She smiled, “There’s always more.”
Leaning back in my chair, I let out a long breath that was equal parts exasperation and gratitude. “Then I guess I’d better pace myself,” I said, picking up my pen and glancing back at the whiteboard. “Let’s see what else today has planned for us.”
Lena laughed under her breath as I turned back to the day’s schedule, already running through adjustments in my head. Out here, the problems never stopped coming. Every name on that board, every kid, every horse, every sunrise, it all reminded me that I was exactly where I wanted to be.
My mind wanders back to the day when I realized that I wasn’t quite over my head in ranch business, but if I didn’t get help I would be, and the first person that came to mind was Lena. I grabbed my cell phone and stared at the screen for a long moment before dialing her number. The name that had been sitting at the edge of my thoughts all week was already in my favorites.
Lena answered on the second ring. “Delta Whitmore,” she said, her voice warm and familiar. “Tell me you’re calling to invite me on vacation.”
I laughed, leaning back in my chair. “Not this time. I’m calling because I need help.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “What kind of help? The kind that needs spreadsheets or the kind that needs bail money?”
“Spreadsheets,” I said with a smile. “And a new view.”
There was a pause. “How new?”
“Wyoming. Copper Ridge.”
I could almost hear her sit up straighter on the other end. “You serious?”
“As serious as a heart attack,” I said. “The ranch is thriving, Lena. Everything’s working the way it should. But the programs I want to launch here, equine therapy, youth outreach, and agricultural education, are more than I can handle. I can run the vision, but I can’t run the numbers and the logistics alone. You’re the only person I trust to make sure it happens right.”
She was thoughtful for a moment. “You really know how to make a girl reevaluate her plans,” she said at last.
I sipped my tea and let the silence stretch. “You’re the best, Lena. If I’m going to build this next part of my life, I want you in it.”
She let out a soft laugh. “You don’t even have to sell it, Delta. Give me two weeks to wrap things up here, and I’ll be there, but I’m telling you now, I’m not mucking stalls.”
Relief spread through me like warmth. “Noted,” I said, smiling. “You handle the books, I’ll handle the shit.”
True to her word, two weeks later Lena arrived with two suitcases, a laptop, and a planner so organized it made me tired just looking at it. She stepped into the office I’d been cobbling together and gave me a look that said she was already three steps ahead of me. “We’re going to make this work,” she said, setting her things down. And from that moment on, she did.
The desk phone rings, bringing me back to reality with its sharp tone cutting through the easy rhythm of our conversation. Lena moved before I did, leaning over the desk so quickly that I barely had time to glance at the caller ID myself. She squinted at the display, her brow lifting with interest as she straightened.
“Silver Creek Ranch,” she said, curiosity edging her voice. “You heard of that one?”
I shook my head slowly, setting my mug aside. “Not off the top of my head, but let’s see what they want.”
Without missing a beat, she picked up the receiver, her tone shifting smoothly into business. “Whitmore at Copper Ridge, this is Lena. How can I help you?”
There was a pause while she listened, then she handed me the receiver. “It’s for you, man says his name’s Andy Harvey.”
I took the phone and pressed it to my ear. “This is Delta Whitmore.”
“Ms. Whitmore,” he began, his voice smooth but deliberate. “I’m Andy Harvey. I own Silver Creek Ranch up in South Dakota. I know this call is out of the blue, but I was hoping you could spare a minute.”
“Certainly, Andy, and please call me Delta,” I replied, keeping my tone professional yet welcoming.
“I’m calling about one of my men. His name is Trace Buchanan.” Andy presses on. “He’s a Marine veteran. He’s been on our ranch for a year in a structured therapy program. He shows up early, puts in the work, never complains. But he’s stuck. He’s not getting worse… but he’s not getting better either, not in the way he needs to.”
Across the room Paige’s thumb freezes mid-scroll. Lena goes statue-still beside her, both of them shamelessly eavesdropping on my side of the conversation while pretending they’re not. “My therapy team came to me about him,” Andy continues. “They’ve used every tool they have. Every resource, every therapist, every approach. And they’ve hit the ceiling of what Silver Creek can do for him. They worry that if we send him home… we’re going to lose him. They started researching programs similar to ours, ranch-based therapy, structured work programs, equine environments. Copper Ridge kept coming up, and the more they compared philosophy, methodology, long-term outcomes… well, your program looks like the place that might finally reach him.”
Paige’s eyes flick toward mine. Lena sets her pen down.
“I know you don’t know him,” Andy says quietly. “And I know you don’t know me, but if you have room… I’m asking if you’ll take him. This might be his last chance, a new environment, new structure, new techniques, could be what finally helps him turn the corner.”
I’m already working through logistics in my head: housing, schedule load, Lena’s note earlier about onboarding two new participants next week. It’ll stretch us but it isn’t impossible.
