In the days that followed, Rosebud-Lott came together the way small towns always do when the unthinkable happens. Neighbors brought casseroles, shared stories, and sat in long, wordless silences on front porches where Ace’s truck would have once pulled in. At the rodeo grounds, boots scuffed the dirt a little slower, and even the horses seemed to sense that something sacred had gone missing.
Yet as the shock settled into sorrow, Ace’s legacy began to shine through the grief. Friends remembered his gentle way with animals, the way he tipped his hat to elders, his habit of helping younger kids with their ropes. His name was spoken in prayers, in locker rooms, under Friday night lights. Though his final ride ended far too soon, the love he left behind keeps circling back, lacing his memory into every sunrise over the fields he once called home.
