Page 74 of Lost in the Reins

I glance at Jake, who’s gone still. His jaw ticks, but he stays quiet.

“So that’s the pitch?” I ask. “Tear down generations of work and sell it to tourists?”

The developer shifts, sensing the mood turning. “Mr. Montgomery, I understand this is personal for you. But progress?—”

I step in close, and for the first time, his confidence wavers. “This isn’t progress,” I say low. “It’s erasure.”

The wind picks up, cutting through my jacket, or maybe that’s just the hollow feeling settling in my chest.

The developer exhales, like he’s dealing with someone too stubborn to see reason. “I know this is hard for you. But think about what this money could do for your family.”

I clench my teeth.

“Your niece,” he continues, voice gentle now, like he’s the reasonable one. “This is her chance at a future without struggle. A real education. Opportunities beyond this place.” He gestures to the land like it’s nothing but dirt. “And you? You could start over. No more fighting uphill battles. No more sinking money into something that isn’t sustainable. Isn’t it time to let go?”

My stomach twists.

Because isn’t that what I’ve been telling myself for months? That this fight is killing me? That maybe I don’t have it in me anymore?

I rake a hand through my hair, staring past him at the land that raised me. The fences I’ve mended a hundred times, the fields where Emma learned to ride, where Sarah and I used to chase fireflies when we were kids. I see my father’s hands on a plow, my grandfather’s silhouette against a setting sun, Emma'ssmall figure wrapped in her mama’s quilt, clutching whatever pieces of home are left.

And I see myself, empty-handed.

The thought of losing this place—of watching it be torn apart, rebuilt into something polished and soulless—makes my chest go tight. But the thought of keeping it? Of waking up every day, knowing I have to scrape and fight just to make ends meet?

I don’t know if I can do it anymore.

I don’t know if I have anything left to give.

The developer watches me, patient, waiting for my resolve to crack.

A ranch like this used to be built on sweat and callouses, on hard-earned know-how. Now it’s all contracts and bottom lines. And maybe I was a fool to think I could hold on to something that the world doesn’t make room for anymore.

Jake shifts beside me. Colt crosses his arms. They’re waiting, too. But I don’t know what they expect.

Do I fight for this land? For Emma? For some version of myself that still believes we can make it?

Or do I sign the papers and walk away before this place takes what little I have left?

The developer shifts, adjusting his expensive watch like time is on his side. “Think it over, Mr. Montgomery. This deal could change everything for you.”

My pulse pounds against my skull. I don’t need to think it over. I need a way out.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Paisley

My phone buzzes with Emma's nightly call. We've been doing this since I left, her voice always slightly muffled like she's hiding under Sarah's quilt while we talk.

"Bernard misunderstood the concept of a sit-in protest," she announces without preamble. "He's been blocking the barn door for three hours because I forgot to refill his water this morning."

I laugh despite the ache in my chest. "Please tell me someone got pictures."

“Colt did his best to negotiate, but you know how Bernard gets when he feels disrespected." She pauses, then adds quieter, "Uncle Wes didn't even smile about it."

The mention of his name is painful. "How is he?"

"Stubborn. Sad." Her voice carries that mix of frustration and worry that no ten-year-old should have to manage. "The developer's coming again tomorrow. The one with the fancy boots who wants to turn everything into tourist cabins."

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