“Which is why your stake will be structured differently,” Mom responded. “Financial investment rather than operational control. A way to stay connected without obligations you can’t fulfill.”
“I can live with that,” Dom smiled.
Then all eyes turned to me.
“Finnegan,” Dad’s voice was carefully neutral. “Your situation is more complicated.”
More complicated—that was one way to put it.
“Before your accident you were pretty clear about wantin’ to get out of here, build something outside the ranch. That was the right choice for you then. But circumstances change. People change. If you want a role in ranch operations now, there’s a place for you.”
I stared at the papers in front of me—detailed plans for a future that had been mapped out while I was learning to walk again without stumbling, judging distance by shadows, fighting a war with my brain—while I was only beginning to discover all the ways my body had decided to betray me.
“And if I don’t?” I swallowed.
“Then you don’t,” Mom said simply. “You can have a stake likeDom’s. Finn, we want you to be happy. Whatever that looks like.”
The unconditional acceptance in her voice made my throat tight. They were offering me a safety net, a place to land—a future that didn’t require me to prove my worth through skills I didn’t have anymore.
But it was also the safe choice. The protected choice. The choice that said I didn’t need to build something for myself—I’d know what the next forty or fifty years looked like.
Suffocating. But safe.
“I need to think on it,” I responded finally.
“Of course you do,” Dad replied. “No rush. Take all the time you need.”
He moved through the legal specifics for all of us—trust structures, financial arrangements, tax implications. Exhaustive plans that had kept the ranch profitable for over a century. I participated where needed, signed documents that kept my options open, but my mind kept drifting to Alex.
Alex, who’d built something from nothing—taken risks and made it work through her talent, sheer determination, and stubbornness. Who brushed aside every expectation in deference to the life she wanted. Who’d never had the luxury of a family safety net or the option to retreat when things got complicated.
What would she think of me taking the easy path? Of choosing comfort over challenge? Safety over the unknown?
What would I think of myself?
By evening, the paperwork was complete and filed away. Claire disappeared with Sarah to sleep off their road trip, and the rest of the family scattered to various activities. I found myself on the front porch again, watching the sun sink toward the mountains and trying not to check my phone for messages that weren’t coming.
Dom appeared beside me with a couple of beers and anexpression that meant he’d been observing and thinking.
“You’ve been checking that thing all day,” he nodded toward my phone in my hand before settling into the rocking chair beside mine and offering me a bottle. “Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever’s eating at you. You’ve been distracted since you got here.”
I accepted the beer and took a long pull while I gathered my thoughts.
“Alex has been…” I paused, unsure how to explain. “Distant since I left. Short texts, no real conversation. Like she’s checked out or glad to be rid of me or something.”
“Maybe she’s just busy.”
“Maybe,” I took another sip of beer—the hoppy bitterness I’d not tasted in a long time familiar and grounding. “Or maybe she figured out this whole thing was a mistake.”
Dom was quiet for a moment, studying my profile in the fading light. “You know, for what it’s worth, I think she’s good for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’ve been better since you started spending time with her. More like yourself, if that makes sense.”
