“Don’t worry about it. I’m handling it.” She pocketed her phone. “I turned off comments on our socials, blocked the fan accounts that tagged us, and drafted a statement for the website. Short and professional: ‘Gracen Ranch values the privacy of all guests and staff. We have no comment on personal matters.’ Wanted your approval before I posted.”
I set down the supplement bucket. She’d been out there all morning taking calls and blocking accounts and managing the fallout while I’d been in here hiding with the horses and my bruised pride.
“Thank you,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I wanted. “Seriously, Denise. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d figure it out.” She shrugged. “You always do. But you don’t have to, because I’m here.”
I nodded. Swallowed hard. Moved on before the gratitude could crack me open.
“His team is staying through the booking,” I said. “I already told him.”
“You talked to him?”
“He came to my cabin this morning. I told him his group stays, but he and I are done. Guest and owner. Period.”
Denise watched me for a moment. “Smart. Keep the income, keep the routine.” She paused. “Want me to be the go-between? I can handle all communication with them so you don’t have to deal with him directly.”
“Yes.” The word came out too fast, too relieved. “Please.”
“Done.” She pulled her phone out again. “One more thing. That Ridgeline Supply invoice finally came. The fencing materials.”
“How much?”
“Twelve even.”
I frowned. “The quote was eighty-five hundred.”
“Rush surcharge plus extra hardware, they say. I’ll call them today. They need to itemize the invoice.” She was already putting the phone away, already moving past it. “Don’t worry about it.”
Twelve thousand dollars. Thirty-five hundred over budget, on top of the feed increase, on top of the insurance premium due next month.
“The Rousseau’s are coming next month. Their deposit,” I said. “Did that ever come through?”
“Still processing. Their bank’s being slow.” She waved a hand. “I’ve got a follow-up scheduled.”
I opened my mouth to push. Then closed it.
Because Denise was the person who’d spent her morning handling Beth Whelan and Pete and Linda and the gossip site and the fan accounts. Denise was the one who’d drafted the statement and blocked the trolls and driven out here to check on me. Questioning the one person actually helping felt like biting the hand that was holding me together.
“Okay,” I said. “Let me know what Ridgeline says.”
“Always do.” She hopped off the grain bin and brushed off her jeans. “You focus on the horses. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Thanks. Really.”
She smiled. Warm and easy.
I watched her walk back to her car, and a faint unease pricked at me. The invoice. The deposit that hadn’t cleared.
I shook it off. Went back to work.
I was measuringout the last of the vitamin supplements when Hank’s voice crackled over the walkie.
“Rose. Fence rail down in the north pasture. Brutus pushed through. He’s loose.”
My stomach dropped. The north pasture bordered the county road.
I grabbed a halter and a lead rope and ran.
