Page 83 of A Mile of Ocean

“Well, we confiscated her Winchester. Ballistics might help solve the mystery. It’s a long shot but not out of the realm of possibility.”

Epilogue

Two months later

As the weeks turned into months, life at the ranch slowly returned to a semblance of normalcy. The horses required the same daily care as they always had, the cattle still needed tending in the northern sector, and the rhythms of ranch life persisted despite the hole left by Barrett’s absence.

Like everyone else on the ranch, Trent immersed himself in the work, finding solace in the routine and physical exertion. The tasks served as a balm for his grief, a means to channel his sorrow into something tangible. As the ranch transformed into Trent’s vision, he used Barrett’s journals as his guide—detailing what to do and what to avoid. The leather-bound books became his lifeline, enabling him to experience firsthand how his grandfather had turned the business into a success during those tough early years in the 1970s. Reading the ranch’s history through the eyes of the man who had built it allowed Trent to stay connected to him.

At Tate’s urging, he moved into the main house, where their first task was to clear out the Duchess’s bedroom, strip off the ugly wallpaper, and make it his own. Savannah’s decorating advice along the way—a new paint color scheme, new lightfixtures, and bringing in his own furniture—made it a renovation success story.

As he slowly returned to his routine, Savannah’s presence brought a lightness that Trent hadn’t realized he was missing. She sometimes spent the night. And during those evenings, after the day was done, he could unwind with her like he had with no other.

She enjoyed ranch life and had taken to it like a duck to water. She didn’t mind mucking stalls or the whiff of horse manure. She inhaled the scent of freshly cut hay and the earthy aroma of dust in the stables like any country girl born to it. Nothing seemed to faze her.

The horseback riding lessons she looked forward to brought her and Tate together in a sisterly bond that seemed destined for greatness. They became certified instructors, dividing their time between group and private lessons.

They transformed the main paddock into a riding school. Children were dropped off for six hours daily, Monday through Friday, to learn the basics. The chance to learn to ride attracted so many local kids that they had to stagger the days and hours to accommodate all the lessons. As he watched the growing interest, Trent built an indoor arena to use during inclement weather.

The days were long as the ranch kept thriving.

But the best times of all were the mornings when the early summer light brushed the landscape in soft hues, making the ranch look as if it had awakened with quiet energy.

Trent would always wake up first and make coffee before feeding Taco, Trilby, and their growing family of rambunctious pups. No one even considered how ten dogs might be too much for them to manage.

The two would eat breakfast together in the main dining room, where Dolly always cooked enough to feed an army.Her home cooking brought Tate to the table along with the ranch hands, who showed their appreciation by bringing Dolly a bouquet of wildflowers or little trinkets as thank-you gifts.

After breakfast, Savannah would head to the stables. She would prepare the horses for the day’s lessons while he directed the crew to the day’s work schedule or checked emails in the office. The routine of it all was comforting, and the predictability of the days was soothing in its steadiness. Each morning brought a sense of renewal, a fresh start as the sun peeked over the horizon and bathed the ranch in golden light.

Savannah’s laughter echoed through the stables, a sound that had become as familiar to Trent as the creaking of the barn doors in the wind. Her presence had woven itself seamlessly into the fabric of ranch life, her easy smile and quick wit bringing a brightness that filled a void.

As they often worked side by side—either in the stables or the office—Trent found himself opening up to her in ways he hadn’t with anyone else. In those quiet moments before the day began, they exchanged childhood stories while saddling up the horses or preparing for their day; she recalled the times spent with Owen while he often spoke about his mom and dad.

After supper one evening, they strolled through the garden, picking ripe tomatoes and placing them in Savannah’s wicker basket. She breathed in the aroma among the hibiscus blooms in shades of pink, orange, and yellow. The lavender, laden with its upright flower spikes and silvery-green leaves, had grown so tall that itswayed in the breeze next to the rows of sage and rosemary, stretching toward the day’s last rays of sunshine. But nothing outgrew the sunflowers as their stalks towered over beds of daisies and marigolds.

Savannah pointed to the tomato plants drooping heavily with ripening fruit. “How do you get them to fruit like this? Yousaw mine last week when you spent the night. My tomato plants haven’t yielded enough for a salad. What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re not doing anything wrong. They’re baby plants. By October, you’ll have plenty of fruit. Gardening is a patient endeavor just like teaching.”

“I don’t give them the care I should. I’ve been a little busy lately.” She stepped into a rainbow of colorful dahlias, their petals vibrant against the backdrop of lush greenery. Bushes and vines intertwined, creating a natural maze of fragrant flowers and sweet honeysuckle.

She removed an envelope from her pocket. “Oh, I found this in my saddlebag this morning after Hutton’s lesson. I thought she left it for me. But then I noticed it was addressed to you. I was slightly disappointed because that girl has taken to riding better than the other students. She’s at the top of the class. I carried it around all day and meant to give it to you tonight during dinner.”

Trent studied the blue envelope. “It’s probably another condolence note from Barrett’s funeral. I still haven’t read them all. Dolly has. But I haven’t had the time.”

“Well, who sent this one? Open it. It’s rude not to respond.”

His eyes widened as he removed the notecard and read the first line. Embarrassed, he tried to stuff it into his jeans pocket. “Uh, it’s nothing.”

“What are you talking about? Who’s it from?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“An old girlfriend then. Well, I’m not the jealous type. At least not lately. But you wouldn’t know about it if I hadn’t found it. So, tell me who it’s from.”

“A ghost.”

“What do you mean?”

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