Page 40 of The Lonely Road

And right now, in this room, with these people, I am home in a way that is entirely different from my cottage on the east bench.

There, I belong to myself.

Here, I belong to something larger.

For a woman who has spent years building a life on her own terms, that isn’t a loss of self—it’s the deepest relief I know.

The meeting is two hours of precise, technical discussion—upstream allocation, federal reserved rights, the interaction between state prior appropriation doctrine and the tribe’s senior claims, which in this valley go back considerably further than any recorded filing.

We’re thorough in our prep, dissecting our presentation to the council the next day from three directions.

I make changes to the presentation, take notes, and ask questions.

After, Elder Nokoni walks me out.

“You’re going to see Sienna.”

“I have a gift for Cam,” I tell him, smiling.

Cam is her five-year-old and my Godson. I bought him a sheriff’s badge and a pair of boots he’ll outgrow in about six weeks.

I have absolutely no regrets about either.

The sun is angled low over the mesa, the sky going pale gold in the late March afternoon when we stop outside the council building.

“You doing well?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Mac helping out, or did he just dump everything and run?”

I laugh at that. “He’s helping. Especially when I can’t read his handwritten notes.”

I have now taken over most of Mac’s clients, but some insist on staying with him.

There are ranchers in Wildflower Canyon who are old school, and the idea of a woman—at that, a tribal woman—being their lawyer, is too progressive for them. According to Mac, they’ll get educated fast enough after he lets his license expire, and they’ve got no choice.

It’s fine by me. I have more than enough work, and even though it pays me half of what I made in Aspen, it’s a hundred times more satisfying.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early,” I confirm.

I drive to Sienna’s hurriedly, wanting to see her and her family. I’ve missed them all.

Cam opens the door. “She’s here,” he screams over his shoulder and barrels into me for a hug.

I’ve known Cam since he was a baby; in fact, after his mother and father, I was the first person to hold him when he was born.

I love him like I would my own child.

I hold him close and take him in. He wiggles out after a long moment and grabs my hand to drag me inside.

Sienna’s house is warm and comforting.

Daniel’s history books on every surface.

Cam’s drawings on the refrigerator.