Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John Dutton wished he could say he didn’t know where he went wrong, but the truth was, he did.

He knew every misstep, every decision that had cut another piece out of the family he’d worked so hard to protect. He thought about Evelyn, his wife, and the day he lost her. It was the day everything started to unravel, whether he admitted it to himself then or not. Her death had left a hole in their family, one he’d never been able to fill. He’d tried to keep them together, to hold on to what she would have wanted, but somewhere along the way, he’d made choices he couldn’t undo.

Beth had never been the same that day and after Kayce told him what happened, he hadn't tried hard enough to help her. He’d sent Jamie away too early, hoping a Harvard education would turn him into the man the ranch needed. He’d branded Kayce, a decision that cut deeper than the skin and carved a permanent wedge into their relationship. Kayce had left the ranch, the family, and the world John wanted for him.

And then there was Lee. Lee, the eldest, the one son John thought he’d done right by. Lee had stayed without question. He was steady and dependable, and he was a damn good cowboy. But he wasn't a rancher. He didn't have the mind for it. Wasn't married either. 38 years old, no wife or kids to carry on the Dutton name.

Not one of his children was doing that except Kayce.

But now—John looked back down at the paper in his hands—even that certainty was gone. The letter was formal, penned by an attorney whose name meant nothing to John but whose words threatened to tear apart his family even more. Lee had a daughter. A fifteen-year-old daughter he’d named after his mother and never told John about. The letter wasn’t a plea for acknowledgment or support; it was a request. A request for Lee to sign a release so the girl could be emancipated.

Emancipated. The word made John’s jaw tighten. What kind of life had this girl been living that she wanted to sever ties with the very family she should have been a part of all along? More importantly, what kind of man had Lee been, keeping her a secret? The son John thought he’d done right by had been carrying a secret so big, so life-altering, that it made John question everything he’d believed about him.

John’s hand clenched the paper, crumpling the edges slightly before he forced himself to smooth it out. His gaze drifted to the family portraits on the wall. Evelyn’s warm smile, frozen in time, stared back at him. What would she think of all this? What would she say about the mess he’d made of their family? John didn’t need to imagine her answer; he already knew. It would be a quiet, cutting disappointment, the kind that lingered long after the words were spoken.

He set the letter down and looked at the only two children he had who still lived on the ranch.

“What do we know about this girl?”

Lee sat slouched in a chair, his head in his hands. He didn’t even look up. John shook his head and turned his attention to Jaime.

"Right," Jamie said, his fingers tapping across his phone’s screen. "Evelyn 'Fortuna' Dutton—"

Lee's head snapped up. "Charlie gave her the name?" he asked, suprised.

Not as surprised as John who glared at his eldest son. "You knew about this girl?"

"No!" Lee said, then immediately backtracked. "I mean, I knew Charlie was pregnant, yes, but we weren’t together. We hardly knew each other and when she found out, she said she was doing me a favor even asking my opinion about names. I told her I’d always wanted to give my daughter Mom’s name and Charlie said she would consider it. But a few weeks after that she called—said she changed her mind. She wasn’t going to keep the baby."

"Goddamit, Lee. And you didn’t think to check? " John asked. "Didn’t think that maybe you had a responsibility to find out what happened?"

Lee’s face twisted with guilt. "I wasn’t proud of it, Dad. It wasn’t... I wasn’t ready. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to tell you. I thought if I just didn't think about... if I pretended it didn’t happen... maybe I'd forget about it."

John took a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. He could see the boy Lee had been in those words—too young, too unsure of himself—but damn it, he was a grown man now.

"It was your child too, Lee," he said. "You should have made sure."

"I know, Dad. I know."

Jamie shifted uncomfortably and decided to get the conversation back on track. "She's 15, turning 16 in a few months. When she was six, she submitted a story called 'Inside Out' to the Young Writers of America competition."

John's eyebrow raised skeptically. "At six years old?"

"The story didn't win," Jamie continued, "but it got the attention of a publishing company and went on to become a bestseller. Critics called it 'a profound exploration of childhood complexity from an impossibly young perspective.'"

Lee leaned forward, a flicker of something — pride, perhaps — replacing the guilt on his face. "She's a writer?"

Jamie nodded. "Not just a writer. A famous one. She's made millions from the children's books she's written. Toy Story, Ice Age, Cars—"

"I don't care about how much money she has, Jaime," John said. "What kind of person is she? What has her life been like? Does she know anything about ranching? About her—" He stopped, catching himself.

About her family. The Duttons.

"Right," Jaime cleared his throat. "Her Wikipedia page says she was raised by her great-grandfather on a dairy farm a few hours outside of Thompson Falls until—"

John cut Jaime off. "Thompson Falls?" he repeated. "Montana?"

"Yes, sir," Jamie nodded, his fingers still tapping across the phone screen.

That's only five hours from the ranch, John thought. John looked out the window, to the ranch that had defined generations of Duttons. "Fifteen years, and she was just 5 hours away," he said softly, more to himself than to anyone in the room.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"Um…" Jaime scrolled through his phone. "Here it is! She's currently in Helena for a book signing."

John's eyes narrowed. "I don't mean right now. I mean where does she live?"

Jamie’s fingers flew across the screen, typing quickly. “She bought a hundred acres a few years ago and started a horse rescue. It looks like she’s been living there since.”

“A horse rescue?”

“Yes, sir.” Jamie glanced up, but before he could report anything else, John continued.

“How long have you known about this, Jamie?”

Jamie blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” John said, leaning forward slightly as he waited for an answer.

“How long have you known about this girl?”

Jamie looked genuinely confused. “Dad—I found out today. Same time as you.”

“You seem to know a hell of a lot about her for someone who only found out today.”

Jamie hesitated, glancing at Lee for backup, but his brother was still staring at the floor. Jaime couldn't blame him, finding out you had a teenage daughter would shock anyone.

He looked back at their father he tried to explain, "I really did only find out today when Lee showed me the papers her attorney sent. But she has a pretty active social media presence; Instagram, Twitter, even a YouTube channel. I pulled it up while we were talking.”

“Social media? What the hell does that mean?”

Jamie blinked again. “You know… social media. Like Instagram, Twitter… platforms where people post things about their lives? Pictures, videos, updates?”

"No, son, I don't know," John said. "So explain it to me."

“It’s… it’s like a… uh…” Jamie struggled for an analogy his father would understand. “It’s like a town bulletin board, but on your phone, and people from all over the world can see it.”

“So, you’re telling me my granddaughter’s been putting her life on a goddamn bulletin board for strangers to see and we didn’t know a damn thing about her?"

Jamie winced. “It’s not exactly like that, but… kind of, yeah.” Then he sighed and held out his phone. “Here. Just look for yourself.”

John took the phone and squinted at the screen. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Just… swipe left to see the next post,” Jamie said, leaning in slightly. “She mostly posts pictures of the horses she rescues and trains,” he explained. “Videos, too. Shows them being rehabilitated, finding homes. She’s got a decent following—hundreds of thousands of people, actually. And, uh, this is her account.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

John’s eyes flicked up from the phone to Lee who had finally said something. “What doesn’t matter, son?" he asked.

“All of this.” Lee gestured toward Jamie, then the phone in John’s hand. “It doesn’t change anything. She doesn’t want anything to do with us."

"And why would she?" John said, "she thinks her father abandoned her before she was even born. You think your signature on a letter will fix that?"

"It's the only thing she's ever asked me to do. I'm not gonna tell her no," Lee reached toward the papers on the table, but John slammed his hand down on them before Lee could grab them.

“You’re not signing those papers, son. I won't let you," John said firmly.

“Dad, that’s what she wants!"

John scoffed, "The girl is 15, Lee. She doesn’t know what she wants.”

"She’s got her own life, dad," Lee said, "we have no right to force our way into it.”

“And what kind of life is that?” John asked. "Living alone at 16? That’s not a life, Lee.”

“Maybe not," Lee admitted, "but it’s what she chose.”

John shook his head. “She didn’t choose it, son. She had to build it, because you didn’t give her another option.”

“Dad—” Lee started, but John held up a hand to stop him.

"Both of you leave. Get out," he said. "We’re not signing a damn thing. Not now. Not ever.”

Lee hesitated, his mouth opening as if to argue, but Jamie put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head as he led Lee out of the office.

As the door shut behind them, John sank back in his chair, the tension in his body giving way to a deep, unrelenting ache. He glanced down at the phone still in his hand

His thumb brushed the screen awkwardly, scrolling through the photos of a granddaughter he never knew.

Pictures of horses—skinny and battered in some, strong and healthy in others—flashed across the screen. After about a dozen of those, a photo of a little girl filled the screen. She was standing in front of a small, weathered barn with peeling white paint, her blonde hair pulled into a loose braid that draped over her shoulder. She wore a plaid shirt rolled up to her elbows, faded jeans, and scuffed boots. There was dirt on her hands and smudged across her cheek, and she was smiling at whoever took the picture.

The caption below the photo read: #tbt on the dairy farm.

John swiped again, and a short video played automatically. Evelyn was with a bay mare, talking to the camera as she explained what tack was and how to saddle a horse the right way.

Putting a face to her name, seeing what she looked like, it hit him like a punch to the gut and not just because of what he’d missed but because his granddaughter deserved to know where she came from, to know that she belonged to something bigger than just herself, and he knew he didn’t have much time to fix that.

His hand went to his stomach, the faint throbbing pain a reminder of the diagnosis he’d received just weeks ago. A tumor in his intestine. The doctors had called it treatable, but John knew better. He’d spent his life fighting battles no one else could win, but this—this was one he might not win either.

John didn't have much time and he wanted to know her, and for her to know him—before it was too late.

"Achoo!"

The sneeze caught her off guard, loud in the quiet of the town car. She rubbed her nose with the back of her sleeve. Someone must be talking about me, she thought. It was something her Pop-Pop always said when she sneezed, a silly tradition that had followed her since she was little.

