Chapter 7 – A Day of Sunshine at Roaring Rapids Ranch
The morning sun spilled over the ridgeline like molten gold, bathing Roaring Rapids Ranch in a glow that made even the weathered fences and worn corrals look freshly painted.
Jake Harmon swung open the big red barn doors, Boone at his side, tail wagging like a banner in the wind. His faithful friend gave a bark that set the horses stirring in their stalls.
“Easy, boy. We’ve got a fine day ahead of us, no need to wake the whole county.”
Jake went from stall to stall, greeting the horses like old friends. He lingered at the roan gelding’s door, rubbing the animal’s neck. Boone, of course, had his own circuit—sniffing every pile of hay as if expecting Mary had hidden bacon somewhere.
Speaking of Mary, her voice soon drifted across the yard, sweet and clear as the river.
“Breakfast! If you menfolk want biscuits while they’re hot, you best come running!”
Mary had outdone herself. Biscuits, gravy, bacon, eggs, and a pot of coffee so strong it could have stood up by itself filled the ranch house kitchen. The checkered curtains fluttered in the breeze, and the long wooden table was already half set with blue enamel plates. Old Man Caldwell was there too, sitting straight-backed at the head of the table, his weathered face softening as Boone pushed his muzzle into his lap. Saturday was always planning day—Caldwell meeting with his foreman and range boss to look ahead to the coming week.
“Well now,” Caldwell said, scratching the dog’s ears. “I reckon we’ve got a working day ahead. But first—let’s thank the good Lord for another sunrise.”
They bowed their heads, and Caldwell’s prayer was short and plainspoken. By the time he finished, Colt was already passing the biscuits, Mary swatting at his hand with her apron.
Laughter filled the room, warm as the sunlight spilling through the windows.
After breakfast, the ranch yard bustled like a beehive. Jake and Colt saddled up for a fence ride along the south pasture, Boone trotting between them like he was sheriff keeping law on the trail.
“Reckon it don’t get better than this,” Colt said, leaning in the saddle with the ease of a man who’d lived his life outdoors.
The day passed in the kind of rhythm that only a ranch could give: fixing a bit of sagging wire here, checking the herd there, sharing a canteen of cool river water under the noonday sun. Boone found a rabbit hole and barked himself hoarse, then gave up and flopped down under Jake’s horse for shade.
Back at the ranch house, Mary and Caldwell had been busy too. Mary had baked a fresh apple pie, the kind with a lattice crust that looked too pretty to eat, and Caldwell had whittled a new handle for one of the branding irons. He showed it off proudly when the riders returned.
“Still got a little strength left in these old hands,” he said, holding it up for inspection.
Mary rolled her eyes fondly. “Don’t let him fool you, boys. He’s been working steady all morning and still asked for a slice of pie before lunch.”
That brought another round of laughter, and soon they were all sitting on the porch, plates balanced on their knees, Boone catching crumbs whenever he could. The rapids sang in the distance, and the cottonwoods whispered in the breeze.
The real joy of the day came in the afternoon. Word had spread among the neighboring ranch families that Roaring Rapids Ranch was hosting a barn dance that evening. By the time the sun dipped low, wagons and riders were pulling into the yard, filling the place with voices and music.
Jake strung lanterns along the barn doors, their glow catching the polished saddles and bright dresses of the arriving guests. Colt set up benches while Boone darted in and out of the crowd, delighted by the children who squealed as they tried to catch him.
Inside, fiddles of the ranch hands struck up a lively tune, and the wooden floor shook with the first sets of dancing feet. Mary, cheeks flushed with excitement, moved through the crowd with cakes and pies brought by all the ladies. Caldwell sat just outside the barn, nodding in time to the music, eyes shining with memories of days long past.
Jake wasn’t much of a dancer, but when a neighbor’s daughter tugged at his sleeve, he didn’t have the heart to refuse. He stepped clumsily into the set, Boone barking approval from the sidelines. Colt, on the other hand, moved with surprising ease, spinning Mary around until she was laughing so hard she had to stop to catch her breath.
The night deepened, stars scattered across the sky, but the music never slowed. Fiddles, banjos, and guitars carried on, boots stomped in rhythm, and the barn glowed with life and light. For a moment, Roaring Rapids Ranch wasn’t just a place of work and sweat—it was the beating heart of a whole community, strong and steady as the mountains beyond.
Much later, when the last wagon rolled away and the lanterns were dimmed, Jake stood on the porch with Boone at his side. Mary was likely washing up the last of the pie plates. Colt came up beside him, arms crossed, beard catching the light. “Good day,” he said simply.
Jake nodded. “One for the books.”
Boone gave a contented sigh and stretched out in the grass, ears twitching at the crickets.
The ranch was still, but it wasn’t empty. It was alive, filled with the laughter of friends, the strength of family, and the promise of another sunrise just waiting beyond the hills.
Roaring Rapids Ranch, at least tonight, was everything someone could ever hope for.
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