“She’s not gonna stick around,” I told Duke, kicking at a frozen clod of dirt.
“She’ll see what this place really is, and she’ll run for the hills. They always do.”Except… she hadn’t yet. And that was the problem.
As I heaved the last of the feed into the bin, my mind wandered to her grandfather—my mentor, my second chance. I could almost hear his voice echoing from the barn rafters, gruff and steady.Hold the line, Max. Even when it gets hard.
He used to talk about the legacy of Starcrest like it was a living thing. Said land remembered kindness and hard work. I wondered what he’d think now. If he’d made a mistake leaving it to her. Or if I was the one screwing it up, failing him and Starcrest in the process.
By the time I was done stacking frozen feed bags, the morning had settled into a dull gray hush. I gave Duke a quick pat and climbed into the truck, more out of habit than anything else.
It wasn’t until I hit the edge of town that I realized I was driving to the bakery.
***
The scent of cinnamon rolls and warm bread hit me like a memory the second I stepped inside Clarkson’s Bakery. A little bell chimed above the door, and Sarah glanced up from behind the counter, her cheeks dusted in flour. Her smile was warm, knowing.
“Well, well. Max Carter before eight o’clock. Must be serious.”
I took off my hat and rubbed the back of my neck. “Just need something hot. And strong.”
“You want coffee, go to Hank’s. If you want comfort, you came to the right place.” She handed me a steaming mug and slid a plate of cinnamon twists my way. “Rough morning?”
I shrugged, then added under my breath, “She’s already rearranging furniture.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Ella?”
I didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
“She seems sweet. Smart, too. Not afraid to get her boots dirty.”
“Boots are still too clean,” I said, sipping my coffee.
Sarah chuckled and leaned on the counter. “You know, your face is gonna stick like that if you keep scowling at everyone.”
“I’m not scowling.”
“You’re always scowling.”
I shook my head, but the corner of my mouth twitched. “It’s just… this place was supposed to go to someone who cared about it.”
“She might,” Sarah said gently. “Give her a chance.”
I didn’t reply. Not because I disagreed, but because I wasn’t sure how much time we had for second chances.
She poured me a refill and dropped her voice. “You’re not still trying to carry all this alone, are you?”
I gave her a sidelong look. “Who else is gonna do it?”
Sarah’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to burn yourself down to keep Starcrest warm, Max.”
Before I could answer, the front door opened and a couple of ranch hands from out near Crystal Bend walked in, stomping snow off their boots and chatting about cattle feed and road closures. One of them—Steve—lowered his voice, and my ears perked up.
“...developer’s already sniffing around the Henderson place. Word is if it folds, they’ll buy it up and start pouring concrete before the frost thaws.”
I stiffened, my hand freezing around the warm mug. The casual cruelty of their words, spoken over a pastry case, struck me harder than any formal notice.
“They already bought out that old spread down near Silverton,” the other added. “Next up’s Starcrest, if it goes under.”
My grip on the coffee mug tightened.
