Page 57 of Lost in the Reins

“What are you saying?” I ask, the words barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying I can’t offer you anything worth staying for.” He steps back, creating a space that feels cavernous between us. “Not when I can’t promise this place will be here come spring.”

I reach out, catching his hand before he can go. “I’m not asking for guarantees, Wes. Just...don’t shut me out.”

His gaze drops to our joined hands, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You deserve someone who can give you more than a fight with the bank and a broken-down barn.”

“I’ll decide what I deserve,” I say, my voice firm. “And maybe it’s you.”

His eyes meet mine, conflicted and raw. “I can’t be the reason you give up everything.”

“You’re not.” I take a step closer. “You’re the reason I’m thinking about staying.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but instead, he just pulls me into a quick, fierce hug, his breath warm against my hair. “I need to sort things out. Figure out if I can save this place.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” I insist.

His hands drop away as he steps back, the cold seeping into the space he leaves behind. “I need to do this alone.”

Before I can protest, Martha returns, clipboard in hand, cheerfully unaware of the gravity she’s interrupted.

“Well, look at you two!” she beams. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think there was something going on.”

Wes offers her a polite smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I should get going. Livestock won’t tend to themselves.”

He tips his hat to me, a gesture too formal for the moment. “Take care, Paisley.”

And just like that, he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him. Martha prattles on about decorations and lighting, but I can’t focus on any of it. The room feels emptier, his absence more palpable than his presence ever was.

Outside, the sunlight is harsh, too bright, and I realize I’m still standing there, watching the door like it might bring him back. But it doesn’t. And it won’t.

Reality is relentless, stubborn in its insistence. And yet, somehow, Wes Montgomery has made me believe in something better.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Wes

The kitchen feels smaller than usual. The walls seem to be closing in with each passing second. Jake and Colt sit across from me, their faces grave in the mid-afternoon light as I spread the bank's final notice on the table between us.

"What about selling just the north pasture?" Jake leans forward, jabbing his finger at our property map. "It's good land. It might fetch enough to cover the immediate debts."

"We could split it," Colt adds, his voice carrying that careful optimism he gets when problem-solving. "Maybe sell half now and keep the rest as collateral for a bridge loan."

I shake my head, pulling out Frank's projections. “I already asked. Even if we sold it at a premium, we'd only buy ourselves six months. Maybe eight if we cut expenses to the bone."

"Then we cut expenses." Colt reaches for the projections, his forehead creasing as he studies the numbers. "Scale back the herd, do more repairs ourselves?—"

"We're already doing everything ourselves," I cut in, my frustration bleeding through. "Working dawn to dusk, patching equipment that should've been replaced years ago. There's nothing left to cut."

"What about that new hay supplier out of Helena?" Jake suggests, running a hand through his hair. "The one Tom Wilson mentioned? He said they're offering better rates if you commit to a yearly contract."

I tap the stack of invoices. "Already checked. Their ratesarebetter, but the minimum order would tie up more capital than we've got. And the quality's not guaranteed."

“Ugh.” Jake pushes back from the table, tension radiating from every movement. "What about investors? Martha mentioned her nephew in Denver, the one looking to diversify his portfolio?—"

"And lose control of the place?" The words come out sharper than intended. "Have some city businessman telling us how to run our ranch?"

"Better than losing it entirely," Colt points out softly. "Dad always said pride's the quickest way to lose everything."

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