The air, crisp and cold, was sweetened by the scent of roasting chestnuts and bubbling hot cocoa.
Children, their faces flushed with delight, darted through the crowd with cups of cocoa, their laughter bouncing off the rough-hewn barn walls.
Twinkle lights glowed overhead like constellations, strung between posts and trees, casting a warm halo over the bustlingcrowd. From the enormous tent, Ethan’s voice floated in a low, melodic hum as he tuned his guitar, a prelude to the evening's main event.
Starcrest felt alive—thrumming with purpose, with joy, radiating a defiant warmth into the cold night.
Sarah found me near the hot cider booth, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She pressed a small, handmade ornament into my palm, its paint still tacky. It was a lopsided wooden star with “Starcrest Forever” scrawled in a child’s unsteady handwriting.
I blinked against the sudden sting in my eyes. We’d done it. Somehow, we’d built this out of snowdrifts and prayer, out of a stubborn belief in something bigger than ourselves.
That’s when I saw him.
The man in the dark coat. Clipboard held tight in one hand. Sunglasses, even though the sun had long since slipped below the horizon, cloaking his eyes in shadow.
He stood at the edge of the main path, partially obscured by the shifting crowd, surveying the festival like a hawk sizing up a meal. Calm. Cold. Calculated. His presence was a stark, jarring contrast to the warmth and light around him.
My stomach turned. “He’s back,” I muttered, already heading toward him, a surge of protective anger hardening my jaw.
Ella caught up, falling into step beside me, her gaze fixed on the approaching figure. Her chin lifted in quiet defiance, her shoulders squared.
She didn’t have to say a word—her presence was a silent declaration that we were in this together, facing down whatever came our way.
The man met us halfway, his smile thin and devoid of warmth. “Mr. Walker. Ms. Henderson.” He spoke our names like a legal formality.
I kept my tone neutral, a brittle calm. “Enjoying the festival?”
“Oh, it’s charming,” he said, scanning the festive booths and the joyful crowd with a dismissive sweep of his hand. His gaze lingered on the old barn. “But we both know charm doesn’t pay off a mortgage, does it? Or cover escalating legal fees.”
I crossed my arms, feeling Ella stiffen beside me. “We’ve got plans to handle that.”
He held up the clipboard, tapping a finger against a sheaf of papers. “I’m sure you’ve heard—Ms. Henderson’s inheritance is still under review.
The land’s claim is shaky, at best. And from a safety standpoint—power outages, unstable structures, a hastily erected tent in a blizzard—this place is a clear liability. A lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Funny,” Ella said tightly, her voice laced with ice. “None of that seemed to matter to your firm until we started drawing a crowd. Until we startedwinning.”
Just then, Ethan stepped down from the glowing stage inside the tent and crossed the snow-dusted path to join us, his guitar still slung over his shoulder.
He was flanked by a growing cluster of townsfolk who had clearly caught wind of what was happening, their expressions shifting from festive cheer to quiet concern.
“Everything okay here?” Ethan asked, his voice cool and even, but with an underlying steel.
The man gave Ethan a dismissive once-over. “And you are?”
“Ethan James.” He didn’t need to say more. Recognition flickered across the man’s face, a momentary crack in his composed facade. The name carried weight, even out here.
“Country star turned festival mascot?” the man sneered, recovering quickly, a smirk twisting his lips.
Ethan ignored the jab. His gaze fixed on the man, unwavering. “I believe you’re trespassing. We’re holding a private event.”
By now, a significant crowd had gathered. Sarah stood at the front, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. Jerry and Clint werethere, their faces grim. Volunteers, neighbors, kids in elf hats—a unified front of defiance.
Mrs. Dobbins, of all people, the same woman who had dismissed the ranch’s future, stepped forward, her voice surprisingly strong. “We’re standing with Starcrest. This land is our home too.”
A chant started low and slow, led by Sarah, her voice resonating with conviction. “Stand with Starcrest. Stand with Starcrest.”
It built, picking up momentum, until it echoed off the barn walls, a powerful wave of sound. The man looked around, his cold composure finally cracking. His lips tightened, a flicker of unease in his eyes as he realized he was deeply outnumbered, and utterly exposed.
