I didn’t return the gesture.
“You gonna stand there glaring, or are you gonna show me where you keep the good coffee?” he teased.
I motioned toward the house. “Coffee’s in the kitchen. Strong and bitter. Like your sense of timing.”
Ethan winced playfully, but followed. Once inside, he set his guitar case down near the fireplace like it belonged there.
“I heard what’s going on,” he said, finally serious. “Sarah filled me in. Thought maybe I could help.”
I leaned against the counter, skepticism heavy in my chest. I'd fought for this ranch alone. Outside help, especiallythiskind of help, felt like a concession. “With a concert.”
“Yeah. A benefit concert. Ticket sales, donations, press coverage. I called in a few favors—radio, local TV. The news is already buzzing. We’ve sold over 300 pre-sale tickets in the last two hours.”
That made me blink. “Three hundred?”
“People love a redemption story. A ranch trying to save itself. And I’ve got a pretty big mailing list.” His voice held a hint of genuine regret, a new maturity I hadn’t heard before.
“Ethan...” I exhaled. “Why now?”
He looked down at his boots, scuffed them against the tile. “Because I should’ve come sooner. We used to talk about building a place like this—back when we were broke and thought bull riding was the answer to everything. You made it real, Max. I bailed. Figured I owed you one.”
“I didn’t ask for charity.” My voice was firm, resisting the easy way out.
“It’s not charity. It’s a show. One night. And maybe a little hope.” He met my gaze.
“I’ll cover the cost of the stage, sound equipment, and security. Everything else from ticket sales and donations goes to the ranch. I even lined up a few local vendors to set up merch and food booths. It’ll feel like an event.”
“I appreciate it. Really.”
“But?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“But this isn’t just about putting on a show. It’s about this place. The people who live and work here. I don’t want a publicity stunt.”
“You’ll get authenticity,” he said. “And hopefully a miracle.” I saw a flash of understanding in his eyes, an acknowledgment of the ranch’s soul.
I nodded slowly, the unfamiliar weight of genuine hope settling on my shoulders. “We could use one.”
Outside, the ranch buzzed with activity, but now there was a new hum in the air—something electric. Hope, maybe. Excitement. The cheerful chatter, the distant hammering on the stage, the sudden energy of possibility.
Ethan followed me out onto the porch, his gaze sweeping across the fields. “You remember that Christmas we strung lights on the barn and nearly fell off the roof?”
“You screamed like a girl when the owl flew out of the rafters.”
He laughed. “Still afraid of birds.”
We stood there for a minute in silence, watching the sun begin to set.
“You think she’s gonna take the offer?” he asked quietly.
“Ella?” I asked, my chest tightening at her name.
He nodded. “She looks good here. Settled.”
A wave of truth washed over me. Shewassettled. She made this place vibrant, made it feel like home, like it could truly survive. “She makes this place better. Makes me better.” The admission felt heavy, significant, spoken aloud only to Ethan.
Ethan looked over at me, his eyes more serious than I’d seen in a long time. “Then tell her.” He slapped my shoulder again, a firm, knowing push. “Start with thank you. And maybe don’t wait until she’s packing.”
As we stood there, the porch light flicked on automatically, bathing everything in a soft glow. Somewhere behind the barn, kids were laughing. The Christmas Eve festival might just have a fighting chance.