Outside the window, Montana rolled past—green fields giving way to distant mountains. She had a book signing in Helena earlier that day. Another successful event where kids lined up with copies of her latest story while their parents praised her success at such a young age.

None of them remembered, but she did.

Evelyn Dutton knew from a very young age that she had lived before. She didn't know what she had done, but she figured she must have done something right to get a second chance.

Or Mr. Standing Bear had been some kind of shaman or something. Now that she knew they existed.

It was the only thing she could think of that could explain what happened to her.

She had been feeling stressed that day. That was why she said what she did to him.

In hindsight, it was perhaps the wisest thing she'd ever said in her life.

She picked him up at a retirement home not far from the Rez; a withered, emaciated ninety-year-old. His race was indeterminable, he was so withered by time, but his name on the paperwork the con-home staff had given her identified him as Henry Standing Bear, which, she was reasonably sure, made him Native American. He was suffering from cancer, not just in one particular body part but throughout his entire body.

Evelyn took one look at him and knew he wasn't long for this world. His breathing was ragged and irregular, his skin pale and feverish. His body probably weighed about 75 pounds if he was lucky. There was absolutely no muscle on his bones and his flesh hung loosely from every limb.

Despite all of this, he was mentally quite aware of his surroundings, something else she recognized almost immediately.

"How are you doing, Mr. Standing Bear?" Evelyn asked him, bending over his form on the hospital bed.

"Can't..." he puffed softly, "... breathe."

Evelyn nodded, taking the stethoscope out of the leg pocket of her jumpsuit and putting it in her ears. She listened to his lungs, hearing nothing but bad news. He was barely moving any air at all. Evelyn had only been a paramedic for three years, but even a newbie could have seen that Mr. Standing Bear's survival on the trip to the hospital was in question. He needed a breathing tube placed in his lungs to help him.

The nurse (and Evelyn used that term very loosely) was the textbook definition of white trash. Bleach blonde, sixty or so pounds overweight, and chewing a large wad of bubble gum as she watched them from the doorway. She'd placed a facemask on him but had only turned the flow to two liters per minute. The effect of this was to give him less oxygen than was available in the atmosphere since the mask was a closed system. Business as usual in a place like this.

Evelyn's partner, without being asked, switched the supply tubing to their portable tank and cranked it up to fifteen liters per minute. This helped Mr. Standing Bear a little, but not much.

"He needs to be intubated," Evelyn said to no one in particular, referring to the placement of a breathing tube.

"No, no, no!" the nurse yelled, startling her. "He's a DNR! You can't put a tube in!"

Mr. Standing Bear gave her a contemptuous glance and Else grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the hall. DNR stood for 'Do not resuscitate', a physician order, commonly given to people like Mr. Standing Bear, ordering paramedics and hospital personnel not to use advanced life support measures to save their life.

After all, what would be the point of bringing Mr. Standing Bear back from the dead only so he could continue to die of cancer? But she could have found a more tactful way of informing Evelyn of this fact.

"Do you have a copy of the DNR?" Evelyn asked her pointedly.

The nurse dug through the file she had for a moment and then produced the form. Evelyn looked at it, making sure it was legal. Patient's name, the words DNR or NO CODE, and the doctor's signature were all present.

"Okay," she said, handing it back. "You might consider working on your tact a little in the future," she advised. "Mr. Standing Bear can hear everything you say."

The nurse scoffed at this, giving Evelyn a condescending look. "He's a gork," she told her, using medical slang for an unresponsive person, or vegetable. "And an Indian on top of that. What's the big deal?"

Evelyn turned away from her in disgust. As jaded as she'd become doing this job, it never failed to amaze her how crass, incompetent, and tactless con home nurses could be. It was one of those situations where you had to figure that if they were any good at what they did, they wouldn't be working there.

She returned to her patient and looked at him. His breathing, temporarily relieved by the oxygen increase was now worsening once again. "Mr. Standing Bear?" she asked him, speaking loudly in case he was hard of hearing. "I have a doctor's order not to assist your breathing mechanically. Do you understand?"

Looking in her eyes, he nodded his understanding.

"Is that your wish, sir?" she asked him. "For me not to do anything?"

He smiled slightly. "Yes," he panted. "It's..." A pause to breathe, "... my time."

"As you wish," she told him.

They loaded him onto their gurney and wheeled him out to the ambulance. Once in the back, Evelyn hooked him up to her EKG machine in order to allow her to watch his heart rate. She put her pulse oximeter on his finger, looking at the display for a reading. The pulse ox registered the amount of oxygen saturation in a person's blood. A normal reading for a person breathing room air was around 99%. Mr. Standing Bear was breathing one hundred percent oxygen and his reading was 74%. Yes, he was dying fast.

"Mr. Standing Bear?" she addressed him. His eyes creaked open to look at her.

"I'm going to start an IV on you," she told him. "Maybe they can give you something at the hospital to… you know… help you with the pain and the discomfort."

He smiled, nodding at her.

Evelyn went to work, setting up a bag of saline and hanging it from a hook on the ceiling of the ambulance. His veins were so fragile she was forced to use the smallest needle they carried, the kind that is meant to be used on infants, in order to establish the line. She threaded it in slowly, feeling terrible about the fact that advancing it at this rate was probably painful for him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Standing Bear," she told him when she finally secured the line. "I don't like to do it that slow, but your veins are not in the best shape. It's better to do it that way than to miss it and have to try again."

"Thank..." A pause for another breath, "... you."

"No problem."

While she adjusted the drip rate, Evelyn noticed him staring at her, a strange smile on his face. He took a few deep breaths, as if he was storing up oxygen, and then started to speak.

"You're a... good woman," he said, panting. "You treat me... with... respect... where... others don't."

"I'm just doing my job," Evelyn told him, returning his smile.

He shook his head. "Been taken... before," he said. "Not all... like you. Not at... all."

"Well," Evelyn shrugged, "I try."

"What..." he asked, "is your... greatest... wish?"

"My greatest wish?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. He nodded.

Evelyn laughed, thinking of her life. She was a twenty-five-year-old paramedic who had been doing a job she didn't want for too long. In short, she was in a rut she saw no way out of and had been dwelling on that, as she was prone to doing, that shift.

For that reason, she answered Mr. Standing Bear the way she did.

"I'd like to be a kid again," she told him truthfully, "knowing what I know now. How about you, Mr. Standing Bear?"

He smiled, not answering her question. He simply said, "not bad," and then his eyes closed.

His breathing became rapid for a moment and then ceased entirely. Evelyn looked at him in alarm, knowing she could do something about it but was being railroaded by a doctor's order. She'd encountered this situation before in her career, but it was never easy.

Evelyn watched the heart monitor after Mr. Standing Bear's breathing stopped. His heart rate accelerated to more than 160 for a few moments and then began to slow down. It slowed to less than twenty and then ceased entirely, leaving a squiggly line tracing across her EKG machine. The squiggles soon turned to a flat line.

Mr. Standing Bear was dead.

Evelyn finished out her shift, not thinking too much about Mr. Standing Bear once she'd dropped him off at the hospital. She ran a few more calls, ate dinner from a greasy fast-food joint, and then went home to her cheap apartment where she fell asleep on her couch.

When she woke up the next morning, everything felt… off.

Instead of the ceiling of her apartment, Evelyn found herself surrounded by walls decorated with posters she hadn't seen since she was a kid. Nostalgia mixed with confusion, creating a peculiar brew of emotions. It wasn't just the posters on the wall, she felt smaller somehow. Her legs were straight but her toes weren't touching the edge of her mattress.

"What is going on?" she muttered and was startled by the child-sized voice that filled the room.

She sat up, looking around and asked, "Who is that?"

The realization only hit her when she saw there was no one else in the room: it was her voice that was childlike.

Evelyn looked down at her hands. They were half the size they were when she went to sleep. She looked around the room, this time focusing on it rather than looking for another person and recognized it instantly—her childhood bedroom at her Pop-Pops house.

Sliding out of bed, she had to drop a few inches for the first time in years before her feet touched the ground. Staring back at her was the face of her…she didn't know the exact age but she didn't even look like a teenager and certainly not the grown woman she was just last night.

"What's going on?" she mumbled, the words barely audible. The posters, the small bookshelf—everything was from a happier time in her past.

Was this a dream? Evelyn was half expecting the room to dissolve around, revealing her familiar adult apartment as she woke up.

"Lucky? Are you alright?"

That voice…it was a voice she hadn't heard in years. She slowly turned her head, and to her shock, saw her Pop-Pop standing in the doorway with a worried expression on his weathered face.

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. Without a word, she ran across the room, closing the distance between them. Her Pop-Pop must have seen the distress on her face and wrapped her up in a tight hug that felt horribly real.

"Pop-Pop?" Evelyn croaked out, a mixture of disbelief and longing in her voice, breathing in the familiar scent of her grandfather—a complex blend of leather, hay, and sun-warmed earth.

He studied her carefully, his deep-set eyes filled with worry. "You screamed. Did you have a nightmare?" The familiar timber of his voice—a sound she hadn't heard in years—was both comforting and surreal.

Evelyn struggled to find words. "I... I don't know. This is... it's impossible," she managed to say, her hands gesturing to the room around them.

Pop-Pop's brow furrowed. "Must have been some nightmare," he said softly, his voice gentle despite his typically gruff demeanor. "You've always had quite the imagination."

Evelyn didn't know what to say. How to explain what was going on. She nodded slowly, the weight of her situation hanging heavily in the air.

"It was just a nightmare," Pop-Pop smiled gently, his fingers brushing away a strand of hair from her forehead. "Come on, go to your bed. Everything will make more sense after a good night's sleep."

