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He stood and wrapped me in a hug, the kind that told me without words that everything would eventually be alright. "Do you want to wait to look at these?" he murmured, gesturing to the paper chaos on the table.
I shook my head, the motion firm. "No, I don’t want to waste any more time. Let's do this."
We sat down, the pamphlets spread out like a fan of possible futures before us. Dad picked one up, a glossy brochure from an institution in Colorado.
"How about this one? Their equine program is supposed to be one of the best," he suggested, his finger tracing the bold lettering on the cover.
I leaned in, scanning the page. The images of sprawling pastures and state-of-the-art facilities sparked a flicker of excitement in me. "Looks amazing, but what about the location? Colorado is pretty far."
He nodded, understanding coloring his features. "True, but it's an adventure, right? Sometimes, the best opportunities lie just beyond our comfort zone."
I contemplated his words, the truth in them resonating within me. My eyes wandered to another pamphlet, this one from a university closer to home.
"This one has a great program, too, and it's closer to family," I pointed out, tapping the brochure.
Dad picked it up, scrutinizing the details. "You’re right. And it says here they offer a specialization in rehabilitation. That could be perfect for you, given your interest in working with horses."
I nodded, a smile breaking through the melancholy. "I like that. Helping horses recover, giving them a second chance—it's kind of poetic, don't you think?"
He chuckled. "You always had a way with words, and an even better way with animals. Whatever program you choose, they'll be lucky to have you."
We continued to sift through the options, discussing the merits and drawbacks of each. As we did, the earlier sadness began to recede, replaced by a growing sense of purpose. Each pamphlet represented a step towards a future I had chosen for myself, a future where I could make a difference.
Dad must have sensed the shift in my mood. "Feeling better?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I glanced up, meeting his gaze. "Yeah, I am. It's strange how plans can change so quickly, but somehow it feels right."
He reached across the table, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Life has a funny way of steering us in the right direction, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. You're on the right path, I can feel it."
The warmth in his words washed over me, a soothing balm. We spent the rest of the afternoon immersed in our research, the dining room filled with the sound of rustling paper and shared laughter.
The pamphlets lay scattered on the table, sorted into 'yes,' 'maybe,' and 'no' piles. I bit my lip, staring at them. Doubt niggled at the back of my mind, the kind that sneaks up when big decisions loom large.
"Dad," I started, hesitancy coloring my voice, "do you think I'm being hasty? Rushing into things?"
He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. "What do you mean?"
I gestured to the piles. "This. Jumping into a program right away. Maybe I need some time, some space to really figure things out."
He leaned back, considering my words. "You know," he said slowly, "you could always spend a year or two in Silver Creek. Aunt Dina would be thrilled to have you back."
Silver Creek. The mere mention of the name set my heart racing, a whirlwind of nostalgia and unbridled teenage dreams. The summer I was fifteen, the world felt wide open, stretched out like the endless Montana sky over Horseshoe Lake Ranch. I remember arriving there, feeling the city melt away, replaced by the soothing rhythm of countryside life. The days were long and warm, filled with the sweet scent of fresh hay and the earthy musk of horse fur.
The ranch itself was a living, breathing entity, pulsating with life. Horses galloped freely in the paddocks, their manes catching the sunlight, turning them into ethereal creatures. I’d spend hours just watching them, losing myself in the simplicity and beauty of their movements. It was there, in the quiet companionship of these majestic animals, that a seed was planted in my heart, a desire to work with and understand them on a deeper level.
And then, there was the ranch hand, an integral part of my memories, though we'd barely exchanged more than a few polite nods. I remember the first time I saw him, his silhouette framed against the backdrop of the stable door, pitchfork in hand, straw sticking out of his hair as if it were part of his rugged charm. There was a grace to his movements, a quiet confidence that spoke of years spent living alongside these creatures. He wasn't just working; he was communicating, whispering silent words that the horses seemed to understand perfectly.
I was just a girl then, shy and awkward, content to observe the guy, who had to be at least five years older than my fifteen, from a distance. I'd steal glances at him, my cheeks flushing hot whenever our eyes accidentally met. He was like a character out of a storybook, the strong, silent type who existed in the periphery of my youthful fantasies. I knew nothing about him, not even his name, but in my mind, he was the prince of the ranch, a noble guardian of the equine realm.
Now, years later, the thought of him brought a smile to my lips, a mix of amusement and a twinge of curiosity. Was he still there, moving with the same ease among the horses, his presence a constant in the ever-changing rhythm of ranch life? The crush was a distant, tender memory, a reminder of the innocence and possibilities of youth.
But I was no longer that girl, and Silver Creek was no longer just a place from my past. It was a potential crossroads, a chance to reconnect with the part of me that came alive that summer. The thought of returning, of standing once again amidst the rolling fields and under the vast, open sky, filled me with an excitement I hadn't felt in a long time.
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. This wasn't about some teenage crush. I'd just ended things with someone. What I needed was to focus on the future, not get lost in the past.
"Dad, that... that actually sounds like a good idea," I said, the words feeling right as they left my lips. "A year in Silver Creek could give me the clarity I need."
He smiled, his approval clear. "Sometimes, the best way to move forward is to step back for a while. And who knows? You might find exactly what you're looking for out there."
