I wipe my hands on my jeans. Hesitate. The moment stretches, waiting for me to either speak or let it pass.
"I've been thinking about the boarding program," I say finally. "What my dad had going before."
Eli's attention sharpens, his posture changing in a way I recognize immediately. "Yeah?"
"We could bring some of that back. Training. Boarding." I push on before doubt can catch up. "Get this colt ready and have Addie show him at the Fall Classic."
He stills.
“He’s good. You know he is.” The words come faster now, momentum building. “If we can show the progress—prove what we can do with a horse like him—it brings attention back to the ranch. Clients. Income that isn’t just cattle.”
Eli stays quiet. Too quiet.
"I've been looking at the numbers," I continue. "The years before things started slipping. That side of the ranch kept things afloat even when cattle prices dipped. Even when repairs stacked up."
I meet his eyes now, tentative but steady. "If we could build a reputation again—"
"How long are you planning to stick around for this?"
The words land heavier than I expect, cutting straight through the momentum I've built.
"That's unfair," I say, too quickly.
He straightens, jaw setting. "It's a legitimate question."
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
"For how long?" Eli steps closer, the careful restraint he's held cracking just enough to let the truth through. "A month? Two? Until your boss calls one more time and you realize you miss the city?"
"That's not—"
"You don't get to breeze back in here like you didn't take off," he says. "Like you didn't leave all of this behind."
The barn feels smaller suddenly, the space between us filled with everything we haven't touched yet.
"You don't know what it was like," I say, quieter now but holding my ground. "Being here after he died. Everywhere I looked—"
"I know exactly what it was like." His voice is rough now, raw. "I was here too, Hazel. I stayed."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"You think I didn't grieve him?" Eli continues. "You think watching you fall apart didn't gut me? You think I wouldn't have done anything to make it easier for you?"
"I didn't ask you to—"
"No. You didn't ask for anything. You just left." He looks at me then, really looks at me, eyes dark with something that's been waiting a long time to be said. "Do you have any idea what the last five years have been like? Holding this place together on my own? Watching Mae try to pretend everything was fine when it wasn't?"
"I know I hurt you—"
"You're not the only one who lost your dad."
The words sit between us.
He looks away first. Jaw tight. Something working behind his eyes that isn't anger.
"I taught myself not to think about him," he says, quieter now. "Because every time I did, I'd think about you too. And that was worse."
My chest tightens. "I understand how I left was wrong."
