“Thanks,” she said softly.
I shrugged. “Just lights.”
She looked at me for a beat too long. “Yeah… but it’s not.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I stood, string of lights slung over my shoulder, and walked them toward the porch.
She followed, humming something under her breath—“Silver Bells,” maybe—and I let myself listen. Just for a moment.
We hung the lights together, string by string, and when the final strand clicked into place along the porch rail, Ella stepped backand smiled up at them. “Not bad for a couple of amateurs,” she said.
I was about to agree, a genuine smile almost touching my lips, when the wind shifted. A sharp gust carried a new sound—the faint crunch of tires on packed snow, steadily growing louder.
I turned.
A silver pickup, gleaming like a polished knife against the white landscape, crept up the long drive. Clean. Shiny. My stomach dropped, the familiar knot tightening into a cold fist.
“That’s the bank manager,” I said quietly.
Ella stepped beside me, her eyes narrowing. “He’s not supposed to be here until next week.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans, jaw tight. “Guess he’s early.”
She took a deep breath. “Then I guess we’d better be ready.”
The wind howled around us, carrying the scent of snow and something else—change. And I wasn’t sure we were ready for it at all.
Chapter 11 - Save Starcrest
Ella
The air in the living room felt heavy, thick with unspoken dread, pressing against my ribs every time I tried to breathe. It was a physical weight, mirroring the one that had just landed squarely on my shoulders.
The bank manager—Mr. Hollings—stood in front of the fireplace like he owned the place, his clipboard tucked neatly under one arm and a disapproving frown on his lips.
He hadn’t even taken off his perfectly tailored coat, as if the very act of settling in might imply a shred of empathy.
“The deadline is firm,” he said, like he hadn’t just delivered a gut punch. “Two weeks from today. If the ranch can’t show tangible progress toward debt repayment or sustainable revenue generation, we’ll initiate proceedings to sell.”
Sell. Just like that. A single, brutal word that felt like it could erase generations of history, rip the heart out of this land.
I swallowed. “What exactly do you mean by ‘tangible progress’?”
He tapped his clipboard with a perfectly trimmed fingernail. “Fundraising efforts. Proof of operational improvements. Community involvement is a plus, if measurable. But emotional attachment doesn’t keep creditors at bay, Ms. Henderson.”
He glanced down at his clipboard again. “Also, you’re three months behind on the loan. If you want any hope of keeping the ranch, the payments must be brought current immediately. And going forward, they must be made on time. There won’t be any more grace periods.”
Max stood beside me, arms crossed over his chest, a silent, formidable presence. He’d been silent the whole time, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the floor as if trying to bore a hole through it with sheer force of will. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or defeated, or perhaps just calculating the impossible odds. Maybe all three.
“I understand,” I said. My voice sounded thinner than I wanted, but steady.
Mr. Hollings nodded once, clipped and clinical. “Good day, then.”
He turned on his polished heel and walked out like he’d just wrapped up a dentist appointment, not upended someone’s life. The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence fell.
Duke let out a low whine from the corner, as if even he knew this was bad.
