We're not ready. Or maybe we are. Maybe this is exactly what we need.
"Tomorrow works," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
"Perfect. I'll be there at nine."
She hangs up.
I sit in my truck for a long moment, engine idling, phone silent in my lap. An investor. Coming tomorrow to see if we're worth the risk.
This is real.
I need to tell Mae. And Eli.
Something uncertain settles in my stomach—hope and terror in equal measure.
I grab my bag and head for the house.
Chapter twenty-nine
Hazel
The investor is early.
That's the first problem.
I see the truck before I even pull all the way into the drive—dark, polished, definitely not from around here. It's parked too neatly near the barn, angled like someone who's used to being impressed on purpose.
My stomach drops.
I cut the engine and sit there for a second longer than necessary, hands still on the wheel. Mae's words from this morning replay in my head whether I want them to or not.
This has to work, Hazel. We don't get anothershot like this.
I grab Eli’s hat from the seat beside me and shove the door open.
By the time I reach the barn, Addie's already mounted, the colt sidestepping with restless energy beneath her. Eli's checking a cinch, calm as ever, like the entire future of the ranch isn't balanced on how today goes.
The woman by the rail turns when she hears my boots on the gravel. Late forties, maybe. Crisp jeans. Clean boots that haven't seen much dirt. Sharp eyes that miss nothing.
"You must be Hazel Clark," she says, offering her hand. "I'm Renee Whitman."
I shake it, keeping my grip firm. "Glad you made it out. Sorry I wasn't here when you arrived."
"Don't apologize. Your aunt has been wonderful." She gestures toward the pen where Addie's warming up the colt. "And your crew was kind enough to get started without you."
Crew. Like we're a real operation with staff and structure and not held together by hope and early mornings.
"We try to stay efficient," I say, which is true enough.
Renee's gaze drifts past me—to the pen, to the colt, to Eli standing at the rail with his arms crossed. Watching. Assessing.
"I've heard good things," she says. "Enough to drive out early. Red Fern mentioned you might have capacity opening up."
"We do," I say carefully. "We're rebuilding slowly. Making sure we can offer the level of care people expect."
"Smart." Renee turns back to the pen. "Show me what you've got."
Addie swings the colt into motion and everything in me narrows to the rhythm of it. The way the horse listens. The way Addie rides like she belongs there, confident and light. The way Eli watches without interfering, only stepping in when necessary with a word or a gesture.
