"Stay out of it, Chace," Eli snaps, rounding on him. " You and Shae, acting like she didn't ghost all of us. Like it's fine that she just gets to walk back in—"
"That's not what we're doing," Chace says, voice low and careful.
"Isn't it?" Eli's laugh is bitter. "She left. And now I'm the asshole for being the only one who won't pretend it didn't happen."
Shae's hand tightens on her beer bottle, but she stays quiet.
Eli looks back at me, and something in his expression shifts—closes off, like a door slamming shut.
"Talk to your aunt," he says again, quieter this time but no less final. "Ask her about Cole's offers. Ask her how many times he's come around trying to buy the place. Ask her why she's been lying to you every week for five years." He pauses, jaw working. "If you're still here long enough to care."
Then he turns and walks away, shoulders rigid, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.
I stand there, heart hammering, chest tight like I've taken a blow I never saw coming.
Addie stares after him, stricken. "Hazel, I'm so sorry. He didn't mean—"
"Yes, he did," I say softly.
And the worst part is, he's right.
Because for the first time since I came home, the truth settles in—heavy and undeniable and impossible to ignore.
This isn't just about me leaving. It's about what I left behind. And what someone else has been waiting to take.
Chapter seven
Hazel
I'm already mucking stalls when the sun finally clears the ridge.
The barn smells like damp earth and hay and animals that don't care what kind of night I had. Steam rises faintly from the bedding as I work, pitchfork scraping, boots sinking into packed dirt that remembers every step taken before mine. My shoulders ache in a way that feels earned, not alarming.
Familiar. Good.
I spent too many mornings in the city waking to silence that wasn't real—walls too clean, nothing that needed me. This is different. This is honest work with immediate results. I lift another forkful and toss it into the wheelbarrow, muscles protesting but obeying. My body knows this even if my head is still catching up.
Mae was asleep when I came in from the rodeo. Fully out, door cracked, lamp off. I stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching her chest rise and fall, listening to the quiet of the house settle back into place. I didn't wake her. Whatever conversation we need to have could wait until morning.
Except this morning, she's already gone.
I noticed when I padded into the kitchen earlier. The coffeepot cold. Mae's mug missing from its hook. A note on the counter in her looping handwriting.
Town. Back later.
So much for talking to her about Cole right away.
I adjust my grip and shove the wheelbarrow forward, jaw tightening as the weight shifts. My throat feels dry no matter how much water I drink. Dust clings to my skin, settling into the creases of my hands, the line of my wrist. My body carries a low, persistent soreness—not sharp, just there. Like a reminder.
I welcome it. It's easier to focus on physical aches than everything else.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I ignore it. It buzzes again. Then a third time. I tip the wheelbarrow at the far end of the aisle and wipe my forearm across my brow. Sunlight filters in through the slats, striping the floor in pale gold. My phone vibrates once more, a longer buzz this time. A call. I pull it out, glance at the screen. Lauren, my boss. I silence it and slip the phone back into my pocket without answering.
I'll deal with Denver when I'm ready. When I figure out what to tell them.
I work through the stalls methodically, falling into the rhythm I grew up with. Clean. Turn. Replace. Move on. It feels good to be useful without explanation, to do something that doesn't ask me to defend my presence or justify my timeline.
I came back to help Mae. That was the plan. Just until her leg healed. But Cole's threat last night shifted something. Mae lied for five years about how bad things are. Eli holding everything together alone. The ranch was bleeding while I built spreadsheets in a glass tower. The problems are bigger than I expected. That's all I know right now.
