Love Beyond the Sunset: Chapter 1 Isabel

Isabel Landry finds a reason to keep going after tragic experiencing losses.

Trigger warning: Contains memories of death, miscarriage, grief, and depression.


Dust motes danced lazily through thin rays of golden light squeezing between weathered planks. The sweet smell of hay mixed with grain filled the air. Saddle soap and leather teased the senses. A sense of peace reigned supreme within these walls, the air comforting and cool like rain-kissed grass in spring.

The barn was part of the Landry legacy. The land and home made up the rest. All of it passed down generation to generation–mine now and I had no clue what to do with it. A few steps took me to the open double doors where sunlight dappled fields of grass stretched in every direction. Barbed wire fences marked the boundary between the ranch house as well as marking the dirt and gravel track leading to the main road.

At least the house stood the test of time. A two-story log cabin silvered by weather and the passage of time. Dad had improved the place by adding a wrap-around porch along with red metal roofing. The barn’s rusting roof was next on his list, but sadly, he never finished his to do list. Regardless of its age, the place was nearly picture perfect.

But a piece of perfection was missing.

The soft nicker of horses within their stalls faded a year ago after my father died.

The idyllic world on the ranch began to fall apart then.

After dad passed mom was forced to sell the horses to pay bills. Hospital. Funeral. Flowers. Headstone. Even death certificates verifying his passing cost something.

Who knew it cost so much to cling to life and then be laid to rest?

Mom held on to life tenuously after his passing, but a love like theirs depended so much on life. On the spirit being fed by the soft touch of a loving hand. By sweet words like the ones they shared so often and their frequent declarations of undying love and devotion.

Mom passed six months after I buried my father.

Losing them enlarged an already existing crater in my heart.

At the age of 25 my life had already been shattered by grief and loss. No one could understand it, not unless they had been there—having experienced your heart and soul being ripped open without warning. Knowing what it was like to pretend to be alive. Going through the motions.

The day after graduation I married my high school sweetheart. The one. Dewayne Barnes touched a place inside me I hadn’t known existed with his tenderness, compassion, and undying love.

He was the only guy I dated in high school that my parents approved of. My husband had so many good qualities that everyone in the town of Elkton loved him. Even my parents. That said more than anything, especially to people who knew my parents. Tough but fair. Pillars in the community. Believed and respected.

Dewayne’s conversations were dotted with pleases and thank yous, liberally sprinkled sirs and ma’ams. He was the guy who helped little old ladies across the street. He worked hard, showing up every day to help my dad on the ranch regardless of the task at hand. His handshake was known as an unbreakable oath. People looked up to him. Children flocked to him hungry for the next chapter of The Bear’s Honey Farm, an imaginative story he created to entertain Maria and Miguel’s grandchildren when they visited. It was a tale he shared any time he had the opportunity—at picnics or any of the innumerable festivals and craft shows Elkton put on each year. The boxes he checked on the Qualities of the Best Husbands list was innumerable–I had given up listing them long ago since it didn’t really matter.

Dewayne was perfect and all mine. And we were deeply in love. Just like my parents.

Until the accident that ripped my world apart.

Two years after we married a tractor Dewayne was operating overturned, pinning him beneath it.

He was cutting hay for my dad. Helping out like he usually did.

He didn’t appear for lunch like he always did. Right at noon, so punctual the family joked about setting the clock by Dewayne’s arrival.

Concerned, I went to check on him believing the tractor broke down. It was a long walk from the hay fields surrounding the house and barn. It wasn’t until I saw the overturned tractor that a sense of dread flooded my insides.

Tears ran down my cheeks before I found him pinned beneath the wreckage.

Lifeless. Growing cold. A beautiful soul gone in an instant. And along with it went a part of me.

But life wasn’t through handing me its curveballs.

Two weeks after the funeral I woke up alone to cramps low in my abdomen that forced me to curl into a fetal position. The bleeding began shortly afterwards. The doctor at the emergency room confirmed my worst suspicions—a miscarriage. Six weeks along given the date of my last period. The callus “you can have another” from the doctor gutted me. How dare he disrespect the baby I would never know? How did he know there would be another baby, ever, with one hundred percent certainty?

I avoided things I enjoyed in the past such as going out with friends. I stopped eating, lost weight, isolated, and felt this was the lowest point of my life. Losing my parents only amplified the problem. I was lost. And even worse, I knew it.

Dewayne and my parents wouldn’t want this, to see me sinking in a pit of despair that pulled me deeper with each passing day.

I wanted to feel better but how could I repair a heart and soul savaged by so many losses in such a short time? It made my heart ache to see the barn so empty. But I didn’t have the courage or strength to start again, not after everything that had happened. I walked out of the barn toward the house with the intention of never returning.

