Maybe it was the kind of good that pulled her irrevocably farther from here, a future I couldn't offer. I couldn’t afford to lose her help, not with the ranch already bleeding cash, but a deeper, sharper fear was that I couldn't afford to loseher.
When she came back inside, she didn’t say much. Just grabbed her notebook and started scribbling again like she was trying to outrun whatever that message meant.
I didn’t ask. I probably should have. But I already had a sinking suspicion, and I didn’t want to hear it out loud.
***
The morning had started out normal enough. Feed the horses. Check the pump house. Avoid thinking too hard about how close we were to losing everything.
We were halfway through loading the flatbed for a supply run—last-minute lumber, lights, and fencing to shore up for the Christmas Eve festival—when the truck gave a violent sputter, coughed twice, and died. A thin plume of acrid smoke puffed from under the hood.
I let out a curse under my breath and slammed the hood shut. “That’s it. She’s done.” Another damn problem, another drain I couldn’t afford.
Ella looked up from her list. “What happened?”
“Starter’s dead. Could’ve guessed, honestly. Been limping along for weeks.”
“Well,” she said, brushing her hair from her eyes, “you’ve got a second vehicle, don’t you?”
I hesitated.
She raised an eyebrow. “You do have another vehicle, right?”
“My personal truck,” I muttered. “But it’s... not exactly built for supply runs.”
“Does it drive?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’ll work.”
I watched her toss her bag into the passenger seat of my old pickup like she’d lived here her whole life. The truck was reliable, but the cab was small, and the heater worked when it felt like it. Still, it was better than nothing.
The ride into town started quiet, save for the hum of the tires and Duke’s rhythmic panting in the backseat. I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel the question between us like fog on the windshield.
Finally, she broke the silence.
“I got a job offer,” she said. “From one of my old firms in Austin. A big one.”
I nodded slowly, trying not to let anything show. “That what the message was about?”
“Yeah.” She turned to look out the window. “They want an answer by Christmas Eve.”
Figures. The one time she didn't volunteer information, it turned out to be the one thing I did not want to hear.
“You gonna take it?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was softer now. “It’s a lot of money. Security. Something to fall back on.”
“And this place?” I asked, keeping my tone even. “You’d just leave it?”
“I don’t want to,” she said. “But maybe I don’t belong here. Maybe this was never supposed to be mine.”
Just then, I spotted the orange construction sign. The main road into town was closed. Detour, it read. Great.
We turned off onto a narrow back road—less traveled and definitely less paved. The tires crunched on loose gravel, kicking up a fine dust that coated the mesquite branches.
It was the kind of road that rattled your fillings and made you question every nut and bolt holding your truck together.