Evelyn wanted to believe him and accept this comforting explanation. The room, her Pop-Pop, all seemed so real. She glanced back at the mirror, catching another glimpse of her younger self as her Pop-Pop guided her back to the bed. He tucked her in with the same care he had when Evelyn was a child. She was still confused and freaked out, but the softness of the familiar sheets, the comforting background of her childhood room, and the presence of her Pop-Pop lulled her into a sense of security.

Before she knew it, she was asleep again.

In her sleep, Evelyn found herself in a vast, misty space. The ground beneath her feet felt solid but looked like swirling clouds. Through the haze, she could make out a figure approaching – Henry Standing Bear, but not as she had last seen him. He stood tall and strong, his body restored to what must have been his prime.

"Choose," his voice echoed through the mist. "If you are to return, you must choose a gift to take with you."

Before her, images began to form in the mist – a person flying through clouds, another moving objects with their mind, someone becoming invisible.

"Any power?" Evelyn asked,

Henry nodded. "Any power you can imagine."

Evelyn thought carefully. She'd seen enough movies and read enough comics to know that flashy powers weren't always the most useful. What she wanted was something that would let her help her Pop-Pop but wouldn't be so obvious that it got the attention of the government.

"I choose the power of the Tovenaar," she said finally.

Henry's eyebrows raised slightly. "The Tovenaar?"

Evelyn nodded. Then she went on to explain who they were. Most people probably didn't know since they weren't really mainstream; "They're from the show Dwight in Shining Armor. They can take someone's skills by consuming their blood, saliva, and tears. They don't steal the skills – they copy them. The original person keeps everything they know, but the Tovenaar gains that knowledge too."

Henry studied her for a long moment, then smiled. "Not bad," he said, echoing his final words from the ambulance. "Not bad at all."

He reached out and touched her forehead. Evelyn felt a warm sensation spread through her body, like honey flowing through her veins. Then the mist began to thicken, swirling around her until she could see nothing at all...

The dream ended there and Evelyn woke up again, expecting to be back in her apartment, and for everything that happened last night to be a horrible dream. But she was still in her old room. It was a surreal feeling to realize that last night wasn't a dream.

"This is not a dream. I'm a kid again, and Pop-Pop's alive," she muttered to herself. She had a chance to rewrite the direction of her life; she could spend more time with Pop-Pop. But a small part of her brain whispered that this might still be an incredibly vivid dream. Evelyn pushed the thought away and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor. The familiar layout of her childhood home surrounded her—posters she remembered, a bookshelf crammed with old books, and the slight crack in the wall near the door that she knew so well.

Evelyn stepped out of her room to start the day. The wonderful smell of breakfast filled the air. She recognized the smell of her Pop-Pop's hotcakes. It was a smell she thought she had lost forever.

In the kitchen, her mother moved between the stove and the counter, humming softly. Pancake batter sizzled in the pan, creating a golden-brown landscape of breakfast. The scene was so normal, so perfectly ordinary, that for a moment Evelyn couldn't breathe.

"Good morning," her Pop-Pop said, turning with a smile. "Did you sleep well after that nightmare?"

Evelyn nodded, her throat tight with emotions she couldn't fully explain. "Yeah," she managed to say, trying to shake off the strangeness of the situation. "I'm okay."

Under the table, she pinched her arm hard. The sharp pain made her wince, but nothing changed. The kitchen didn't dissolve. Pop-Pop didn't vanish. She'd read somewhere that you couldn't feel pain in dreams, and even if you could, realizing you were dreaming was supposed to wake you up.

"You're awful quiet this morning," Pop-Pop said, cutting into his breakfast. "Still thinking about that nightmare?"

Evelyn shook her head, forcing herself to take a bite of her breakfast. The taste was exactly as she remembered—slightly crispy on the edges, fluffy in the middle. Her adult self had tried for years to recreate these pancakes, but they never tasted quite right.

"I'm okay," she said, still marveling at her high-pitched voice. "Just... thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Pop-Pop asked, his weathered face creasing with that familiar smile she'd missed so much.

Evelyn looked at him – really looked at him. His hair was still more pepper than salt, his hands still steady as they held his fork and knife. How many more breakfasts like this did they have together? How many moments had she taken for granted?

"About how much I love you," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her child's voice made the declaration sound innocent, but she felt the full weight of adult emotions behind it.

Pop-Pop's fork paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down and reached across the table to pat her hand. "I love you too, kiddo. But what brought this on?"

Evelyn shrugged, trying to act more like the child she appeared to be. "Just wanted you to know."

She could feel tears threatening to form in her eyes, but she blinked them back. This was real. Somehow, impossibly, she had been given a second chance. She could do everything differently this time. She could spend more time with Pop-Pop, and really listen to his stories instead of rolling her eyes like she did as a kid. She could be there when he...

"Pop-Pop?" she asked, cutting another piece of pancake. "Can we go fishing today? Like we used to?"

His face lit up. In her first life, she'd stopped wanting to go fishing around this age, too busy with her friends. She remembered how his invitations had gradually stopped coming.

"Of course we can," he said, his smile warming her heart. "After chores, I'll dig up some worms."

Evelyn nodded, fighting back another wave of emotion. She had a chance to rewrite all her regrets, to fix the mistakes she hadn't even made yet. The weight of that responsibility was enormous, but so was the joy of having this opportunity.

Evelyn pressed her forehead against the cool window of the town car. Her breath made tiny clouds on the glass, which she absentmindedly drew patterns through with her fingertip.

She'd been away far too long, and now the familiar landscape of home was slowly coming into focus. Her driver hadn't said much, occasionally glancing at her in the rearview mirror. Evelyn didn't mind the silence. She was thinking about home—about the ranch, the horses, her Pop-Pop waiting for her.

The weathered wooden sign her Pop-Pop painted years ago, the wood now gray and splintered came into view.

Evelyn sat up straighter. Something inside her loosened. The tension of being away, of trying to fit into a world that always felt slightly wrong - it all began to melt away. This was her place. Her home.

"You can stop here," Evelyn said suddenly, her voice surprising even herself.

The town car slowed to a stop on the gravel shoulder. Her driver glanced back at her in the rearview mirror.

"Ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes, here," she repeated, unbuckling her seat belt.

"I really should drive you up to the house," the driver said, turning slightly in his seat so he was really looking at her. His eyes swept over the empty fields, then back to her and asked, "What about your luggage?"

Evelyn was already opening the door. "Drive it up to the house, please. I just want to stretch my legs a little."

The car door opened with a soft click. Warm air rushed in, carrying the scent of grass, hay, and horses. She stepped out, her shoes crunching against loose gravel. Behind her, the town car idled, a sleek dark rectangle that didn't belong. The driver hesitated, then nodded. He guided the car forward, tires kicking up dust.

Evelyn followed the trail of dust at a much slower pace and headed up the long drive leading to Heartland.

Chapter Text

On both sides of the dusty path were fields filled with horses and ponies grazing lazily in the afternoon sunshine, their tails swishing away the clouds of flies that buzzed around them.

The horses belonged with the landscape, far more than the town car. Some lifted their heads as she passed, ears pricked forward. Evelyn smiled. It was a sight that always made her glad to be home.

As she took her time walking up the dusty path, her mind drifted, as it often did, to the moment everything changed.

It had been a quiet evening. She remembered the light from the setting sun stretching across their old dairy farm like a warm blanket, soft and familiar. Her muscles ached from a day of work, but it was a good kind of ache. She had been walking beside her Pop-Pop, her small body covered with the day's work. Mud and manure caked her tiny boots, hay stuck to her clothes, and dirt rimmed her fingernails.

They stepped onto the wooden porch, but before they could go inside, Pop-Pop stopped.

"Sorry we didn't get to go fishing today," he said, hanging his own work jacket on a peg next to the door.

Evelyn sat on the edge of the steps, her small fingers working to unlace her boots. "It's okay," she said. "It was my fault for slowing you down."

Pop-Pop's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You were a big help today," he told her, sitting down next to her to take his boots off.

Evelyn glanced up at him. They both knew he was lying. Her Pop-Pop had been fixing a section of fence and she'd been helping—or trying to help. Her small hands and limited strength meant she was more of a hindrance than a help, though she'd tried her best. But it had been years since she last worked the farm.

"I mean it," Pop-Pop continued. "Most girls your age would rather be out with friends. Playing. Doing... whatever it is kids do these days."

"I want to be here," Evelyn said. The words had come out more earnestly than she intended, filled with the memories of a life already lived—of moments lost, of time she'd never get back. The farm, these days with her grandfather, they were precious in a way she now understood completely.

Pop-Pop raised an eyebrow, just slightly, as if sensing something deeper beneath her simple statement. But he simply smiled, his fingers brushing a piece of hay from her hair.

"Come on," he said. "After a shower and supper, you can have some TV time."

Evelyn had arrived in this time right after summer break had started, so there was no school. It was the year 2006, and she realized that The Wild Thornberry's would still be on TV. A grin spread across her face as she thought about how much she'd loved that show when she was little.

Once upon a time, her dream had been to travel the world like Eliza Thornberry. Before reality kicked her in the face and she was thrown into the world alone. Survival took precedence over dreams and she settled for traveling as a soldier instead.

"Can we watch The Wild Thornberrys tonight? I think there's an episode on tonight."

"The Wild Thornberrys?" Pop-Pop opened the door for her. "That sounds familiar. Isn't that the show about the animal folks?"

"Yes!" Evelyn said enthusiastically. "It's a cartoon on Nickelodeon."

To her surprise, her Pop-Pop's response was unexpected. He chuckled as he sat down in his recliner. "Cartoon? No, no, that's not a cartoon. That's a documentary series on PBS. I think it's on tonight, though. Want me to check?"

Evelyn froze. "Wait... what?" she stared at him. "A documentary?"

Pop-Pop gave her a curious look, then reached over to grab the TV guide from the coffee table. Flipping through it, he handed it to her, pointing to a listing under PBS. There it was, plain as day: The Wild Thornberrys – "Episode 73: Eurasian Lynx."