At least that was my plan until someone pulled the ruck out from under my feet.

***

Miguel and his wife Maria had worked for my parents for decades. They stayed on after I inherited the ranch, and kept everything afloat while I struggled to do things as simple as getting out of bed.

A few days after I’d gone to the barn it was Miguel who made me realize that there was a reason to get better. I sat on the porch that morning drinking coffee staring out at the distant dancing sea of grass dappled with sunlight. Dawn had long since fled, chased away like a thief in the night by the hot summer sun demanding its time in the sky.

The scrape of boots on the floor grew closer before pausing behind me. I knew it was Miguel without him having to say a word. The faint smell of leather blending with the cherry cigarillos he smoked now and then gave him away.

“Miss Isabel,” he murmured in a low, kind voice. “Can we talk?”

I would always make time for Miguel and his wife. They stayed with me at my worst when others forgot their promises to check in, to help with the fields, or to repair a leak in the barn. Only them, and a few close friends, remained faithful.

“Always.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other when I stood and turned to face him. As expected, he held the faded cowboy hat’s brim in both hands, an index finger tracing the band.

“Your parents left this place to you,” he began, glancing down at his hat, fingers curling against the brim. “It’s up to you to keep the legacy alive.”

“But how?” I asked, a range of reasons why I couldn’t were already forming in my head. I waved a hand at the barn. “There are no horses. And the barn needs work.”

“A friend called me yesterday,” he began. “The one who runs Forever Farm.”

“The place taking in abandoned and abused goats and cattle?” I knew of the place, even admired its mission. But what did that farm have to do with the ranch?

Miguel forged ahead, a half smile lifting me corner of his mouth. “They have pigs and sheep now…and a problem.”

I wasn’t going to like this but he seemed determined to explain, shifting his feet again and holding my gaze. “Just say it. How can I help them?”

A brilliant grin revealed white teeth nearly obscured by the bushy salt and pepper mustache he steadfastly refused to trim. Hope filled his soft brown eyes. “There is a neglected mare who just foaled a few days ago. And the farm is pressed for space.” His outstretched arm moved to and fro in the same direction I had been staring in earlier. “You have plenty of room here.”

“No.” The word came out sharply, my brain already overwhelmed at the thought of caring for a mare and foal.

“It would help you.” Miguel’s intense gaze held mine, daring me to say no again. To deny the truth in his words.

I refused to give in, indicating as much with a shake of my head.

The rattle of a horse trailed being pulled by a beat up pickup interrupted our stare down. A cloud of dust billowed behind it. I watched in disbelief as the truck turned toward the barn, circling then backing expertly toward the big double doors.

He smiled at my glare. Damn him. I couldn’t hate him for trying to help, but still. This was my ranch now.

“Miguel, what have you done?” I muttered, watching as he walked off the porch toward the barn.

I followed, unable to hold back the curiosity eating away at my refusal. Foals were my favorite animals. So tiny, helpless, and trusting but with an energy that knew no bounds. Miguel knew this and used it to his advantage. We’d have to discuss that later, though.

The mare and foal stood inside the barn by the time I made it there.

Miguel stroked the mare’s side, his eyes finding mine with unerring accuracy. “Beautiful, aren’t they, chica?”

A man close to Miguel’s age stepped forward, his hand extended in greeting. He dressed like someone who knew and worked with livestock–jeans, a button down checkered shirt, boots, and a Stetson. “I’m Maxwell Barnes,” he said in introduction. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you taking them in. We’ve had the mare for about a week now, but with all the others already there there isn’t enough space. Or grazing.”

I took his hand, impressed with the firm but gentle handshake. “I...I’m not sure I can take them on. Miguel didn’t…we haven’t had time to discuss it.”

“That’s a shame,” Maxwell sighed. He scrubbed a hand across his face, glancing hesitantly from me to Miguel. “The mare is gentle. Just timid. And as you can see, she definitely needs to put on some weight.”

The foal toddled toward me on spindly legs as if propelled by fate. Its silky muzzle nuzzled my arm playfully before moving toward my hand for a few more nibbles. My hands moved automatically toward its head, my fingers mimicking the way I greeted each of the horses who once lived in the barn. Scritching behind its ears. Threading my fingers through its mane.

So soft. So silky. A playful nicker sealed the deal. I was already in love with the foal and would no doubt fall in love with the mare soon. Miguel’s smug expression said it all. He knew exactly what he was doing when he agreed to take the animals in, how quickly I’d fall for them, knowing that mares and foals were my weakness. Always had been.

“We’ll take them,” I murmured. “Miguel will have to run into town for some feed and hay.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary right now, ma’am,” Max chuckled. “I brought some to get you started. Just show me where to unload it.”

And that was how day one began in the barn of the new Landry Ranch.