Not having ridden a horse for some time, Brett’s ass soon became saddle sore. But one glance over to his right at the cowboy riding next to him, looking so at home in the saddle, and any discomfort was worth it. Jake was happy. So, therefore, was Brett.
“Fine horse ya got there, Michigan. He belong to you?”
Brett leaned forward and patted the buckskin’s neck. “Yeah. Pocofrosty passed over a while ago, and I was assigned to be his guide. Usually, once a horse is healed, they’re assigned to someone else, but Poco kinda grew on me and, well, he’s still around.”
“Jist like me an’ Willow.”
There was a world of meaning in that statement, or at least Brett hoped there was.
Up ahead, Brett spotted sunlight glinting off a body of water. As they drew nearer to a picturesque lake, there appear