"I don't think I've seen that one," Pop-Pop added.

Evelyn stared at the listing in disbelief. "But… it's supposed to be a cartoon on Nickelodeon," she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

Pop-Pop raised an eyebrow. "A cartoon? What's got you thinking that? Nigel Thornberry's one heck of a naturalist. He's doing a lot of good work."

Evelyn couldn't believe it. Somehow, in this world, The Wild Thornberrys wasn't an animated show—it was an actual documentary series, with real people and real animals.

"Uh, yeah… right," she said, trying to mask her shock. "I must be thinking of something else."

"It's on at seven," Pop-Pop ruffled her hair. "We'll watch it together."

Evelyn nodded numbly, her head spinning as he went to start the shower. If the Wild Thornberry's was a real show and not a cartoon?

What else might be different? she wondered. Her hands went to her pockets looking for her phone.

Oh, right, no smartphones in 2006.

She went to her room and sat down in front of the computer her Pop-Pop bought a year ago. It was old by 2006 standards and ancient to her. Google was slow, but it was still a thing, so that was good.

Evelyn searched for information on movies she remembered watching as a kid. Batman Begins had released last year and it had comic fans excited for Superman Returns which was releasing soon. Harry Potter was still a thing, and the Goblet of Fire had been the highest-grossing movie last year.

After an hour of searching, it was starting to become clear to her that she hadn't just traveled back in time; she was in a different reality altogether. She couldn't find anything about Star Wars, Ice Age, any Disney movie, or her Pop-Pop's favorite movie, Field of Dreams.

She sat back in her chair. This was crazy. Billion-dollar franchises, gone. Her eyes drifted to the old typewriter tucked away in the corner of her room—a gift from her Pop-Pop who had it fixed up for her. Looking back on the life she left behind last night, she only had regrets. She had been a dreamer once, imagining herself a best-selling author who traveled the world.

However, her life took a drastic turn when her Pop-Pop died. She had tried not to think about him too much and ran away to the military, but she never moved past his death. It had just been her and him since the day she was born; and he had worked tirelessly to raise her. When he died, it was like something in her broke and all her dreams died with him.

"Water's warm!

Things will be different this time, Evelyn had decided as she left her room. She couldn't ignore the opportuning that had presented itself. This was a chance for her to reshape her life, to make things better, not just for herself, but for her Pop-Pop.

The sight of a weather-boarded house and brick stable block with its whitewashed doors brought Evelyn back to the present. A sense of pride swelled in her chest.

She’d been right. Everything had changed.

Her Pop-Pop thought it was a remarkable imagination. Publishers were stunned. Only Evelyn knew the truth. Every "bestseller" she created wasn't hers. She was a fraud. A fake.

Walking up the drive to Heartland, Evelyn didn't care. The people who wrote those stories did exist in this world, and the money from "her" writing had secured this life—the ranch, better medical care for her Pop-Pop, the freedom for him to slow down, take care of himself better so they could be here, now, in this moment together.

Just as she approached, the front door to the house opened, and a nurse stepped out, her blue scrubs crisp in the sunlight. She paused on the porch, flipping through a small notebook before glancing up and shaking her head.

Evelyn froze for a moment, her smile faltering. The sight of the nurse reminded her that while things weren’t quite the same anymore, her Pop-Pop wasn't going to live forever.

"Ms. Dutton, I need to speak with you," the nurse called gently, tucking the notebook into her pocket as she stepped down the porch steps.

Evelyn sped up, running past the town car that was pulling away from the house.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

“Your grandfather’s fine," the nurse said, her face softening just a little, but her irritation was still clear. “But he isn't following my instructions. I told him he needs to rest and avoid overexerting himself, but he won’t listen.”

Evelyn's shoulders slumped. Whether from relief or exasperation she wasn't sure.

“Of course he isn’t,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “I'll talk to him."

“Please do,” the nurse said, frowning as she turned to leave. “I will be back tomorrow, and I would like to see him resting for once.”

Evelyn watched her go, then grabbed her bags and pushed open the front door. She kicked off her shoes and went up the winding stairs to her bedroom, taking them two at a time. Her bedroom was just as she left it, a mess. The bed was unmade. Rough drafts of her novels littered the floor. Half a grooming kit was scattered on her desk.

Pulling on a pair of her work jeans and a T-shirt, she tied her long blonde hair into a scrunchy and hurried back down to the front door. She pulled on her boots this time, grabbed her jacket and hat, and buried down to the stable block.

"Pop-Pop?" she called out.

An answering whinny came from the other side of the building. "We're back here!"

Evelyn went around the back to the garden behind the stables, where she saw her Pop-Pop, kneeling in a vegetable patch. He was slowly digging up carrots and putting them in a basket next to him on the ground. Each carrot seemed to take an enormous effort. Beside him was Spirit, a beautiful palomino mare.

"Pop-Pop!" Evelyn called out, but he didn't hear. He continued digging. Spirit stood happy beside him, her ears pricked.

Every time Pop-Pop finished digging an area of soil, he moved farther along the row of carrots, and Spirit, the loyal mare, followed him. Pop-Pop was wearing a torn jacket and an old hat, but Spirit looked in excellent condition. Her coat gleamed. Her blonde mane and tail were lovingly combed, and her eyes were dark and bright.

Pop-Pop turned to pat the mare and asked, "What do you think, Spirit — the squash aren't doing so good this summer, are they?"

Spirit pushed against his hand and nickered softly.

"Pop-Pop," Evelyn called a third time.

He stared in surprise at the sound of her voice, and then, seeing it was her, a smile lit up his face. "Lucky!" he said, straightening up slowly and smiling broadly. "You're back!"

Spirit trotted over to Evelyn and nuzzled against her, searching for a treat.

"Would you like a drink?" Pop-Pop asked.

Evelyn shook her head. "I'm okay, thanks," she said, patting Spirit's side. "I just came to see how you were. The nurse didn't look too happy. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, me? I'm fine and dandy."

Evelyn didn't think he looked fine and dandy at all. He was breathing heavily, with a strange wheezing sound.

"Do you want a hand?" she offered.

"If you could carry the basket inside for me, that would be a big help."

Evelyn followed Pop-Pop back to the stables carrying the vegetable basket. Pop-Pop leaned against Spirit for support the entire way. Evelyn was amazed at how the mare seemed to understand exactly how to help Pop-Pop. She let him support himself on her until he was able to sink down into a chair before moving more than an arm's length away. She helped herself to an apple from a fruit bowl on a low table in the corner and was right back at Pop-Pop's side.

"She really shouldn't do that," Evelyn said. Apples were fine every now and then, but moderation was key.

"Oh, she only takes one," Pop-Pop said. He stroked Spirit's neck. She slobbered apple appreciatively onto his shirt and he rested his head against the mare.

"Are you sure you're okay, Pop-Pop?" Evelyn asked, concerned. She always worried more about him when she had to leave.

Pop-Pop smiled at her. "Of course I'm okay, Lucky. I've got Spirit to look after me." Then he looked at Evelyn's worried face and sighed. Here's something that might cheer you up," he said, reaching into his jacket and handing her a folded magazine. "The article that Horse Life did on you has come out."

"Really?" Evelyn opened the magazine and scanned down the contents page. Yes! There it was — "Life at Heartland," page 23.

She flipped through the pages. What would the article say about her?

In the mountains of northern Montanna, Evelyn Dutton, "the horse girl," works her magic at Heartland, a rescue home for horses, ponies, and donkeys. Horses come here to be healed and to have the scars of the past lifted away.

Evelyn grinned. She liked that line. She read on: Evelyn Dutton, a famous author, started Heartland following the success of her bestseller "Inside Out" at just the age of seven years old!

Frowning, Evelyn quickly read over the rest of the paragraph. It was about her writing career. She had been cranking out bestsellers for the past decade, signing movie deals and a bunch of other things that she didn't really care about anymore. It had been fun at first, but her childhood dream of being an author was gone. Writing was a job now. Heartland was what mattered. Her eyes skipped over the words in front of her. It was a relief to read that the next paragraph focused on Heartland again:

With its thirty stalls, Heartland is a recovery center for horses that have been rescued from dreadful neglect or physical cruelty. Horses that have been deemed dangerous and unrideable or that have nowhere else to go have a chance at Heartland. With patience and compassion, Evelyn Dutton finds ways to reach these horses. When they get better, concerted efforts are made to find each horse a new and permanent home.

The article went on to explain that Evelyn also treated privately owned horses with behavioral problems.

"What do you think?" Pop-Pop asked when she looked up.

"It's incredible!" Evelyn smiled, her bad mood forgotten. For now. "It makes me sound totally amazing. We'll have loads of people who want to bring their horses here!"

"Now, Lucky, don't go counting your chickens."

But Evenly shrugged off his practical words. She jumped to her feet. "I'm serious, Pop-Pop. This article is going to help us make more money!"

Her mind was buzzing with ideas. The article was bound to bring them a lot more paying clients and that meant more money, which meant they could afford to help more horses. Her imagination took over. She saw a new twenty-stall barn and another horse trailer and pickup. Maybe even an indoor ring for the winter when the outdoor rings were hock-deep in snow. Her biggest ambition for Heartland for it to be not only self-sufficient but as successful as possible.

"We're not doing too badly at the moment as it is," Pop-Pop pointed out. "We've got almost more paying clients than we can deal with."

That was true. Since she had opened Heartland a few years after her run-in with Eliza Thornberry at a book signing, Evelyn's reputation had only grown. There was now a steady stream of owners who hoped a stay at Heartland might cure their horses behavioral problems.

"But if we get even more, this place will start paying for itself." Evelyn handed the magazine back to him. Then she wouldn't have to leave as much. She could spend as much time with Pop-Pop as she could before it was too late.

"Let's wait and see what happens," Pop-Pop said, "Now, c'mon. Help me feed the horses."

