Still, we hadn’t talked. Not really. About us, about what he’d said in the barn before her arrival. The words hung between us like morning fog—present but untouchable.
My phone buzzed on the counter as I started the coffee.
Cassie:So the princess fled the kingdom. Did Beau propose yet or is he still being a coward?
I snorted, typing back with one hand.
Me: He’s fixing fence posts. Very romantic.
Cassie: Make him sweat. It’s good for him. Also I need details ASAP.
I was grinning as I poured my coffee—black, hot, necessary—and stepped onto the porch to watch the sun fully crest the trees.
The peace lasted exactly three minutes.
Gravel crunched. A vehicle was coming up the drive.
My stomach tightened. We weren’t expecting anyone. Pops was at church, and the feed delivery wasn’t until Tuesday.
But the car that rounded the bend wasn’t a delivery truck. It was a silver SUV, practical and polished, with Colorado plates. It pulled up next to my truck, and the engine cut.
The driver’s door opened, and a woman stepped out. Tall. Shoulders back. Moving with the kind of confident grace that didn’t just walk on the ground but owned it.
My coffee mug nearly slipped from my fingers.
“No way,” I breathed.
I vaulted the porch railing—forget the steps—and sprinted across the yard. “Elise!”
She turned just in time to catch me, laughing as I slammed into her. She smelled like expensive shampoo and mountain air, but underneath that, she smelled like family. Like safety.
“Oof! Easy, tiger!” She squeezed me back, rocking us side to side. “You trying to break my ribs before I even unpack?”
“You’re early!” I pulled back, grinning so hard my face hurt. “You said two weeks! I haven’t even cleaned the guest room properly!”
“Please. I grew up in this house; I know where the clean sheets are.” She held me at arm’s length, her hazel eyes scanning my face with a terrifying level of perception. “Look at you. You look… tired, Winnie. But strong. God, you look just like Nana.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I missed you.”
Elise had changed in the three years since she’d been back. Her hair was a sharp, chic bob now, and her clothes were city-quality—fitted dark denim, a cashmere sweater, boots that cost money. But her hands were still Jameson hands, capable and strong. She was the one who got out. The one who traded muddy boots for a corner office in Denver tech. But she never looked down on us for staying.
“I missed you too, kid.” She grabbed her duffel bag. “Pops mentioned Regionals on the phone. I looked at my calendar, saw a bunch of meetings that could be emails, and decided my niece needed a spotter more than a software company needed a COO.”
“You skipped work for me?”
“I’m the boss. I do what I want.” She winked. “Now, feed me. I’ve been dreaming about biscuits for three hundred miles.”
We moved into the kitchen, falling into an easy rhythm. I prepped breakfast—ham, eggs, the biscuits I’d set to rise earlier—while Elise sat at the counter, watching me with that sharp, analytical gaze.
“So,” she said, wrapping her hands around a mug. “Catch me up. Real talk. Pops says his knee is ‘fine,’ which means it’s terrible. He says the ranch is ‘steady,’ which means… what?”
I hesitated, flipping the eggs. I wanted to lie. I wanted to be the capable ranch manager who had it all under control. But Elise was the one who taught me how to balance a checkbook when I was twelve. She would smell a lie before it left my mouth.
“It’s tight,” I admitted, staring at the skillet. “Feed prices are up. The drought killed the first hay cutting. And…”
“And?”
“And I had to replace the well pump last month. And pay the property tax penalty.” I turned to face her, leaning against the counter. “I’m moving money around, Elise. But the math isn’t mathing right now. If I don’t place at Regionals…”
