For https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/the-weekend-freewrite-9-7-2019-part-3-the-dramatic-twist

Jace looked so content and comfortable with his horse. The mailbox…

Came into sight. Sherryce saw Jace lean over from horseback and get the mail. He hadn’t even dismounted. For all that she wanted Jace to move back to the city with her, he did look like he belonged here.

The road dipped beneath her little orange hyundai, and when she crested the hill, Jace was already trotting back up the long driveway that led to the ranch he’d escaped to after the financial crash of 2009.

“He’s nonetheless ready to come back home to me,” she murmured to herself as she gripped the wheel. The pavement gave way to gravel and the gravel gave way to dirt. She hadn’t thought about the fact that her little hyundai might not be up to the challenge of rugged terrain, but here she was, trundling down the lane without an opportunity to change her mind. 

When she finally reached the rather magnificent ranch house, shutters open to catch the afternoon rays, she couldn’t see Jace. He’d arrived back mere instants, but he was probably tacking the horse up or combing the hooves or whatever it was after you rode to a mailbox a mile away.

She sighed, shook her head. "He called me about the middle of the morning, I think it was.”

She kept reminding herself that he had reached out to her. She couldn’t quite believe that after all these years he wasn’t more contrite or angry. He was just behaving as if nothing had intervened in the years of his absence. She didn’t want him to be contrite or angry, but she wasn’t sure who he was if he didn’t have emotions that could turn on a dime. Tempestuous. That was the word for his moods. Contrition would have been nice, but… well, the only thing that HAD changed about his behavior was everything about who he was.

There he was. Walking out from behind the ranch, he carried a saddle against his neck, perched on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He hadn’t been a scrawny man, but this amount of casual ease with physical labor was new to her. Ten years is enough time to remake a man, and he appeared to have been well-remade.

When he saw her, he raised the arm not carrying the saddle in silent greeting. He didn’t bother with words from that distance, which was also a change.

In the damp earth were boot prints,

An artifact of a time they’d spent together long ago, it seemed. It had only been the afternoon before that she’d arrived, but it felt like a different life. The rain had poured down on them. Bucketfuls of it. She could’ve sworn there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when he began giving her a tour of the stables, but by the time it ended, and dark had fallen, the clouds that weren’t there had burst forth. She’d mentioned this seeming magic to him this morning, and he’d explained that the air held a lot of wet, and as soon as the sun sank, it got cool enough to pour. She felt the damp herself and smiled. Now she saw the squelching boot prints and thought that had been a more innocent time. Or perhaps this was the innocent time. She knew more, and ti freed her.

That was a new sensation. Always before, with knowledge came a need to do something about the knowledge. Now, with the knowledge came an assurance that nothing should be done.

She hitched up the jeans he’d lent her. They were too big, of course, but she was grateful for something solid to stand between her and the great outdoors. Mosquitoes gathered in the hot, humid air, but they couldn’t break through the denim, though she was sure they’d find her bare skin soon.

Photo credit: @stinawog me and my horse
![P1010828.JPG](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmNwUcsECPgXaapGUoeQ4Kw4KgtqQAkD1YmSENDu9Tg3F5/P1010828.JPG)