Capri knew that weight, the way it curled around your ribs and made you feel like you were sinking. But looking at Camille—young, scared, already bracing for judgment—she felt something else stir. Compassion. Fierce and unwavering. Because if Capri had learned anything, it was that mistakes didn’t define a person—how they chose to move forward did.
Capri took a slow breath, setting the compass aside before leaning forward. “Camille, listen to me. No matter how we break the rules we make for ourselves, no matter how many times we stumble, we keep moving forward. We throw tantrums when things don’t go our way. We whisper secrets with our best friends in the dark. We look for comfort where we can find it. And sometimes, against all logic, against all experience, we fight it.”
Camille’s eyes shone with unshed tears. Capri held her gaze, steady and sure.
“You fight it. You fall. And it’s scary as hell.” She paused, letting the weight of those words settle. “But you know what? There’s an upside to free-falling—it’s the chance you give your friends to catch you.”
Camille swiped at her cheek. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”
Capri smiled softly. “You do. You always will.”
For a long moment, Camille stood there, as if letting the words soak in. Then, with a shaky breath, she nodded.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Capri squeezed her hand. “Anytime, kid.”
Capri exhaled, letting Camille’s words settle between them before tilting her head. “So… what’s it like? Being pregnant?”
Camille blinked at her, surprised by the question. “Oh. Uh…weird.” She let out a small laugh. “I mean, I’m sick all the time, and smells that never bothered me before suddenly make me want to hurl. But…” She hesitated, a shy smile forming. “It’s kind of exciting, too. Like, there’s this little person growing inside me, and no matter how scared I am, I already love them.”
Capri studied her for a beat, then smiled. “Got a name picked out yet?”
Camille shook her head. “Not yet. I don’t even know the gender.” She hesitated before adding, “But if it’s a girl, I’ve been thinking about Ella. And if it’s a boy…maybe Aaron.” She paused, her eyes filling with emotion. “After my dad.”
Capri nodded, considering. “Good names. Strong names.” Then she grinned mischievously. “Or maybe you’ll have twins.”
Camille groaned, eyes widening in horror. “Don’t even say that.”
Capri chuckled and reached for her suitcase again. “Fine, fine. But just know that if it happens, I get full ‘I told you so’ rights.”
Camille rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, if that happens, I’m handing one over to you.”
Capri froze mid-zip, then turned to Camille, dead serious. “I take it back. You’ll have one perfect, singular baby.”
21
Frank Ellis, the lead producer and show host, adjusted the brim of his cap as he ascended the rickety wooden stairs into the attic of the Teton Trails Guest Ranch barn. The old structure groaned beneath his weight, dust motes swirling in the golden light that filtered through the gaps in the weathered siding. The scent of aged timber, dry hay, and lingering traces of livestock filled the air, mingled with the musty aroma of time long past.
Behind him, Tess, the field director, moved with careful precision, clipboard in hand, while Doug, the bearded giant in cargo pants and a flannel shirt, hoisted a camera onto his shoulder, testing the lighting.
The barn’s loft was packed tight with stacks of trunks, old wooden crates, and cardboard boxes with their edges curled from years of neglect. Milo, the lanky sound tech with glasses and a knit cap, adjusted his boom mic, ensuring he captured every creak of the wooden planks beneath their feet.
Charlie Grace followed, her boots kicking up tiny clouds of dust. As she reached the top, her gaze flickered to a pile of hay near the far wall. A bitter memory resurfaced—finding Gibbs tangled up with Lizzy right there, their hushed whispers and guilty faces still burned in her mind. She gave herself a small shake. Not today.
From below, Clancy’s voice rang out, full of excitement. “Start with those trunks, the old ones near the back wall! Those have been up there since before I bought this place!” His wheelchair was parked at the bottom of the stairs, his head tilted upward, watching the scene unfold. “It all belonged to old man Alf Morgan. He died years ago. I bought this ranch from his estate. The only heir was his daughter, but she passed away some time ago. I saw her obituary in the Cheyenne newspaper—died a childless old maid.”
Charlie Grace winced at his careless phrasing. She made a mental note to bring it up with him later. For now, she shifted her attention back to the task at hand.
Frank knelt beside a stack of dusty trunks and old boxes, then pried open the first with careful hands. The leather straps cracked as he unfastened them, the metal buckles tarnished with age. Inside lay a collection of rusted tools, an old miner’s lantern, and a bundle of faded letters tied with a frayed ribbon. He held up the lantern with a grin. “Classic carbide miner’s lamp. Not worth a fortune, but still a great find.”
Tess nodded, making notes as the camera rolled, capturing her and Frank. “We’d be willing to offer two hundred for the set.”
The camera rolled to Charlie Grace. Still caught up in the moment, she nodded without hesitation. “Wow. That’s great!”
Before the words fully left her mouth, Nick leaned in, whispering, “You know you’re allowed to haggle, right?”
She shot him a quick smirk but made a mental note to be more mindful.
