Page 29 of Forever To Me

“Well, if you ever want to help me with baking for my coffee trailer, I’d love it,” she says.

“Say when.”

“When. Come out tomorrow afternoon. That work?” she asks.

“I’ll have to check with my boss. But usually I’m free in the afternoons,” I tease.

“She’s free,” Maggie says with a laugh, shaking her head.

I usually get all the rooms done by then, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

We all sit together and then play a few hands of cards, and I look around and take in the fun conversation and delicious pastries and think this is how friendship should be. And I’m thankful to be here in Bridger Falls, making friends with people like Cami and Poppy. I love getting invited to girls’ night and getting asked to help bake. I smile at Maggie, and she’s too busy laughing and laying down a card. She looks really happy, too.

Bridger Falls is starting to feel like a real home, something I was missing.

I plug in the navigation to make the drive out to Cami’s ranch, which is thirty minutes outside of town in the opposite directionof Walker’s. There are so many ranches around here, and they’re breathtaking with the tall, looming mountains in the distance.

It’s beautiful out here, and it would be a dream to call a place like Bridger Falls home. Sometimes, I think about leaving music altogether and starting over somewhere. I love songwriting, but I’m coming to terms that my career is done. And part of me feels angry and defeated about that, and then another part of me feels sad. Rejected. Like I want to make an epic comeback and show the people who took everything from me that I’m not done. Far from done. Sometimes I think about what that kind of comeback would feel like.

But we’ll see. I don’t know what is going to happen with my music career, but I’m happy right now in Bridger Falls. It is strangely comforting to be here in a place where people don’t know the music side of me, and I don’t have to talk about what happened. I’m dreading having to answer my mom’s questions when we eventually talk again. But that’s tomorrow's problem. Today, I get to bake and hang out with Cami.

I pull into Wilder Ranch, my tires kicking up a soft cloud of dust as I slow to a stop beside Cami’s red truck.

The place is breathtaking.

The long gravel driveway winds through endless rolling pastures, stretching wide under the open Wyoming sky. Golden fields sway in the late afternoon breeze, dotted with sturdy wooden fences and grazing horses. A few cows linger lazily near the fence line, their tails flicking at flies, while further back, a small herd of goats playfully headbutt each other near a weathered old tree.

The main barn stands proud, red paint slightly faded but still charming against the backdrop of the mountains. A few smaller outbuildings sit nearby—a shed, a workshop, a littlechicken coop with a white picket fence that looks like something out of a storybook.

It smells exactly like a ranch should—earthy, sun-warmed hay, rich leather, and the faintest hint of horses and fresh-cut grass.

I step out of my car, stretching my legs, taking it all in.

Before I can shut the door, Cami strides out of the barn, sliding off a pair of work gloves and shoving them into her back pocket.

She’s wearing ripped jeans, boots, and a faded T-shirt that probably started black but is now more dirt than fabric. Strands of hair have escaped her messy ponytail, sticking to her forehead. She looks like she’s been working since sunrise—but somehow, she still has that effortless ‘badass cowgirl’ aura.

“Hey, Violet,” she calls, wiping her hands on her jeans. “How are you?”

I step forward, glancing around again at the picturesque ranch, the golden afternoon light spilling across the fields, the mountains standing like silent guardians in the distance.

“Great,” I say, meaning it. “Thanks for having me out here. It’s beautiful.”

Cami grins, propping a hand on her hip, her face softening just a little.

“Yeah,” she says, glancing out over the land. “It really is.”

And in that moment, I can tell—this place isn’t just a ranch to her. It’s her whole world.

“Thanks,” she says as she walks with me towards the house. “I’m glad you’re here. I have a few dozen special orders that I need to make, and it would have been a very long night without your help. So, thanks for coming.”

“I love baking. Happy to help,” I say as she holds the door.

The farmhouse is older but looks beautiful and maintained. We step inside and walk through a doorway to the kitchen,which is big and looks like it’s been updated. The island has a stainless-steel cooking space, and it’s set up more like a professional kitchen.

“Wow, this is amazing,” I tell her as I take in the tall cooling rack on wheels and huge double oven.

“Thanks, I do all my baking here for Steamy Sips, my coffee trailer,” she says as she washes her hands in the sink to the side of the kitchen.

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