"A life that wasn't here," he finishes quietly.
"Don'tdo that."
“I just need the truth, Hazel." He steps closer. "I need to know if you're going to disappear again."
My chest tightens. "I'm here now. I'm asking for your help instead of running."
"For four weeks."
"For as long as it takes."
"Until Denver calls." He watches me. "You haven't quit that job, have you."
It's not a question.
I look away.
"That's what I thought," he says quietly.
Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
"You can't do this halfway," he says finally. "You can't set something in motion and then disappear. Mae needs someone who'll be here. Not someone counting down days until they can leave."
The words land harder than I expect.
"I'm trying—"
"I know you are." His voice softens slightly. "But trying isn't the same as committing."
I swallow hard.
Eli is quiet for a long moment. I can see him weighing it—my offer to help against my refusal to promise anything.
"Four weeks," he says finally. "We train the colt. Get Addie ready. You do what you came here to do."
Relief floods through me.
"But," he continues, and the word cuts sharp, "you're going to have to choose. For real this time."
"I know—"
"Do you?" He holds my gaze. "Because once we start this, once we bring clients back and get Addie competing, this ranch needs someone committed. Not someone with one foot out the door."
The weight of that settles in my chest.
"After the Fall Classic," he says. "Four weeks from now. That's when you decide. You tell me—and Mae—if you're staying or going. Face to face. No more 'maybe' or 'I'll figure it out.'"
A deadline.
He's giving me a deadline.
"Okay," I say quietly.
"Okay?"
"I'll decide. Before I leave for Denver. I promise."
He studies me like he's trying to decide if that promise means anything.