In the feed room, the sweet smell of pulp filled the air. Cobwebs hung off the beamed ceiling and the floor was made of old, cracked, flagstones. Evelyn started scooping bran, barley, and alfalfa cubes into the battered yellow feeding buckets.

"After the horses are fed, why don't you take one of the ponies out for a ride?" Pop suggested. "It's such a nice afternoon."

Despite her love for riding, Evelyn hesitated. She wasn't sure about leaving Pop-Pop alone in the stalls. Even if Spirit was with him.

Pop-Pop, like always, could see right through her. "I'm not dying today, Lucky," he sighed, "you don't have to worry."

"I guess I could go up to Maple Ridge," Evelyn said, starting to add a scoopful of the soaked beet pulp to each bucket. "The Clayton's have got that new Kiger Mustang. I wouldn't mind seeing him again."

Her Pop-Pop frowned. "Heard a rumor in town that the Clayton's were moving."

"Already?" Evelyn asked, surprised. "They haven't been here that long."

The Clayton family was renting an old hose on Maple Ridge. They had an odd assortment of skinny animals — hengs, dogs, and a couple of cows. But just recently, a handsome Dun Mustang had joined the cattle in the sparse field at the front of the house. Evelyn liked to ride past and admire him whenever she could.

"Where are they moving to?"

"No one seems to know," Pop-Pop said, picking up the dusty cod liver oil can and adding a dollop to each feed bucket. "Hopefully somewhere with better grazing for those power animals. But it could just be a rumor that they're going."

"I'll check it out," Evelyn said.

Pop-Pop looked warningly at her. "Don't forget to stick to the trails. That road up Maple Ridge is far too dangerous to ride on."

"I will, Pop-Pop," Evelyn sighed. He was always warning her about the road but never listened to her when she warned him about working himself too hard. Shaking her head, she picked up a pile of feed and set off for the front stable block.

Chapter Text

After finishing the feeding, Evelyn went down to the ponies' field. A pretty black pony standing at the gate whinnied in greeting. "Hello, Sugar!" Evelyn said, pulling a small packet of hawthorn berries from her pocket.

The pony's nostrils flared as she sniffed the air, her soft whinny rumbling into something more. “You’re late,” Sugarfoot said, her voice a warm, teasing drawl. “And don’t think a snack will make up for it.”

Evelyn laughed, her fingers brushing the pony’s nose. “I’m not late,” she replied aloud, holding out a berry. “I just got back.”

Sugarfoot gobbled it down greedily, her soft muzzle immediately nudging at Evelyn, asking for more.

"You've been gone a whole week."

Alerted by the rustle of paper, the other ponies in the field looked up, ears pricked. They crowded over to the gate, and a chorus of voices joined in, overlapping like the rise and fall of a lively conversation.

"She brought berries!"

"Finally, someone to scratch my withers."

"See, I told you she didn't forget us."

Evelyn’s heart swelled at the sound and she began distributing the berries between them as fairly as she could. This—this was her gift. The one secret she guarded fiercely, above all others, even her reincarnation. The horses’ voices were a sound only she could hear, a world apart from the noise of everyday life. Here, among them, she wasn’t just Evelyn Dutton, a girl trying to keep everything together. She was home.

“Evelyn,” Daisy, a chestnut mare with a white blaze said, her voice soft and rich, like the murmur of a stream. “Welcome home. Your Pop-Pop was just here. He looked... tired.”

Evelyn’s smile faltered. “Yeah, I know. He’s been pushing himself too hard again. I’ll talk to him.”

The mare nodded, her mane rippling as she leaned forward to nuzzle Evelyn’s shoulder. “Good. He listens to you.”

Sugarfoot snorted, pawing at the ground. “Listens, sure. But whether he does what you say? That’s another thing.”

Evelyn chuckled. “You’ve got a point.” She slipped another berry to Sugarfoot before stepping into the field.

Suddenly, the little group scattered as a buckskin Connemara came barging through, ears back, and teeth snapping. "Mine!" he declared as he barged through the group.

"Sundance!" Evelyn chided as the buckskin stopped dead and thrust his head hard against her chest. "You're a bully." she told him, but her voice was soft, affectionate. She understood him. More than that, she heard him.

Sundance looked up at her adoringly. "Yes I do," he said, rolling his eyes threateningly at the other ponies, warning them to keep back.

Evelyn's hand moved across his golden head, feeling the warmth of his skin. His love for her was a fierce thing, possessive and absolute. She could see it clearly in his eyes. But beneath that was a vulnerability so raw it took her breath away—a lifetime of being misunderstood, of fighting to be seen, of waiting for someone to truly understand.

Behind him, the other ponies exchanged wary glances. Sugarfoot stomped a hoof, clearly annoyed, while Jasper, a young bay colt, peeked out from behind her.

“Can I have a berry too, Evelyn?” Jasper asked timidly, his voice soft and hopeful.

Sundance whipped his head around. “Stay back!"

“Enough, Sundance!” Evelyn said, her tone firm as she gently pushed his nose aside. “You don’t get to hog me all to yourself.” She stepped around him, holding out her hands to Sugarfoot and Jasper. “Here. I brought enough for everyone.”

Jasper hesitated, glancing nervously at Sundance, who snorted and flicked his tail in annoyance. But Evelyn’s reassuring smile gave the colt courage, and he darted forward to accept a berry.

Sugarfoot sidled closer, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “See, Sundance? No need to be so possessive."

Sundance lifted his head, regal and unapologetic. “I’m not possessive. I’m protective.”

Evelyn sighed and kissed his golden head. Nothing was ever going to change Sundance's bad temper, but she didn't mind, she loved him anyway.

She had fallen in love with him the first moment she saw him in a pen at a horse sale two years ago. With his small ears back and his head high, he had defied the world, attacking anyone who dared try and enter his pen to inspect him. "He'll go for glue," she heard two men say. But he hadn't. Evelyn had decided to buy him then and there and had worked with him, slowly gaining his trust and affection. Much to everyone's surprise, Sundance had proved to have an exceptional talent for jumping. Now there were lots of people who wanted him. But Evelyn had promised him that he would always have a home at Heartland.

“Protective,” Sugarfoot muttered, “right.”

Evelyn crouched to stroke Jasper’s neck, her fingers brushing his soft coat. “You’re all important to me, Sundance. But if you keep scaring them off, I’m going to have to ride someone else today."

Sundance’s ears flicked forward, and he snorted indignantly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Evelyn said, her smile turning mischievous.

The buckskin pony hesitated, his pride warring with his fondness for her. Finally, he stepped back, grumbling under his breath. “Fine. But don't ride anyone else," he glared at Sugarfoot. "I won't let you fall."

“You’re impossible.” She slipped another berry into Sundance's mouth, and his grumpy expression softened as he chewed.

An ex-dressage pony, Sugarfoot was another long-term Heartland resident. Before Evelyn had rescued her, she was about to be put down because she was lame in her front legs. But now, after successful treatment of the sweller around her fetlocks, Sugarfoot was sound enough for light work and she loved to be ridden. She was a pretty pony, half Arabian with a dished face, a white star, and two white socks. Unlike Sundance, she had the sweetest of natures. Although it would be hard to lose her, Evelyn hoped one day she'd be able to find her a new home.

Once her bag of berries was empty, she left the pony field with Sundance. It didn't take her long to get him groomed and tacked up and then, like she had a hundred times before, she put her left foot in the stirrup, gripping the saddle horn as she swung her right leg over Sundance’s back. The leather creaked softly under her weight as she settled into the saddle.

Sundance shifted under her, eager to get moving.

“Alright, boy,” she said, patting the gelding's neck, “let’s go."

They rode on the trail that led up Broken Fence Hill, the wooded slope that rose steeply behind Heartland. Sundance's hooves made soft thuds against the packed earth, each step careful and measured on the steep, root-crossed trail.

"So," Sundance said, breaking the quiet, "are you going to tell me about your trip or just sit there like a sack of feed?"

Evelyn laughed. "It was fine," she said, the familiar rhythm of riding melting away the tension she'd been carrying. She adjusted her hat against the glare of the sun peeking through the trees.

Sundance snorted. Horses weren't good at accepting vague answers. "Fine," he repeated, "is not a real answer. Was it good? Was it bad? Did something happen?"

The trail narrowed, forcing them to navigate between two massive oak trees whose roots erupted from the ground like gnarled fingers. Evelyn shifted slightly in the saddle, leaning forward to duck under a low-hanging branch.

"Just business," she said. But even as the words left her mouth, she knew Sundance would see through them. He always did.

"You seem sad," Sundance observed. "Something happened."

Evelyn's fingers reflexively tightened on the reins for just a moment. Long enough for Sundance to know. Short enough that anyone else would have missed it.

"Some meetings went well," she said finally. "Some didn't."

Sundance's ears swiveled back, then forward. A horse's version of a raised eyebrow. "And?"

The path crested slightly, offering a brief glimpse through the valley's trees below. The view that stretched out before them was breathtaking and vast. Heartland lay below, spread out like a patchwork quilt— green fields, weathered fences, the white-sided house nestled against the landscape as if it had grown there naturally. Beyond that, the horizon seemed to stretch forever, the sky a brilliant blue.

"And I'm glad to be home," Evelyn said. And this time, her voice carried something true. Something real.

Sundance's stride didn't break. But his next words were soft. "Good," he said, then thankfully changed the subject, “City life doesn’t suit you. Too loud, too crowded. And the smells? Don’t even get me started on those.”

"It wasn’t all bad," Evelyn said. "It’s just...it’s not home.”

Sundance’s pace slowed as they approached a cluster of tree roots jutting out from the ground. He picked his way carefully, then glanced back at Evelyn. “Sounds like you’ve been restless. Not that I blame you. Trying to care of everything on your own...it’s a lot for anyone.”

Evelyn’s smile faded slightly, and she looked away, her gaze sweeping across the forest. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just trying to keep my head above water," she admitted, "like if I stop moving for even a second, everything’s going to fall apart.”

