“You can’t sell it,” Reid says. “Not for that.”
“No,” Sawyer agrees. “Not for that. Not at all.”
An idea starts to form then. Not one I’d shout about, but one that smolders under my skin. Thomas wants to make us sell on his terms.
Maybe he’s trying to push us into a corner, into panic. Maybe he’s hoping we’ll make a mistake.
I crumple the letter again, this time with purpose. “He thinks if he waves enough cash, the town will let him take what he wants.” I jam the letter back into my pocket. “I’m going for a ride.”
I walk to the tack room, fingers already finding the worn leather of Maxie’s bridle. From her stall nearby, she whickers when she hears me, that impatient, familiar sound settling something in my chest.
I throw the saddle up, cinch it low, and swing into it with the ease of habit. We head out through the back door, the horse moving under me like a second heartbeat, sure and steady, and the world narrows to the rhythm of hooves and breathing.
We cut through the lower pasture, past the sagging fence where I’ve been meaning to replace posts, the heat rising off the grass in waves. The wind is thin, but it does something to my head. Peels the edge off the anger, makes room for thought.
I let Maxie pick her way toward the ridge, ignoring the ache in my shoulders, letting the land answer back in its old, honest way.
From the top, the ranch stretches out like an old map. Patches of brown, the creek slivering silver, the distant lineof pines that means town. My jaw works around the problem, turning it until the shape of it shows.
Thomas isn’t just buying land; he’s trying to buy people. He’s testing us to see who cracks. Whoever he’s hired to nudge fences and spook calves is playing for time, and he’s betting on fear.
I pinch the reins and let Maxie slow, letting the stillness press in. Determination threads through my anger now. Plan what’s next, talk to the bank, trace his buyers, tighten the fences, bring the town in when the time is right.
This isn’t something I handle with fists or accusations. It’s something I handle with proof and patience and stubbornness passed down to me by men who wouldn’t sell the dirt under their boots.
The sun drops a little; the heat loses some of its bite. I feel steadier. I sit up straight and look at the ranch as if I can lay claim to every threat and every solution at once.
Then I nudge Maxie and head back down the slope, the work waiting and the letter burning in my pocket as a reminder.
This fight’s not over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dakota
Pine Valley Trailhas to be one of the most peaceful places on Earth.
I love it here. It’s a great place to sketch. Especially when Charlie is having a great time with Alice so I can justbe.
Just breathe. Just… sketch.
I pull my sketchbook onto my lap, the soft paper grounding me. The sun is warm, the creek is babbling peacefully, and everything feels in perfect harmony. It’s the kind of moment where I can almost forget about everything else.
I’m in my element.
The trees above are dotted with fading green and gold leaves swaying lazily in the breeze. I can already see the lines I want to capture. The way the light filters through the leaves, the way the shadows stretch and twist.
With a deep breath, I dip my pencil to paper and lose myself in the sketch. Everything around me, the creek, the birds, the soft crunch of my boots shifting on the dirt, becomes a gentle background hum to my thoughts.
It’s peaceful. Almost too peaceful. Like I’ve stolen a slice of calm and wrapped it around myself.
But life, as it always does, has a funny way of reminding you it’s still there.
I hear it before I see it. The soft thud of hooves.
Oh, no.
I glance up, and my heart damn near stops beating.
