Good Together by C. J. Carmichael

But she’d moved from her childhood home to this one. Babies coming along so soon, she and Wes had less than a year to enjoy being newlyweds.
    Taking her to-go cup with her, Mattie went to the mudroom and piled on the layers, then added her boots, gloves and hat. Outside a lightening of the sky promised that morning would be coming. Eventually. Her gaze snagged on the two sugar maples that the girls had brought home in third grade after a school trip to a nursery.
    Maples weren’t indigenous to Flathead Valley and Mattie had babied those trees. Putting up chicken wire to protect the trunks and watering them faithfully during the hot, dry summers. Now they rewarded her every autumn with brilliant red leaves that stood out from the gold of the aspen and cottonwoods. They’d been at their peak the last time she’d come out to do chores. This morning, however, less than a dozen leaves remained on the slender gray branches. What made some leaves cling harder than others? Were they in denial that the season was changing, or just hanging in there to enjoy one more day?
    She turned from the depressing sight and made her way to the barn.
    Jake was in the feed room, wearing his winter parka and a knitted cap instead of his usual Stetson.
    “Damn cold,” he said, after giving her a quick once-over.
    “It is.”
    They worked silently for the next hour, the repetitious chores a soothing balm on the ache of her heart. Every horse got an extra pat from Mattie that morning. Their nose butts and whispered nickers brought tears to her eyes.
    Ever since she’d been a child she’d known that if you treated an animal kindly, they’d give you affection and loyalty in exchange. Never once had this equation failed her. And never once had it meant as much as it did today, especially with the specter of a potential sale looming in her future.
    When they were finished in the barn, she and Jake went out to flake hay into the corrals where the majority of the horses were kept. The eastern sky was lighter now, and Mattie leaned against the whitewashed fence to take in the view.
    There were ten horses in this pasture, all of them familiar, beautiful animals, who moved with the grace of dancers as they shook out their kinks from the night and welcomed the new day. In the distance a layer of mist clung to Flathead Lake, and the air held a stillness that seemed almost mystical.
    In all the years of her marriage, this view never failed to fill her with awe. Even though Bishop land lay before her, almost as far as she could see, she had never been filled with a sense of ownership. The very idea that one person could lay claim to a tree, a field, a lake, seemed full of gall to Mattie.
    No, she preferred to think of herself as a steward of the land. Here to enjoy and reap blessings before giving up her space to the next generation.
    She’d imagined herself growing old living here—with Wes.
    She’d pictured them riding horses still, when their hair was gray and their middles were thickening. She’d seen them hosting family meals on holidays, and sitting alone on the porch after everyone was gone.
    If Wes wasn’t coming back, if he really was going to sell this land, what would her future look like?
    She didn’t have a clue.
    And that was terrifying.
    The fence shifted a little as Jake came up beside her and propped his boot on the first rung.
    “We should get that pump repaired before it gets much colder,” he said.
    She nodded. “You think the horses are dreading the winter as much as we are?” Her gaze was on Wes’s horse now. Whiskey Chaser and her favorite mare, Rosie, named for her disposition, were standing parallel to each other, each facing opposite directions, the way horses often do.
    “Nah,” Jake scoffed. “Horses been living in these hills long before ranchers started building barns and filling food troughs. They’re tougher than we are. Built for survival. I think they prefer this weather to the scorching days of summer. And