“That’s why you’ve got me!” Sundance said brightly, tossing his head. “We’re a team, remember? You don’t have to do it all on your own.”

Evelyn giggled as the trail widened and she pushed the pony into a canter, leaning forward to press her forehead against his mane. It was cool in the shade of the trees, and as they rode along, the wind rushing by, she felt like she could have gone on forever. Seeing two fallen tree trunks lying to one side, she steered toward them and nudged Sundance on. As always at the sight of a jump, his ears pricked up, his head rose, and his stride became full of energy. They reached the logs, and Evelyn felt his muscles bunch and gather. He cleared the jump by at least two feet and threw in a buck for good measure as he landed.

"Looks like you've still got it," she praised, patting his neck. "Did you want to enter any shows this summer?"

Evelyn didn't want to pressure him, but Sundance was a natural in the large Pony Hunter classes. With her riding him, he just seemed to shine in front of an audience, meeting each jump perfectly, never touching a pole, and jumping with such athletic ability and style that judges could rarely resist him. In the ring, he was a picture of good manners and obedience. It was just lucky the judges never saw him at home, Evelyn thought dryly patting his neck.

Sundance snorted happily. "Storm better watch out.”

Evelyn laughed. Storm was a beautiful mare they had competed against before. Her owners managed a distinguished hunter/jumper stable called Silver Creek and Storm rode in all of the shows and had won lots of prizes. When she had first seen Evelyn arrive at a show with Sundance, Storm had called him a Mule because of his unfavorable buckskin coat and displays of bad temper outside the ring. She had laughed less, however, when Sundance cantered into the ring, ears perfectly pricked, and had jumped his way to being Large Pony champion.

She wondered how many shows they would get to that summer. She had been wanting to try him in Junior Jumper classes as well as doing Pony Hunter. The problem was finding the time. If Pop-Pop wasn't well enough to travel they wouldn't be able to go. But she didn’t really mind. As much as she liked competing, it wasn’t the most important thing in her life — that was Pop-Pop and helping out with the horses at Heartland.

“Did I tell you that Storm's owner wanted to buy you?” Eveyln said.

“You’re kidding!” Sundance replied, surprised. “After all those things they’ve said about me?”

“They called last week.” Evelyn grinned. “Offered a lot of money, too. I said no, of course.” She patted Sundance's neck. "As if I'd ever let you go somewhere like Silver Creek!"

Silver Creek's training methods were very different from those used at Heartland. The owner, who Evelyn had dubbed, Cruella, believed in force and very firm discipline. She schooled ponies to respond to the commands of any rider — her horses learned to excel in one area and would complete a course to win. Cruella considered it a waste of time developing relationships with them. And many of the riders she trained felt the same way. It made Evelyn angry that anyone could treat horses with anything less than the respect and understanding they deserved.

“C'mon, let’s trot,” she said. Sundance nodded.

The nearer they got to Maple Ridge, the rougher the terrain became. The steep sides of the mountain were covered with tufted grass and rocky outcroppings. A few lonely buildings huddled on its slopes.

They reached the trail that led to the Claytons' house.

“Whoa!” Evelyn said, halting Sundance. Three strands of barbed wire were stretched across two posts on opposite sides of the trail. They were at chest height to the ponies and too dangerous to jump. But usually, the trails were only blocked if they were impassable.

“Maybe there’s been a rock slide or something,” Sundance suggested.

Evelyn looked up — the black clouds that had been in the far distance were getting closer now. “We should just go back. The weather’s not looking so good.”

“But we’re so close!” Sundance protested. He wanted to see this Kiger stallion Evelyn had seen without him. “We can take the road instead.”

“Pop-Pop's always telling me not to use that road,” Evelyn- said doubtfully.

“It’ll be okay,” The thought of the stallion that Evelyn seemed to think was so great drove Sundance on. “We’ll only be on it for five minutes. Come on!”

Evelyn sighed and urged Sundance forward. The road was narrow and winding, and on either side, there were crumbling stone walls topped with old wooden posts and rusty barbed wire.

"Doesn't look too safe," Evelyn said, looking ahead at the sharp bends.

"It will be okay," Sundance repeated impatiently.

They trotted up the road, Sundance's hooves clattering loudly on the worn asphalt. When they came around the second bend, the road plunged into a dark tunnel of trees.

Sundance snorted and stepped forward into the darkness, high-footed, cautious. The air felt suddenly cold, the leafy canopy overhead blocking out the warmth of the sun. With a wild squawk, a jay flew out of a nearby tree.

"Storm! Storm!"

Sundance shied violently, losing his footing on the smooth surface. "It's alright," Evelyn urged him. "Let's trot again," she said, clicking her tongue.

She didn't like being on the road. Her Pop-Pop was right. It was a dangerous road to ride on. It would take just one car to come around the corner too fast. . .

Clicking her tongue again, she pushed Sundance on. He was getting agitated and skittish, but she soothed him and he settled into a steady trot. Evelyn was glad when a couple of minutes later they emerged from the tunnel of trees.

Ahead of them was the track that led to the Claytons' house. She turned down it in relief. As they drew closer to the house, Evelyn frowned and slowed Sundance to a walk.

"They're gone!"

The house had been abandoned. The bay horse and the scrawny cows were missing from the field, the rusty pickup had disappeared, and the windows were bare and curtainless. Only a few bags of garbage by the door were evidence that anyone had been living there recently.

"Oh." Sundance sounded disappointed. He had really wanted to see the stallion. "I guess we should head home."

They rode to the side of the house, heading for the trail that led back to Broken Fence Hill and Heartland. They passed a collection of neglected wooden outbuildings. The air had become heavy and still, dark clouds growing overhead.

"I don't think we're gonna beat the rain," Evelyn looking up at the clouds.

Suddenly, Sundance put her head in the air and whinnied shrilly. "I smell you!"

Evelyn jumped. "Sundance!" she chided. "You scared the shi—"

The words died on her lips as an answering whinny echoed through the still air.

"Help! Help!"

"Where is that coming from?" Evelyn frowned. She looked around wildly, trying to find who the voice belonged to.

A second whinny came. "Help! Help!"

The time Evelyn caught the direction it was coming from. "That barn!" she said, pointing to one of the sturdier-looking outbuildings. She grabbed her reins as Sundance sidestepped, his head up and his cream ears flicking.

“Stay here!" she said and dismounted. She hitched the pony to a fence post and ran the short distance over to the shed.

While she was fumbling with the door's rusty metal bolt, Evelyn could hear a hoof pawing at the floor on the other side. Why was a horse shut in this barn? The bolt jerked back, but the door was stiff and heavy and stayed in place.

“Be careful!” Sundance called.

Evelyn had been about to throw all her weight at the door, to force it open, but she froze instead. Sundance was right—the horse would be terrified from being shut in the dark, and fear could make any horse dangerous.

"I'm here to help!" she called out before inching the door open a crack and looking in.

For a moment, she couldn’t see anything, but then her eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light.

Evelyn gasped.

At the back of the shed, tied to a post and glaring at her suspiciously, was the handsome Kiger Mustang.

Chapter Text

"It's the mustang!"

Evelyn tugged the door open farther, bumping it heavily along the ground. Once the door was ajar enough to let in some light, she could see the mustang clearly — and he could see her. His eyes rolled in fear as he stood at the back of the barn, his muscles bunched and tense, his shoulders and flanks quivering.

"Stay back!"

"It's okay," Evely said to him as soothingly as she could. "I won't hurt you. I promise."

Her eyes darted around the barn. The floor was bare, and there was no food or water. It was a horrible sight. The only good thing that she could see was that the mustang's physical condition looked good, which meant he couldn't have been shut in there for more than a day or two.

Which was still for too long.

"Stay back!" the mustang shouted again.

Evelyn bit her lip. If she opened the door father, he might try to break free. That could be disastrous in so many different ways — he might choke himself if the rope didn't break, or escape in the wild of Maple Ridge, or end up on the narrow road. She had to help him somehow.

She swung around to Sundance. Excited by the stallion's whinnies, he was pulling on his hitch.

A large raindrop splashed down onto her arm. Evelyn looked up at the dark sky. Another splash hit her cheek. Then another and in seconds it had begun to rain heavily. Her heart pounding, she turned again to the barn and started squeezing through the gap in the door.

"Easy now," she whispered to the frightened mustang. He half-reared and jumped back. "Easy!" But the horse wouldn't be calmed. He kicked out, his back hooves crashing against the barn wall.

"Evelyn!" Sundance called from outside. "What's going on? Do you need my help! Hold on!"

Evelyn hesitated. She didn't want Sundance trying to hurt himself or breaking free either, but what about the mustang? The rain was pouring down now, bouncing off the roof and forming puddles on the ground. Even if she could get near him, how was she going to get him back to Heartland without a halter or bridle?

"Evelyn!" Sundance's voice was higher, more desperate now.

Evelyn made up her mind. She squeezed back out of the barn and dragged the door shut. "I'm sorry!" she whispered through the crack as she rammed the bolt home. "But I'll be back soon!"

The mustang cried out frantically as he found himself in the dark again. Trying to shut out the sound, Evely turned away. Sundance had reared up, fighting to get free.

Evelyn raced over to him. She grabbed the reins and pulled him down. "Quick! We've got to get help!"

She swung herself up into the saddle, and they set off down the trail at a gallop.

By the time they got back to Heartland, Evelyn and Sundance were soaked to the skin. Her jeans were clinging to her legs and his coat was dark and plastered against his body. The late afternoon storm had caught them completely off-guard, turning the dirt road into slick mud that splashed up her boots and his legs with every desperate stride.

They barreled into the empty yard so fast that it brought Pop-Pop hurrying out of the tack room, a curry brush still clutched in his hand. Through the curtain of rain, he looked at Evelyn's wide eyes and pale face and dropped the brush.

