Chapter 13 Rose #2
“Your situation.” Hank said the word slowly, like he was handling something fragile. “The insurance, the bookings, the photographers. She wasn’t being mean about it. She was framing it like she was worried. But Bill was nodding along like he was hearing details he shouldn’t.”
I looked up. “Denise talks to people in town. She’s been my business partner for five years. People ask her how I’m doing and she tells them.”
“I know that.” Hank met my eyes. “I just thought you should know she’s doing it. Because people are forming opinions based on what she’s saying, and I’m not sure all of it is... balanced.”
“What does that mean?”
Hank was quiet for a moment, choosing his words the way he chose everything. Deliberately.
“It means Bill Edmond asked me if it was true that you’d been ‘neglecting the books for months.’ Those were his words. And the only person who could have given him that impression is someone who knows the books.”
I set the bridle down.
“Denise is worried,” I said. “She’s processing this too. She brought Taylor onto the ranch. She feels responsible.”
“I’m sure she does.” Hank pushed off the workbench. “Just thought you should know.” He paused at the door. “You know I don’t stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. But this doesn’t sit right with me.”
He left.
I picked up the bridle and went back to cleaning it. My hands were steady. The rest of me was not.
This doesn’t sit right with me.
I told myself Hank was being protective. That he’d never liked Denise much, too polished, too corporate for his taste. That he was reading malice into what was just a scared friend processing a crisis.
I told myself that.
I didn’t quite believe it.
Dr. Carlisle’s office smelled like lavender and quiet judgement.
“So,” she said, settling into her chair with her notepad and the calm expression of someone who’d heard it all. “Catch me up. Last time we talked, you were worried about a group of Scottish tourists arriving.”
“Right. About that.”
I gave her the highlights. The cabin break-in that wasn’t a break-in. The YouTuber who wasn’t just a YouTuber. The embezzlement. The insurance. The photographers camped outside my property line who’d taken approximately four hundred photos of me carrying hay bales in sweatpants.
Dr. Carlisle’s pen moved steadily across her notepad. When I finished, she looked up.
“And you slept with him.”
“That’s your takeaway?”
“I’m prioritizing.” She crossed her legs. “You slept with the man who lied to you about his identity, and now you’re losing your ranch, and you’re sitting in my office looking like you haven’t slept in a week. I’m trying to figure out which crisis to address first.”
“All of them. Address all of them.”
“Rose.”
“Fine.” I slumped back in my chair. “Yes. I slept with him. It was—” I searched for the right words. “Not the smartest.”
“Not the smartest,” Dr. Carlisle repeated.
“In terms of timing.”
“And in terms of feelings?”
I stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain in the corner that looked vaguely like a horse. Or maybe a cloud. Or maybe my entire life falling apart.
“I don’t know what I feel,” I said. “Everything’s happening at once. The money, the ranch, Taylor, the—”
“Graham.”
“—photographers. I was going to say photographers.”
Dr. Carlisle gave me the look. The one that said she’d been doing this for twenty years and I wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Let’s talk about Graham,” she said.
“Let’s not.”
“Rose.”
“He thinks Denise is behind everything.” The words came out before I could stop them. “He keeps looking at her like she’s a suspect.”
“And you don’t think she is.”
“She’s been my friend for years. She’s the only person who—” I stopped.
“Who what?”
“Who stayed.” My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “Everyone leaves. My parents died. Patrick and Theresa are in California. My brothers have their own lives. But Denise stayed. She’s been here through everything.”
Dr. Carlisle was quiet for a moment. “And Graham hasn’t stayed.”
“Graham’s known me for three weeks. That’s not staying. That’s... visiting.”
“Visiting with strong opinions about your best friend.”
“Exactly.” I sat up straighter. “He doesn’t get to waltz into my life and tell me who to trust. He lied to me about who he was. He’s the reason there are photographers outside my house. And now he wants me to believe that Denise, loyal, reliable Denise, is somehow the villain?”
“What if he’s right?”
The question felt like cold water.
“He’s not.”
“But what if he is?”
“Then I’m an idiot who can’t tell the difference between people who care about me and people who are using me.” I laughed, and it came out bitter. “Which, honestly, seems about right given my track record.”
Dr. Carlisle set down her pen. This was her serious face. I’d seen it before, usually right before she said something I didn’t want to hear.
“Rose, I want you to consider something.”
“I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?”
“Probably.” She leaned forward. “Right now, you’re facing the potential loss of everything you’ve built. Your home. Your business. Your horses. Your financial security. This is a genuine crisis, the kind that requires all of your focus and energy to survive.”
“I’m aware.”
“And in the middle of this crisis, you’ve developed an intense romantic relationship with a man who comes with significant complications. Fame. Media attention. Conflicting opinions about someone you trust.” She paused. “Does that seem like good timing to you?”
“I already said the timing was inconvenient.”
“I’m saying it might be more than inconvenient.” Dr. Carlisle’s voice was gentle but firm. “I’m saying Graham might be a distraction you can’t afford right now.”
“He’s not a distraction.”
“He’s consuming a significant amount of your emotions. You just spent ten minutes talking about him instead of talking about the very real financial crisis that’s threatening to take your ranch.”
