Then, almost as if on cue, the local news crew, their camera lights glaring, arrived just in time to catch the entire scene, their microphones thrust forward.
I stepped forward, every nerve buzzing, feeling the collective strength of the community behind me.
“For too long, I thought I had to carry this place alone,” I said, my voice cutting through the rising chant, loud and clear for the reporter’s mic.
“I tried to do it all by myself, and it nearly broke me. But Starcrest isn’t just land. It’s stories. It’s history. It’s family. It’scommunity. And it belongs to all of us who love it, who have poured our lives into it.”
The crowd roared, a defiant affirmation. Even the man looked shaken, his face pale in the flashing camera lights.
He gave a curt nod, his smugness replaced by irritation. “This isn’t over, Mr. Walker. We’ll be in touch.” He turned sharply, his silhouette disappearing into the swirling snow.
“Maybe not,” Ella said, stepping closer to me, her voice ringing with clear resolve. “But we’re not backing down.”
We turned back to the crowd, who erupted in thunderous applause. Music picked back up, lights sparkled brighter, and a palpable sense of defiant hope swelled around us, pushing back against the chilling wind.
Then I spotted him.
Near the hot cocoa station, hands tucked deep in his pockets, stood the bank manager. He wasn't smiling. His gaze, cold and assessing, was fixed on me, then on Ella, then sweeping across the triumphant, unified crowd.
Watching everything.
Chapter 25 - Under the Spotlight
Ella
The air under the tent shimmered with warmth, despite the frost clinging to the canvas walls. Ethan’s voice—rich, familiar, and full of something deeper than performance—soared through the crowd like sunlight after weeks of gray skies.
I stood just offstage, heart pounding as I watched the community sway and cheer, boots tapping against the hay-strewn floor.
Families huddled close, couples slow-danced by the glow of string lights, and children clutched plastic cups of cocoa inmittened hands. The storm had kept no one away. If anything, it brought them closer.
Ethan tipped his hat and strummed the last chord. The crowd erupted into applause that felt like a wave crashing through the tent. He looked over at me and nodded, a silent invitation.
“Folks,” he said, his easy smile reaching every corner of the tent, “there’s someone here tonight who deserves all the credit. Someone who came to a broken place and found the strength to make it whole again. Come on up here, Ella.”
My legs locked for a second, my heart hammering against my ribs. I felt like a deer caught in headlights. Then Max appeared beside me, his touch a warm and steady anchor at my elbow. “You’ve got this,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the noise just for me.
I stepped into the light.
The applause dimmed to a hush as I reached the center of the stage, blinking against the glare of cameras and stage lights.
My breath caught. There were hundreds of faces watching—neighbors, ranchers, kids I’d helped find lost mittens, folks who’d brought casseroles and tools and hope.
I swallowed hard. “Hi,” I said, gripping the mic. My voice sounded small at first, so I took a breath and tried again.
“Hi. I—I didn’t grow up here. Some of you probably thought I wouldn’t last a week.” That got a few chuckles.
“But I came because I lost someone. My grandfather. He left me Starcrest Ranch, and at first, I thought I was here just to take care of business.”
I glanced toward Max, who was watching me intently from the side of the stage, his expression a careful mixture of pride and worry that felt like a private conversation just for us.
“But instead, I found something else. I found stories in dusty boxes. Friends in worn-out work gloves. Family in people who never owed me a thing but showed up anyway. This ranch… it’s more than a property line. It’s a promise. Of legacy. Of love. Of second chances.”
I paused, scanning the crowd. “There were days I wanted to give up. Nights I didn’t know if we’d make it. But you all—you reminded me that hope is never foolish. That kindness still has power. That people who barely know you can change your life.”
The applause was soft but sincere, like snowflakes falling.
Ethan stepped up beside me and put a warm hand on my shoulder. “And that,” he said into the mic, “is why we do this.”
