Page 2 of Mountain Rancher

So why does coming home always make me feel like I’m somehow falling short?

Savannah speaks carefully. “You know, not all guys are intimidated by successful women.”

“I know that.” I might have responded a bit too quickly. “But between work and... well, work, I just haven’t met anyone worth rearranging my life for.”

We reach a fork in the trail, and Melody stops to press her hand against her back.

“I hate to be the party pooper, but I think I need to head back. My ankles are swelling just looking at the rest of this trail.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jasmyn offers. “I told Luke I’d be back to help with Maisey’s lunch anyway. She’s going through a phase where all food must be cut into perfect squares or she won’t touch it.”

I smile, thinking of my adorable niece. “The Clayton stubborn streak appears early.”

“You can say that again.” Jasmyn sighs, but her eyes are soft with affection.

“Are you heading back too?” Melody asks me and Savannah.

Savannah hesitates. “I wouldn’t mind going a bit farther, but not all the way to the lookout point.”

“I’m going to the lookout,” I decide. “I haven’t seen the view from up there since Christmas.”

Savannah and Jasmyn exchange a glance that doesn’t escape my notice.

“What?” I ask.

“The trail to the lookout got pretty torn up during the spring storms,” Savannah explains. “Brody mentioned it’s on the repair list, but the ranch hands haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“And there was a small landslide on the north approach,” Jasmyn adds. “Luke says it’s not really stable.”

I wave away their concerns. “I grew up hiking these trails. I’ll be fine.”

“Just be careful,” Melody warns. “Wyatt would kill me if something happened to his baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby,” I remind her with a grin. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“You’ll always be the baby sister to them,” Savannah says, and I know she’s right. No matter my professional accomplishments or financial independence, to my four brothers, I’ll forever be the little girl they taught to ride and rope.

We say our goodbyes, and I watch as Melody and Jasmyn head back down the trail toward the house. They’re moving at a pace that accommodates Melody’s pregnant waddle. Savannah continues with me for another fifteen minutes before she, too, turns back, extracting one more promise from me to be careful on the damaged trail.

Alone at last, I pick up my pace.

The silence of the Wyoming countryside wraps around me, broken only by the occasional bird call and the whisper of windthrough the tall grass. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with air that smells of sage and earth and summer.

As I walk, my mind wanders to the life I’d imagined for myself as a teenager.

Back then, I assumed I’d follow my mother’s path and marry someone local, probably a rancher or maybe someone from town, have children young, and make my life here.

Instead, I left for college and never really came back except for holidays and the occasional weekend. I became the “ambitious” Clayton, the “career-focused” one. Those labels sometimes feel like subtle criticisms when mentioned at family gatherings. As if choosing a different path somehow means I’ve rejected everything they value.

The truth is more complicated. I love my job and the life I’ve built in Houston. I love the energy of the city, the challenges of my work, the independence of answering to no one but myself. But sometimes, in quiet moments like this, I wonder what I’m missing.

The trail narrows as I climb higher, and loose rocks skitter away beneath my feet. The path ahead looks sketchy. There’s a section where the earth has been carved away, leaving a crumbling edge with a clear view of the twenty-foot drop below.

I pause and consider my options.

The financial analyst in me calculates the risk and finds it unacceptable.

But the Clayton in me, the part that grew up on this land, pushes forward, confident I can navigate the narrow ledge that remains.

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