Page 29 of Sunrise Arrows

Apart from helpingTinsley into the saddle—something I’m not sure she needed but was always a habit so I found myself doing it and her accepting without protest or question—muscle memory takes over. In no time, she and Rowdy find their old synergy, first in walking, then a steady trot. And with a playful smile at me over her shoulder, backlit by a crown of the sun’s rays, they take off into a canter. The pure joy that emanates from her is infectious, her laughter drawing my own to the surface.

Beneath me, Gatsby itches to stretch his legs. His head moves from side to side and up and down as he vocally tries to urge me into giving him free rein. We’ve been taking it slow, matching the cautious pace Tinsley’s been using with Rowdy, remaining close and ready but far enough back to let them find their ebb and flow again. With them bolting ahead to crest the next grassy hill though, his patience has worn out. He may be retired, but once a racer, always a racer, and being left behind is not acceptable. I’m not even fully through the motion of swinging my hips forward to signal him of the coming change before he takes off, chasing after them.

Over the hill, we pause side by side for a moment as Tinsley’s eyes sweep across the rolling property. Her chest rises and freezes before the breath she holds slowly escapes, everything inside her releasing with it.

“God, I’ve missed this place,” she softly whispers, eyes closed and face turning to the sun as the breeze plays with her hair, the softest lilt of her accent emerging.

The moment floats around me, the details sharpening and cementing inside my mind settling down into one of thousands of perfectly preserved mental photographs. Like all the others of her, it’s a moment in time that I’ll forever recall with startling clarity. Everything from the smell of the fresh, willowy air to the soft song of nature and the gentle lilt of her hum is now permanently ingrained in my being. One more thread in the rope that holds me to her.

From here, we can go anywhere. It’s just a matter of what she wants—and if this time, she’ll let us have it.

“Where should we go?”

“Where else?” she teases, pulling Rowdy’s reins to the right and squeezing him with her thighs and heels. “The cove.”

She’s off once more before I can object, racing for a distant downward slope that will give way to a cove along Berry Lake’s shore.

It was our place. The one where we’d lay out on a blanket, her sweet thighs straddling mine as we kissed and touched the afternoon away. The place where, when a heatwave passed through, she stripped down and floated along the emerald surface naked, her secret safe with me and the rocky alcove that shielded her from the rest of the world. It’s where she would play so many of those songs now out in the world, testing strands on her guitar until a particular compilation of notes had her lighting up. That cove was where I knew for the first time I loved her beyond a shadow of a doubt and would either be blessed or cursed with only ever loving her for the rest of my life.

The best days of my life happened on that private stretch of lakeshore. So it was only fitting when I broke ground on my house that winter that I had them build it there. A lasting reminder of what was. A home for her ghost and a silent, unanswered prayer for it to resurrect her.

There’s no doubt in my mind that, if I wanted to, I could redirect her elsewhere and let what’s there remain my secret. But I don’t. I chase after her—following her like I always have, letting her lead my way—with my heart creeping further and further up my throat the closer we get.

Before I know it, we’re mirrors of one another, guiding the boys back down to a trot and then an easy walk. The curtain of Black Willows thickens and I’m off of Gatsby coming to help her down from Rowdy. With both sets of reins in my hand, I let Tinsley pass through the branches before me, knowing the first thing she’ll see when she does.

“Archer…” She turns back to look at me. “Is that… yours?”

Tying the horses off at the post I built out here when it became a daily trip for us, I quietly confirm her question.

“All this land and you built your house at the cove?”

“Where else would I have wanted to live?”

She looks back at the home’s profile, hand like a visor over her eyes to shield against the sun’s reflection off the windows and the lake’s undisturbed, gleaming surface.

There’s nothing overly grand about the house’s design. In fact, it’s quite modest with an already paid off mortgage. There’s three floors—two really since the third is a pitched loft that’s the master suite and only a fraction of the square footage of the other two floors—plus a basement, with a wall of windows on each that offers unobstructed views of the lake and the roll-topped mountains beyond. The two main floors have decks that stretch the length of the house, but only one of them has any furniture on it—a simple daybed swing on one end and two rocking chairs with a table where I drink my morning Dr. Pepper—the cold fizz of carbonation being the jolt I need when I’m up before the sun—in the middle. Halfway between the house and the shore, there's a fire pit I made out of stone with adirondacks surrounding it. And at the shoreline, a wooden dock stretches out to my boat. With it being just me except for one to two nights a month when I have Ellie or the entire family over, it’s all I need and all Tinsley had wanted when I first told her I was meeting with the architect.

“I’m gonna build us a house here.” My arms were around Tinsley, keeping her caged in against me while the soft ripple of the lake lapped against our feet at the edge of the shore. I laced my fingers overtop of hers and pointed up the sloped hill to a cropping of raggedy looking trees. “Right over there I think.”

“Is this the part where I pout about wantin’ a say in this house you’ve decided on for us?” she teased. I tickled her bare ribs, making my arms even tighter when she squirmed with her giggles.

“Yeah, Shortcake,” I murmured, kissing at the curve of her neck. “This is the part where you tell me exactly what you want in life and I give it to you.”

She shifted in my arms and her small hands pushed against my chest, sending me to lay back. Slowly, she crawled up to me until her thighs were bracketed over mine. Her hair fell forward over her shoulder and I pushed it back, not wanting to miss a single glance of those eyes that had seared my soul so thoroughly.

“You,” she hummed, leisurely kissing up my neck. “All I want is you, Archer. You and this place are my home.”

“Nothin’ else?”

In that sweet Kentucky drawl, she confirmed, “Nothin’. Nothin’ but you. All of you.”

I crunched up, my legs bending as well to support her. My hand combed through her hair, grasping at the nape of her neck as I stared into her eyes, wanting confirmation of what she just said. “What are you sayin’, baby?”

“That I’m ready,” she shyly answered. “If you are, I want to. Tonight.”

The kiss I gave her was firm and full of promises to love her until I die. A precursor to the vows I wanted to make before her, our family, and God.

“Tonight.”

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