests a hand on Trigger’s neck as he plods along, as if he’s her comfy blanket. A half-a-ton bay, fury, sweaty comfort animal. “Colors.”

“Yeah?” I perk up.

“Painting. Sketching, although that’s not colors, but the line, shape, angles, marks. It all makes me happy.”

“How long since you painted for real? Not the small stuff in the yoga room.”

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