“Because you asked about him!”
“And you had a lot to say.” She picked up her pen again. “Rose, I’m not telling you Graham is a bad person. I’m not even telling you the relationship is wrong. I’m telling you that right now, in this moment, you need to survive. And surviving means focusing on what you can control.”
“I can’t control any of this.”
“You can control where you put your energy.” She met my eyes. “You can control whether you spend the next few weeks fighting with your ‘boyfriend’ about your best friend, or whether you spend them figuring out how to save your ranch.”
I opened my mouth to argue. Closed it.
She wasn’t wrong.
“What are you suggesting?” I asked quietly.
“I’m suggesting you consider creating some distance. Not forever. Not because he’s bad for you. But because you’re drowning, Rose, and you can’t save yourself while you’re trying to save a relationship too.”
“That’s a lot to ask.”
“Survival usually is.”
I stared at the water stain on the ceiling. Horse. Definitely a horse.
“What if I create distance and I still lose everything?”
“Then at least you’ll know you gave yourself the best chance.” She paused. “And for what it’s worth, I’d prefer not to lose you as a patient. Do you know how hard it is to find clients who actually do the homework I assign? You’re one of three people who’s ever kept a thought journal.”
I laughed despite myself. “Glad to know I’m valued for my journaling skills.”
“You’re valued for many things. The journaling is a bonus.” She smiled. “Same time in two weeks?”
“I’ll be here.” I stood, then hesitated. “Dr. Carlisle?”
“Yes?”
“What if I can’t create the distance?”
She looked at me with something like compassion. “Then you’ll figure out how to survive with him. But it’ll be harder. And you’ll have to accept that some of your energy will always be going toward something that isn’t saving yourself.”
I nodded slowly.
“Thanks. I think.”
“That’s the spirit.” She walked me to the door. “And Rose? Whatever you decide about Graham, make sure it’s your decision. Not his. Not Denise’s. Yours.”
I left her office with more questions than answers.
Which was pretty standard.
The drive home gave me too much time to think.
Dr. Carlisle’s words circled like vultures. Graham might be a distraction you can’t afford.
Was he a distraction? Or was he the only person who saw clearly what I couldn’t?
I kept coming back to Taylor’s face when I’d fired him. The way he’d looked at Denise, not with anger but with desperation. The face of a man who knew the truth and knew nobody was going to believe him.
You know what you did.
And Denise’s reaction. The tears that arrived at exactly the right moment. The immediate pivot from devastated girlfriend to problem-solver. The insurance explanation she’d had ready before I’d even finished asking the question.
And Hank. Quiet, respectful Hank, who never stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. This doesn’t sit right with me.
I gripped the steering wheel and stared at the road.
I wasn’t ready to believe Graham was right about Denise. I wasn’t. Because if he was right, then my life was built on a lie. And I couldn’t afford to believe that, not now, not when I was already losing everything else.
But the ground under my feet felt softer than it used to.
Like it might not hold.
The bank called the next morning.
I was in the kitchen with my first cup of coffee, staring at the mountains through the window the way I did every morning. Checking that they were still there, that the world hadn’t rearranged itself while I slept.
My phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize with a Denver area code.
“Ms. Gracen, this is Patricia Nolan from First Mountain Bank. I’m calling regarding your commercial loan account.”
I set down my coffee.
“Your liability insurance lapse triggered a review clause in your loan agreement,” she said, her voice professionally sympathetic.
The kind of voice they must teach in banking school, warm enough to sound human, distant enough to deliver devastation.
“Our risk assessment team has completed their review, and I’m afraid we’ll need to call the loan. ”
“Call the loan,” I repeated.
“The full balance. Two hundred and forty thousand dollars. You have thirty days to pay in full, or we’ll be required to begin foreclosure proceedings.”
The kitchen went very quiet. Outside, Cassiopeia was standing at the paddock fence, waiting for me the way she did every morning.
“Thirty days,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Gracen. If there’s anything we can do to help facilitate—”
“Thank you.” I hung up.
I sat at the kitchen table for a long time.
Two hundred and forty thousand dollars. Thirty days.
I did the math the way I always did the math. Slowly, looking for the version where the numbers worked. Sell the trailers. Sell the equipment. Sell the tack, the feed inventory, the backup generator Hank had been so proud of installing.
It wasn’t enough. Not even close. I could liquidate every non-essential asset on the property and I’d still be short by six figures.
The ranch itself was worth more than the debt. The land, the structures, the water rights, all of it together was worth well over what I owed. But only if I sold everything. The whole thing. Not pieces. Not parcels. Everything.
I picked up my phone.
Set it down.
Picked it up again.
I wasn’t calling Graham. He’d offer money and I’d have to say no and it would break something between us that was already fracturing.
I wasn’t calling Fury. He’d write a check and I’d owe him something I could never repay, not the money, but the admission that I couldn’t do this alone.
I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I was looking for. The one I’d saved six months ago and told myself I’d never use.
Garrett Wilson. Real estate developer. The man who wanted to turn my ranch into a luxury wellness retreat.
I stared at his name on the screen until the letters blurred.
Then I pressed call.