"What's happened?" he asked, already reaching for his barn coat hanging by the door.

"The Claytons' mustang!" Evelyn jumped off Sundance, her fingers fumbling with the wet reins as she handed them over to her Pop-Pop. "You were right, they left! But the mustang is shut up in a barn outside their house. Pop-Pop! We've got to help!"

Behind her, thunder rolled across the valley. Sundance shifted nervously, his nostrils flaring.

"They just left him?" Pop-Pop asked, leading Sundance to his stall. "Word around town was they spent everything they had to get him at auction?"

Evelyn nodded. "He's got no food, no water — nothing! I'm taking the trailer up there."

"Whoa!" Pop-Pop caught her arm. He looked at the rain pouring down around them. "You can't take the trailer out in this, Lucky! The roads up on Maple Ridge are too steep and narrow. It's too dangerous!"

"We can't just leave that horse shut in for another night!" she cried, pulling away. "If a storm hits, he might try to break free. He could kill himself!"

"Then we'll call animal control," Pop-Pop said firmly. "Let them handle it."

"That'll take hours!" Evelyn was already running for the equipment shed. "By then it'll be dark. The horse is terrified, Pop-Pop. He needs help now!

"Wait—"

Evelyn grabbed the trailer keys from their hook, went to the barn for a bucket of feed and some basic supplies and sprinted back through the rain to where the trailer was parked behind the barn, her boots splashing through deepening puddles. The big metal beast loomed in front of her, rain drumming against its roof. She checked the hitch and safety chains, then climbed into the cab of the truck.

"Evelyn, you don't even have a license!"

Only because she wasn't old enough. She'd helped move trailers plenty of times around the property. She knew what she was doing.

"I'll be careful! I promise!"

Through the rain-streaked windshield, Evelyn could see Pop-Pop still waving his arms. She put the truck in gear, her heart pounding. She'd never disobeyed him like this before, but there wasn't a choice. The mustang needed her.

As she drove out of Heartland, the weather seemed to get even worse. The sky was heavy and dark gray. The windshield wipers were barely making a dent in the sheeting rain. The tires splashed noisily through the water on the road.

Evelyn shivered in her damp clothes. Trying to distract herself from the worsening weather, she tried to think of reasons why the Claytons would leave the mustang.

Maybe they didn't buy him at all. He might have been stolen, and before they'd found someone to sell him to, they got scared. Maybe the police had been asking around…

Even if that was the case, why not set him free? If she hadn't gone up there, he would have starved to death!

Evelyn clenched her fists on the steering wheel as she headed into the gloomy tunnel of trees that led up Maple Ridge. The engine clunked as she lowered it a gear to navigate the sharp bends. The road ahead was barely visible, swallowed up by the downpour and the tunnel of trees. A branch cracked loudly and thudded onto the roof. Evelyn jumped. She didn't like this at all. It reminded her of the mountains in the Middle East. Tiny dirt roads too small for armored vehicles that politicians didn't pay any mind to when building FOBs.

At last, she emerged into the open, but he rain hit the windshield harder, making it almost impossible to see anything clearly. Evelyn peered through the blur, searching for the drive that led up to the Claytons'.

She finally saw it and gasped in relief. "There it is!" she turned the wheel and the truck splashed along the rutted driveway. Evelyn stopped it outside the house and, leaving the headlights on so she could see, she grabbed the halter and lead rope from the seat behind her and jumped out to let the ramp down before stumbling through the rain to the barn.

When she pulled back the bolt and heaved the door open, the mustang was still there, staring back at her, head up, nostrils flaring, eyes wild. She looked at him for a moment and then, turning her back into the wind, took out a small container from her pocket. From it she took a pinch of dark, gritty dust and rubbed it into her hands.

The mustang moved uneasily, his ears back as she squeezed through the gap in the door. Turning herself sideways toward him, Evelyn looked at the floor, knowing that eye contact could agitate horses. The mustang watched her warily. Very slowly she held out her hand. The mustang began to jerk his head back but then seemed to catch the scent of the powder. His nostrils flared and he inhaled, his ears suddenly pricking up.

Evelyn held her breath. The powder was made from trimmings of chestnut—insensitive, callous growths found on the inside of horses' legs. An old stallion had once taught her that the scent could calm nervous and frightened horses. Now, shivering in the barn, she waited to see what would happen.

Very cautiously, the mustang stretched out his head. Evelyn stayed absolutely still. Like she was made of stone. I am no threat, she tried to make her body language say.

The mustang took a step forward, all the time breathing in. His delicate muzzle touched Evelyn's hand. He took another step forward and lifted his head to her, breathing in and then out.

Very slowly, Evelyn turned and as the mustang breathed again, the fear left his eyes. His muscles relaxed, and lowering his head he nuzzled her hand. Evelyn stroked him as soft as she possibly could.

"It's going to be okay," she promised and without the slightest objection, the mustang let Evelyn slip on the halter. She kissed him above the nose. "Come on, handsome, let's get you out to the trailer."

Evelyn pushed the door all the way open, and the mustang followed her out into the rain. She patted him and he nuzzled her arm. Now that the initial fear was gone, he seemed friendly, even affectionate.

When they reached the trailer, she stepped up on the ramp and rattled the feed bucket. The mustang stretched out his head and neck and gobbled a mouthful. Then, with no more prompting, he walked calmly into the box.

Evelyn put down the bucket and let him eat while she tied him up before she slipped out the side door to put the ramp up. Her wet fingers slipped as she fastened the lock. The wind and rain lashed at her face as she climbed back into the truck.

Shivering in her seat, she turned the key, and the engine spluttered to life. She cranked the heat as high as it could go. It roared noisily, but she could still hear the mustang move uneasily in the back as the rain battered the roof of the trailer.

Outside there was an ominous rumbling. Seconds later, a jagged fork of lighting split the sky, and the rain started to fall with a new intensity. As she turned onto the steep downhill road, a crash of thunder broke over them.

The mustang began to panic. "Evelyn? Evelyn, where'd you go? Help!" he shouted, his feet thudding against the side of the box, causing it to rock.

Hearing his cries for help, Evelyn bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. "We're going be okay!" she shouted back and jumped as another bolt of lightning shot straight down through the sky, followed by the loud booming clap of thunder.

The mustang's hooves crashed into the walls of the trailer again and again as he struggled to escape. The tunnel of dark trees loomed ahead. As they entered, branches closed over the top of the trailer, banging and scraping against it. Every muscle in Evelyn's body was tense. Her heart was pounding. Her breath was catching in her throat.

The trees on each side of them swayed as the wind and rain bent them against their will. The road seemed pitch-black beneath the tree canopy. Then there was a brilliant flash of lightning and a clap of thunder so loud that it sounded as if a bomb had gone off.

The mustang let out a shriek as a cracking noise echoed through the tunnel.

Straight in front of them, a tree started to fall.

Evelyn slammed on the brakes, but the tries had lost all their grip on the flooded road. The truck skidded down the road, straight into the path of the falling tree. Time slowed down. Powerless to do anything, Evelyn watched as the tree fell toward them in horrifying slow motion.

For one wild moment, she thought they were just going to get past it, but then, with a final creaking, crashing noise, the tree collapsed. Evelyn saw every little detail, every vein of every green, damp leaf.

There was a bang, a sickening feeling of falling, and then nothing.

Chapter Text

Evelyn's eyes fluttered open. Wood. Everything was wood. The walls, the ceiling, the hulking dresser in the corner. Where was she? She blinked and then focused on the figure sitting at the side of the bed.

Her Pop-Pop was sitting slouched in a worn armchair, hat tipped forward as if he’d dozed off.

“Pop-Pop?” Evelyn's voice came out hoarse, her throat dry.

Pop-Pop stirred, his hat slipping as he jerked upright. “Lucky?” His voice cracked with relief. “Oh, thank God. You’re awake.”

Evelyn sat up. A sharp pain shot through her head and chest, and she caught her breath. "Ow!" she gaped.

“Easy now,” Pop-Pop said, rising from the chair and coming to her side. He put a hand gently on her shoulder. “You’re banged up pretty good, Lucky. Don’t go makin’ it worse.”

“Where am I?” Evelyn asked, looking around in confusion. As soon as the words were out, her eyes widened as the memories returned. The road. The tree. She stared at Pop-Pop. “We crashed!”

"It's okay," Pop-Pop gently encouraged her to lie back against the pillows. “You’ve been unconscious for about a month."

Is the horse all right?” Evelyn gasped as she tried to sit up again, but the sharp pain in her head and chest got worse. She hissed and fell back against the pillow.

“The horse is with Scott Trewin,” Pop-Pop said, patting Evelyn's hand. “He’s injured but not too badly; he’s mostly in shock.”

Evelyn slumped slightly against the pillows, some of the tension leaving her body. “Good. I didn’t get all banged up for nothing, then.”

Pop-Pop huffed a small, tired laugh. “No, you sure didn’t.”

Evelyn looked around at the unfamiliar room. "Where are we?" she asked. She didn't know any hospital that had quilted bedspreads, faded curtains, and log walls.

"You're safe, Lucky," Pop-Pop said.

Evelyn turned her head on the pillows to look at him. "That's not what I asked, Pop-Pop. Where are we?"

He took a deep breath and reached out for her hand. “We’re at your father’s ranch,” he said, and his eyes dropped to where he held Evelyn’s fingers in his own. “He wouldn’t sign the emancipation papers, Lucky."

Evelyn froze, staring at him like he’d just slapped her. “What?”

“Your father,” Pop-Pop repeated, slower this time. “He wouldn’t sign the emancipation papers. The law’s on his side, so… they brought you here.”

Evelyn's heart hammered in her chest, her breathing getting deeper and deeper, , but it wasn’t from panic. It was anger—hot, boiling anger that that she could stop; that she didn't want to stop.

