Page 164 of Saddle and Scent
As we face down Marcus Steele in the middle of the town square, surrounded by a community that's chosen to witness this moment, I feel something settle into place that goes deeper than courage or determination.
I feel the absolute certainty that we're fighting for exactly what matters, with exactly the right people standing beside us.
33
REVELATIONS AND BOUND TOGETHER
~JUNIPER~
The silence that follows my refusal to sell stretches across the town square like a held breath, thick with tension and the weight of an entire community's future hanging in the balance.
Marcus stands at the top of the courthouse steps, his expression cycling through disbelief, calculation, and growing fury as he realizes that his carefully orchestrated pressure campaign isn't producing the capitulation he expected.
For a moment, I think he might actually retreat, might recognize that he's pushed too far and miscalculated the strength of local resistance. But then his face settles into the kind of cold determination I remember from our worst confrontations, and I know he's about to escalate this conflict to a level none of us are prepared for.
"Five million dollars," he announces, his voice carrying across the square with the weight of a gavel striking wood. "That's my highest offer for this entire town. Five million dollars for all the properties, businesses, and land rights necessary to complete my development project."
The number hangs in the air like a physical presence, so large and overwhelming that it seems to suck the oxygen out of the surrounding atmosphere. I can hear sharp intakes of breath from the crowd, see people exchanging glances that speak to the same shocked calculation running through my own mind.
Five million dollars.
More money than most of the people gathered here will see in their entire lifetimes, offered for properties and businesses that represent generations of family investment and community building. It's the kind of sum that transforms abstract resistance into concrete financial pressure, forcing people to weigh principle against practical reality in ways that feel almost cruel.
"No one here can counter that," Marcus continues, his tone carrying the satisfied certainty of someone who believes he's just played a winning hand. "I've done my research on local property values, business revenues, individual net worth. You're all good people, hardworking people, but you don't have the resources to match that kind of investment."
The devastating accuracy of his assessment settles over the crowd like a blanket of defeat. Because he's right, and everyone knows it. The combined wealth of every family, every business owner, every property holder in Saddlebrush Ridge wouldn't come close to matching his offer.
I feel my own heart sink as the mathematical reality hits home. Five million dollars is so far beyond anything I could counter that it might as well be five hundred million. The sanctuary, the ranch, everything we've been building together—none of it can survive the kind of financial pressure he's prepared to apply.
"Unless," he continues with the kind of theatrical pause that suggests he's enjoying this moment of community helplessness, "someone wants to step forward and demonstrate that small-town values are worth more than small-town budgets?"
The challenge hangs in the air, met by the kind of silence that comes from people realizing they're facing impossible odds. I can see defeat settling into faces throughout the crowd, the gradual acceptance that fighting him was always going to be futile.
But then Wes steps forward.
"Fine," he says casually, his voice carrying the kind of calm confidence that immediately draws every eye in the square. "Make it ten million."
The words land like a thunderclap, so unexpected and impossible that for several heartbeats, no one moves or speaks or even seems to breathe.
Every head turns toward Wes with expressions of shock and disbelief, as if he's just announced his intention to fly to the moon using nothing but determination and wishful thinking.
"What did you just say?" Marcus demands, his own composure cracking as he stares down at Wes with obvious confusion.
"Ten million," Wes repeats with a playful smirk that suggests he's enjoying this moment far more than someone facing financial ruin should. "That's my counter-offer. Ten million dollars to keep Saddlebrush Ridge exactly as it is."
The crowd remains frozen in stunned silence, and I feel my own mouth fall open as the implications of his words sink in. Because there's no way—absolutely no way—that a small-town veterinarian has access to that kind of money. The confidence in his voice suggests he's not bluffing, but the mathematics don't make sense.
"Wes," I whisper, moving closer to him with growing concern. "You don't need to go into debt for the town. We'll find another way?—"
But he just laughs, the sound rich with genuine amusement rather than the kind of desperate bravado I'm expecting.
"Debt?" he echoes, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Who said anything about debt?"
Before anyone can process that statement, Marcus finds his voice again.
"This is ridiculous," he snarls, his professional composure finally cracking completely. "You think you can bluff your way out of this with numbers you don't have? I've researched everyone in this pathetic little town. None of you have that kind of money."
"Perhaps," comes a new voice from the edge of the square, "you didn't research thoroughly enough."
