Page 12 of Lost in the Reins

The truth of it sits heavy in my gut. Sarah had seen it coming—the squeeze on small ranches, the need to adapt. She'd been working on plans to transition part of our operation into experiences for city folks who wanted to play cowboy for a week. The idea still makes me sick to my stomach, but...

"The writer's agent says she can get us coverage in major travel magazines," Jake adds. "Get the word out about authentic ranch experiences. Sarah always said that was the key—authenticity."

I snort. "Because nothing says authentic like teaching tourists how to fall in manure."

"Hey, worked for our romance writer." Colt grins, then sobers. "Look, I know you hate it. But Sarah was right—we can't survive on cattle alone anymore. Not with Emma’s college fund to think about and the medical bills from Sarah and Paul still hanging over us."

He's right. I know he's right. But the idea of turning Whispering Pines into some kind of dude ranch fantasy...

"We're not giving up the cattle," I say finally. "That's non-negotiable."

"Nobody's saying we should." Jake sets his pitchfork aside. "But maybe... maybe we can honor Sarah's memory by following through on her plans. She saw the future of this place more clearly than any of us."

I close my eyes briefly. Sarah would've known how to handle this—how to balance the books, find new buyers, maybe negotiate better rates. But Sarah's gone, and we're left trying to piece together the future of Whispering Pines without her.

"Fine," I say finally, opening my eyes to find my brothers watching me carefully. "We'll look at the tourism angle. But we do it right. No line dancing, no fake cowboy nonsense."

"Agreed." The relief is visible on both their faces.

"Though you might want to warn your writer that authentic doesn't always mean pretty," Jake adds with a smirk.

"She's not my writer," I growl, turning back to the stalls. But I can't help thinking about the way she got right back up after falling, determined despite the tears and manure.

Maybe there's hope for her after all.

"We should probably invest in some spare clothes for the city folks," Colt suggests, practical as always. "Something tells me this won't be the last wardrobe casualty we see."

I just grunt in response. One crisis at a time. Right now, I've got stalls to muck and a ranch to save.

Chapter Six

Paisley

As luck would have it, I rush through the front door of the Montgomery cabin and nearly plow over their ten-year-old niece. Emma stands there in unicorn pajamas, clutching a bowl of cereal and staring at me like I'm some kind of exotic zoo exhibit that's escaped its enclosure.

"What happened to you?" Her eyes grow wide as she takes in my disheveled state.

“I…” I pause, trying—and failing—to maintain some dignity while dripping who-knows-what onto the floor. Tears drip down my cheeks as the heat from my embarrassment tries to dry them up before they can hit the ground.

Immediately, Emma sets her bowl down. “You poor thing! Come with me!”

She leads me up the stairs and through her pink-laced bedroom and shuffles me into her bathroom, where dozens of bubble bath containers line the tub. “Use the shower to get cleaned up.” She offers me a towel from the closet. “And I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

I stand in Emma's bathroom, overwhelmed by the kindness of this tiny human who's treating my meltdown with the careful consideration of someone three times her age. The bubble bathcollection would make Sephora jealous—everything from cotton candy to vanilla cupcake scents, arranged in perfect rainbow order.

"The purple one's my favorite," Emma says, following my gaze. "Mom always said bubble baths could fix anything. Even manure incidents." Her voice catches on the word 'Mom,' but she soldiers on with determined cheerfulness. "But we should stick to the shower for now."

"Probably wise." I try to smile through my tears, which are now more about her lost mother than my lost dignity. "I have to admit, though, cotton candy bubbles sound pretty tempting right now."

"They're better than they smell." She wrinkles her nose. "Which is good, because right now you smell like?—"

"Let's not finish that sentence," I cut in hastily. "My ego's bruised enough without a detailed inventory of my current... fragrance situation."

Emma giggles, the sound pure and bright in the bubble-scented bathroom. "I'll find you some clothes. Cousin Ruby left some things here last time she visited." She pauses, studying me with those eerily perceptive eyes. "She's not as tall as you, but anything's better than..." She gestures vaguely at my ruined outfit.

"Than essence of horse stall?" I suggest, and her giggle turns into a full laugh.

"You're funny," she declares, like she's just solved a particularly tricky math problem. "Most grown-ups try to pretend everything's fine when they mess up. You just..." She waves her hands expressively. "Own it."

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