Page 53 of Saddle and Bound

I look at Rosie, hoping she can understand how deeply rooted this life is within me. I’m not good at opening up, but for her, I want to try. For the first time, I want someone to truly see me.

“I know it might sound strange,” I continue, “but here... I feel complete. Every sunrise spilling over the mountains, every creature I care for, every trail I explore—everything reminds me that even with all the pain and loss, life is still beautiful.”

The words hang in the air between us. I’ve never said anything like this to anyone before, and it feels both terrifying and freeing. But with Rosie, it feels... right.

“That’s why I brought you here,” I admit, turning to meet her gaze. “I wanted you to see this, to understand why I love this life so much, even when it’s hard.”

Rosie doesn’t answer immediately. Her eyes drift across the landscape, her expression thoughtful. Finally, she says, her voice soft, “Alex… I’m sorry for what I said the other day. I didn’t mean to…”

I cut her off, sensing where her thoughts are going. This isn’t about guilt or apologies—I want us to understand each other better, not dwell on past mistakes.

I shake my head. “No, Rosie, that’s not what this is about. I don’t want your apologies. Honestly, I deserved it. If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me,” I confess, my voice low but sincere. I haven’t had the chance to say how much I regret everything. “And actually… let me apologize again for it all. I was an idiot.”

Her lips curve into a smile, one that’s equal parts tender and teasing. “You are an idiot, cowboy,” she says, her voice laced with warmth, “but we’ve already decided to start fresh, haven’t we?”

Her words hit me in a way I can’t explain, soothing a part of me that’s been restless for far too long. And then there’s her smile, that mischievous spark that always manages to unnerve me. Every. Single. Time. Like only Rosie can.

We continue walking, the sun filtering through the canopy above, casting playful patterns of light and shadow along the trail. From time to time, I share stories—like the first time I tamed a wild horse and how alive I felt, or nights spent under the stars with the ranch hands, laughing and dreaming about the future.

I glance at Rosie as I speak, hoping to see a spark of her own memories, a story she’s ready to share. She listens, smiling and nodding, but something holds her back.

Finally, I can’t hold back any longer. The urge to know more about her, to understand the pieces of her life that shaped her, is too strong. I decide to start small, to ease into something personal. It’s a simple question, but one that genuinely intrigues me. I want to know if her life has turned out the way she always dreamed. “And you, Rosie? When you were a little girl, what did you dream of becoming?”

A shadow passes over her face, and for a moment, I regret asking. But then, she takes a deep breath and answers.

“When I was little... I wanted to be a writer,” she says quietly. “I spent hours filling notebooks with stories and hiding them under my bed.”

Her words tug at something inside me. “What happened?” I ask gently.

Rosie looks away, her shoulders dropping slightly. “Life happened, I guess. I chose the practical path. I studied marketing, got a good job, a nice apartment in Los Angeles. On paper, I have it all…”

“But?” I prompt softly, sensing there’s more.

“But I’m not happy,” she admits. “I’m always stressed, always rushing. I can’t even remember the last time I wrote something just for myself.”

Her voice trails off, and the vulnerability in her words hits me hard. I feel an overwhelming urge to protect her, to help her find that part of herself again.

“Since coming here,” she continues, “I’ve realized how empty my life in Los Angeles feels. Here... I can breathe again.”

The awareness of her pain mixes with a deep sense of empathy, and I can't help but wish with all my heart that I could offer her a safe haven. "What about your family?" I ask gently.

Rosie hesitates, her gaze dropping. “I lost my mom when I was a kid. And my dad... well, he was always too busy for me.”

Her words make my chest tighten. Without thinking, I squeeze her hand a little more firmly.

“I’m sorry, Rosie,” I say quietly. “That must have been hard.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes shimmering with a mix of pain and relief. For a long moment, we simply look at each other, something unspoken passing between us.

As we walk on, the sound of a distant stream reaches us, mingling with the scent of pine and earth. Rosie breaks the silence.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed to say all that,” she admits, her voice softer now.

“Sometimes, keeping it all inside is the heaviest burden,” I reply.

She nods. “In L.A., it felt like I couldn’t show any weakness. Like everyone had it all figured out, and I was the only one struggling.”

We stop at a clearing overlooking the valley below, bathed in golden sunlight.

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