I turned to Max. “Two weeks.”
His gaze met mine. “He’s serious.”
“No kidding.” I pulled my coat tighter around me and stepped out onto the porch, the cold hitting my face like a slap.
My eyes burned, a hot, prickling sensation, but I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. No time for that. Not now. Not ever, if I could help it.
I stared out at the ranch, the vast, snow-covered expanse that felt both fragile and fiercely resilient. The faint shimmer of lights we’d painstakingly hung yesterday blinked defiantly while the porch railing still smelled faintly of pine where we’d tied fresh garland, a small, stubborn beacon of hope.
A deadline wasn’t the end of the world. It was a gauntlet thrown down, a challenge I was surprisingly ready to meet. And I’d been underestimated before, dismissed as a 'city girl' who wouldn't last. They were about to find out how wrong they were.
I thought of my mother—her fierce determination and the way she never backed down from anything. That memory steeled me.
I turned back inside, grabbed my notebook from the kitchen table, and started scribbling. Lights. Music. Vendor booths. Activities for kids. Hayrides. Bonfire. Hot cocoa. Maybe a raffle. No—definitely a raffle. People loved raffles.
Max hovered in the doorway. “You really think a Christmas festival’s gonna change anything?”
I looked up. “Yes.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“If we give people something worth coming for,” I said, flipping a page, “they’ll show up. They’ll donate. They’ll care. And if the town rallies behind us, the bank has to take that into account.”
Max didn’t say anything, but he didn’t leave either. Just stood there watching me like I was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
I rose from my chair, grabbed my coat again, and opened the door. “Let’s go talk to the crew.”
We walked out together, as we made our way to the barn where Clint, Jerry, and their boys were patching a gate. I gathered them together.
They all paused, turning toward me with guarded expressions.
“We just got a visit from the bank,” I said. “We’ve got two weeks to prove this place is worth saving. And I know we’re tired, and it’s cold, and it might feel like the odds are stacked against us, but I believe in this ranch. I believe in the people who’ve built it, and I believe in what it still can be.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, my voice gaining strength with every word. “We’re hosting a Christmas Eve festival,” I declared, looking each man in the eye. “It’s going to be the biggest, brightest, most unforgettable thing this town’s ever seen. It has to be. And I can’t do it without you. Starcrest can’t do it without you.”
Silence.
Then Clint spoke up, his gaze steady. “My wife’s already bakin’,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “Says she’s not lettin’ the bank steal Starcrest without a fight. Not if she can help it.”
Jerry nodded, his own expression grim but determined. “I got a cousin with a hot cocoa stand back in Abilene. Bet she’d come down, she makes a mean cup.”
Max looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “That’s... ambitious.”
“I know.”
He actually laughed—a short, low sound, but real.
Later that night, I curled up on the living room sofa with a cup of tea and my growing to-do list. I’d scribbled page after page of plans, but somehow it still felt like trying to dam a river with duct tape and wishful thinking.
The fire crackled softly, Duke snoring beside me, and Max still out in the barn doing God-knows-what.
I rested my head back and stared at the ceiling.
Was this enough?
Would it ever be?
Outside, snow drifted against the windows like stars falling sideways. Inside, the ranch felt just a little warmer. A little more alive.
