Page 59 of Lost in the Reins

"This place is her future, too." Jake's voice cracks with emotion. "Her home. Her heritage."

"The numbers don't lie." I tap the stack of papers, each one a nail in our legacy's coffin. "Frank ran every scenario. Between Sarah's medical bills and the operating costs..." I trail off, the words sticking in my throat.

"Remember when Dad got sick?" Colt's voice is soft, thoughtful. "How Sarah refinanced her house to keep the ranch going?"

"And worked two jobs," Jake adds, slumping back into his chair. "Never complained once. Because she believed in this place. She believed in us."

I look around the kitchen, seeing Sarah everywhere—in the coffee stains she could never quite scrub out, in the height marks tracking Emma's growth, in the way afternoon light hits the photos she hung with such care.

"Exactly," Colt agrees, "We need to believe in ourselves, too. And maybe others.”

I know he’s thinking of Paisley—of her ideas for the ranch, her connections, her way of seeing possibility where we see only problems. But bringing her into this mess feels like another kind of betrayal. Because if I let her in, she’d fight for this place just like Sarah did. And when it all fell apart, it would break her, too.

"I'll call Frank." The words feel like surrender. "Get the paperwork started."

Jake stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "And what do we tell Emma? That she's losing her home now, too?"

"We tell her the truth." I meet his eyes, steady despite the ache in my chest. "That sometimes love means knowing when to let go."

"Bull." Jake's voice breaks on the word. "Love means fighting for what matters. Sarah knew that. Why don't you?"

He storms out, the screen door slamming behind him with a finality that echoes through the quiet kitchen.

Colt stays, his presence steady as the mountains outside our window. "You know," he says finally, "there's more than one way to keep a promise."

I look at him, catching the echo of Sarah in his expression—that same quiet wisdom she always had when we were being particularly dense about something obvious.

"The ranch isn't just yours to save," he continues. "Or lose. We're all in this. Together." He pauses, then adds softer, "And maybe some people are worth letting in. Even if you're scared."

My fingers are already dialing Frank's number, even as part of me screams to stop, to find another way, to believe in something bigger than my own fears. Sometimes being responsible means making the hard choices.

Even if those choices break more than just a legacy.

Colt watches me punch in Frank's number, then reaches over and ends the call before it can connect. "Not yet."

"Colt—"

"Just listen." He pulls Sarah's recipe book from the shelf—the one she used to plan every family dinner, every holiday, every celebration. Her handwriting fills the margins with notes about who likes what, which dishes need adjusting for Jake's spice tolerance or Emma's growing appetite. "Remember this?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is, Sarah didn't just leave us memories." He flips through the pages, stopping at her notes about expanding the ranch's income streams. Tourist season projections, event planning ideas, even rough sketches for converting the old bunkhouse. "She left us a blueprint."

"For a future that died with her."

"No." He closes the book carefully. "For a future she knew was coming, whether we were ready or not. She saw it, Wes. The way small ranches would need to adapt. The way holding on to the past too tight might cost us our future."

Through the window, I watch Paisley help Emma with the evening feed. They move together with an easy familiarity that makes my chest ache.

"You're not just pushing Paisley away," Colt says quietly. "You're pushing away everything she represents. Change. Possibility. The future Sarah saw for this place."

"I'm trying to protect?—"

"What? Her? The ranch? Emma?" He shakes his head. "Or maybe you're just protecting yourself from having to believe in something you might lose."

Outside, Paisley catches Emma as she trips, both of them dissolving into laughter. The sound carries through the window, bright and real and everything I'm afraid to want.

"Give me twenty-four hours," Colt says, standing. "Before you call Frank. Before you decide this is the only way." He pauses at the door. "And Wes? Maybe try remembering what Sarah always said about fear."

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