Page 69 of Lost in the Reins

"No." She cuts me off with an authority that would make Martha proud. “You don’t get to decide everything for everyone. That’s not how family works.”

And maybe that’s the real truth I’ve been avoiding—that somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten what family really means. It's not just about protection or responsibility. It's about building something together, even when you're scared it might fall apart.

Through the window, I catch sight of Paisley in the yard, her golden hair catching the morning light as she helps Jake with the morning feed. She moves with the easy confidence of someone who belongs here, who's learned our rhythms and has made them her own.

Emma follows my gaze, something knowing in her expression. "She fits here," she says softly. "Like Mom always said some people would."

"She does fit here," I admit, the words tasting like ash. "That's what makes this harder."

"Then why?—"

"Because fitting isn't always enough." I stand, needing distance from the accusation in her eyes. "The bank papers are signed, Emma. The land's being divided up next week. Holding on to something that's already gone just makes the losing hurt more."

"Like Mom?" Her voice cracks on the word.

The comparison hits like a physical blow. "That's different."

"Is it?" She clutches Sarah's quilt tighter. "You couldn't save Mom, so now you won't even try to save anything else? You're just giving up?"

"I'm being realistic." The words come out harder than intended. "The ranch is done, Emma. No amount of tourist programs or New York connections can change that. And Paisley..." I swallow hard. "She deserves better than a man who's lost everything his family spent generations building."

"But she doesn't want better!" Emma's voice rises, fierce through her tears. "She wants us! This! Even the stupid parts with Bernard being dramatic and Kevin judging everyone and you being too stubborn to see what's right in front of you!"

"What's right in front of me is reality." I move to the window, watching Paisley laugh at something Jake's saying. The sound carries faintly through the glass, making my chest ache. "And reality is, I signed those papers. The ranch is going on the market. Letting Paisley stay, letting her give up everything she's built for a failing rancher and a piece of land that's not even mine anymore... that's not love. That's selfishness."

"You're wrong." Emma's voice goes quiet, determined in a way that reminds me so much of Sarah it hurts. "Love is letting people choose for themselves. That's what Mom always said."

"Your mom..." I have to clear my throat. "Sarah didn't get a choice. About leaving. About any of it. And maybe that's why this is important—making sure you understand that sometimes the hardest choices are the ones we have to make, not the ones we want to."

"I hate you." The words come out small, broken. Not angry, just... defeated.

"I know." I turn back to her, taking in how young she looks wrapped in Sarah's quilt, how much loss those small shoulders have already carried. "And that's okay. Sometimes loving someone means letting them hate you for a while."

She curls in on herself, Trouble pressing closer like he can shield her from more hurt. "She was going to teach me to ride Athena. And help with my book report. And..." A sob catches inher throat. "She makes you smile. Like Mom used to make Dad smile."

And there it is, the truth that cuts deeper than bank notices or lost land. Because Paisley doesn't just fit here. She makes this broken piece of our lives feel whole again. Makes me remember how to smile, how to hope, how to believe in something bigger than duty and responsibility.

Which is exactly why I have to let her go.

"I'm sorry, Em." The words feel inadequate against the weight of what we're both losing. "Sometimes being the adult means making the hard choices."

"Being an adult sucks," she mutters into the quilt.

"Yeah." I look back out the window, but Paisley and Jake have disappeared into the barn. Already, the space where she stood feels emptier, like the ranch is practicing for her absence. "Yeah, it does."

"What about Christmas?" Emma's voice is small but steady now, like she's gathering strength for one last fight. "She promised to help me make Mom's sugar cookies. Said she had the perfect frosting recipe."

"Emma—"

"And the cats," she continues, that fierce Montgomery determination bleeding through her grief. "She knows all their personalities. Trouble won't even let anyone else brush him. And she was going to help me teach Kevin that new trick, and..." Her voice catches. "She makes everything feel like home again."

"Stop." The word comes out sharper than intended, but I can't let her build hope from ashes. "The papers are signed. The land's being surveyed next week."

"You're not even trying!" She throws off Sarah's quilt, standing with her small fists clenched. "You're just letting everything slip away because you're too scared to fight!"

"I have been fighting!" The words explode out of me, rougher than I mean them to be. "Every day, every hour, trying to keep this place alive. Working dawn to dark, juggling bills, watching the numbers get worse no matter what I do. You think I want to lose the ranch? The only home you've got left? You think this is easy?"

She steps back, startled by my outburst, and shame floods through me. "Em, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have?—"

---