“So what now?” she snapped, crossing her arms and ignoring the jolt of pain it sent through her body. “Am I just supposed to sit here and play happy family with some man who didn’t even want me?”

Pop-Pop shifted in his chair, looking her in the eye. “There’s a hearing coming up. The judge only granted temporary custody for now."

“A hearing?” Evelyn sighed in relief. So it wasn't a done deal. “When?”

“Next week.”

Evelyn stared at him, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “Good. Then we fight. You and me—like always.”

Pop-Pop hesitated, his silence stretching a second too long. Evelyn narrowed her eyes. She knew him—really knew him. He was saying the right words, but something wasn’t adding up.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“I’m real glad you’re awake, Lucky…" Pop-Pop's weathered face softened. "But even if the hearing goes our way… I need you to consider something…" He paused, trying to find the right words. “I need you to think about getting to know your father.”

The words knocked the air out of Evelyn's lungs, but not because they hurt. They just made no damn sense.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Pop-Pop said, leaning forward in the chair. “Even if we win, I think you might want to try and get to know the man.”

Evelyn stared at him, searching his face for the punchline that never came. “Get to know him?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Are you out of your mind? He didn’t sign those papers because he wanted me here. Not because he cares, but because it was convenient for him. That’s all I need to know!”

Pop-Pop shook his head slowly. “You don’t know that for sure. And I’m just askin’ you to keep an open mind.”

Evelyn let out a bitter laugh and threw her hands up. “You’ve got to be kidding me!"

“I’m not sayin’ it’ll be easy,” Pop-Pop replied, calm but firm. “But you deserve to know where you come from, Lucky. Even if it don’t sit right with you now.”

“You’re where I come from,” Evelyn snapped, her voice cracking despite herself. “It’s been you and me my whole life. You’re all I need.”

“I won't always be here, Lucky," Pop-Pop sighed, "but that doesn't mean you have to be alone when I—"

"I don't want to talk about that," Evelyn turned her face sharply toward the window, fists clenched tight in the blanket.

Outside, she could see endless fields stretching toward a mountain on the horizon. Pop-Pop didn’t push her. He just stood up, slow and creaking, and set his hat back on his head.

“I'm just asking you to consider,” he said softly. “I’ll let the nurse know you're awake."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Evelyn alone in the unfamiliar room. She glared out the window, her jaw set and eyes burning. Pop-Pop wanted her to consider this? The father she'd grown up without knowing in two lives, but now that she's worth millions he wants to play happy family?

Not a chance in hell!

Evelyn swung her legs off the bed. She tried to stand, and her head swam, black spots going off like fireworks in front of her face. She collapsed back on the bed, only vaguely aware when a nurse came hurrying in. She didn't even feel the prick in her arm and then sleep closed in on her, dragging her back into the blackness.

The next time she woke, the room was empty — no Pop-Pop, no nurse, just her and the soft whisper of curtains brushing against wooden walls.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then it all came rushing back. The Claytons' Mustang. The crash. Pop-Pop asking her to get to know her deadbeat dad…

Pushing the tangled sheets aside, Evelyn swung her legs off the bed, her bare feet touching cold, smooth wood. She steadied herself against the bedpost, testing her balance. Her ribs protested with each breath, but the dizziness had mostly subsided. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she made her way to the door, fingers trailing along the rough-hewn log walls for support.

The door creaked softly as she pushed it open. Evelyn hesitated, hugging her arms around herself as she stepped into the hall. If her father was here, what would she even say to him? Fifteen years of silence couldn't be undone with a simple "hello."

Her footsteps echoed faintly against the hardwood floor. The hallway curved, leading her past family photos she didn't dare look at. She followed the hallway until it opened onto a rustic balcony overlooking the great room below. Heavy timber railings, worn smooth by years of hands, guided her to the overlook. The ceiling stretched two stories high, anchored by massive support beams that crossed overhead.

Something about the space tugged at her memory — the stone fireplace that dominated the far wall like a granite spine climbing through both floors looked so familiar. Like she had seen it before.

Evelyn shook her head, immediately regretting the motion as pain pulsed behind her eyes. It was just the concussion playing tricks on her mind. This sense of familiarity was nothing but her brain trying to make sense of trauma, manufacturing false memories to fill in the gaps. She'd never been here before. This wasn't her home, had never been her home, even though it could have been.

The staircase curved along the wall, each step feeling like a descent into a life she'd been denied. The bitterness growing in her chest surprised her with its intensity. This beautiful house with its soaring ceilings and carefully crafted details represented everything her father had chosen over her. Every log, every beam, every carefully placed river stone in that massive fireplace was something he'd invested in instead of his daughter.

Her fingers traced the smooth banister as she walked down, each step bringing her closer to the front door she could see below — a heavy wooden thing with wrought iron hinges. She just needed to reach it, step through it, and leave all of this behind. Leave him behind, just like he'd left her.

But halfway down, guilt stopped her cold. What right did she have to be angry about this house? About what she'd missed out on? Pop-Pop had given her everything – a home filled with love, stability, and more patience than any child deserved. He'd taught her to fish in the creek behind their modest ranch house, helped her with science fair projects spread across their kitchen table, and never missed a single softball game. He'd shaped her into the person she was today, and she wouldn't trade those memories for all the log mansions in the world.

The shame of her ingratitude burned hotter than her anger had. Pop-Pop deserved better than a granddaughter who could stand here coveting what she'd never had while taking for granted everything he'd sacrificed to give her. He'd never asked for the responsibility of raising a child in his retirement years, but he'd done it without complaint, without ever making her feel like a burden, all the way up until the day he died.

The heavy door creaked open, and Evelyn stepped onto a wraparound porch.

She had no real destination in mind — maybe she'd walk all the way back to Heartland if her ribs would let her.

"Ms. Dutton!"

The voice caught her mid-stride. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and debated whether to keep walking or turn around.

"Ms. Dutton!" the voice called again.

Evelyn sighed and turned, her pain-addled brain taking a moment to process what she was seeing. A man in black was approaching — broad-shouldered, intimidating, wearing a black cowboy hat and vest that looked exactly like...

Wait.

She blinked hard, wondering if the concussion was worse than she'd thought because the man walking toward her was the spitting image of Rip Wheeler. Like, exactly like him. But there was no way Cole Hauser was actually striding across a gravel driveway toward her.

Except... the ranch. She whirled around, really looking at it now. The main house on the hill, the barn with the Y, the endless Montana vista — she knew this place. She'd seen it countless times on TV, binge-watching with her Pop-Pop before he passed and continuing without him.

"Oh, this is not happening," she muttered to herself, her head swimming. Either she was hallucinating, or reality had taken a sharp left turn into fiction, and she wasn't ready to deal with either possibility. She pressed her fingers to her temples, willing the world to start making sense again.

"Should you be out of bed?" the Rip look-alike asked, and god, even his voice was exactly right.

Evelyn just stared at him, hands resting on his belt, looking exactly like he'd stepped out of her Paramount+ queue — it was too much.

"Which way is the road?" she managed to ask, proud that her voice remained steady despite the chaos in her head. She needed to get out of here, needed space to think, to make sense of whatever was happening.

"Maybe we ought to wait for your grandfather to get here." His tone was careful, like he was talking to a spooked horse.

The mention of Pop-Pop snapped her attention fully to him. "My grandfather?"

Pop-Pop was the one solid thing in her world right now, the one truth she could cling to — and here was this... this character, talking about him. Like this was all normal.

She noticed Rip's hand had moved slightly, ready to catch her if she swayed, and she realized she must look as unsteady as she felt. The morning sun felt too bright suddenly, the ground too uneven beneath her feet.

“Don’t move,” Rip said, keeping his eyes on her like she might bolt or faint — both of which felt like distinct possibilities at the moment. “You’re not in any shape to go wandering off.”

He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a phone. Evelyn caught herself searching for a camera crew, waiting for someone to yell "cut," but there was nothing except the wind through the grass and the distant lowing of cattle.

"Sir," Rip spoke into the phone, "your granddaughter is awake. “She’s out on the porch. Looks a little shaky, but she’s upright.” He paused, listening. “No, she hasn’t gone anywhere. I’ve got her right here.” Another pause as he listened. "I understand. Yes, sir. We'll wait right here."

The casual way he said 'your granddaughter' made Evelyn's head spin. Because if this was really Rip Wheeler, and this was really the Dutton ranch, and he was really talking to who she thought he was talking to... then that would mean...

No. No, that was impossible. Evelyn was living in The Wild Thornberry world. She knew that because she had met Eliza, made a fool of herself to get her power, and spent the next few years talking to animals.

She swayed slightly, and Rip took a half step forward, though he maintained a respectful distance.

"Easy now," he said, tucking the phone away. "Your grandfather will be here in a minute."

Sure enough, not ten minutes later the rhythmic thud of hooves against packed earth drew Evelyn's attention up the hill. A rider appeared, silhouetted against the morning sky, riding a horse toward them. Her breath caught in her throat.

She'd grown up watching Kevin Costner films with her Pop-Pop. Dances with Wolves, Field of Dreams — she knew his face, and the man approaching on horseback was identical.

The horse, a handsome bay gelding, came to a stop a few feet away. The rider — John Dutton, her mind supplied hysterically — swung down from the saddle with practiced grace. He moved like a man half his age, boots hitting the gravel with a crunch.

"Morning," he said, his voice that same familiar mix of gruff and gentle she'd heard countless times before. He handed the reins to Rip without looking, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her take an instinctive step back.

"This isn't—" Evelyn started, then stopped, unsure how to finish that sentence. This isn't real? This isn't possible? But it was. She had spent the last decade thinking she lived in a cartoon.

"You should be resting…Evelyn…"

Evelyn just stared, her reality tilting further off its axis. Because standing in front of her was John Dutton — THE John Dutton — looking at her with what appeared to be genuine grandfatherly worry. And she had absolutely no idea what to do with that information.