Chapter Twenty-Five – Wes
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wes
T he kitchen feels smaller than usual. The walls seem to be closing in with each passing second. Jake and Colt sit across from me, their faces grave in the mid-afternoon light as I spread the bank's final notice on the table between us.
"What about selling just the north pasture?" Jake leans forward, jabbing his finger at our property map. "It's good land. It might fetch enough to cover the immediate debts."
"We could split it," Colt adds, his voice carrying that careful optimism he gets when problem-solving. "Maybe sell half now and keep the rest as collateral for a bridge loan."
I shake my head, pulling out Frank's projections. “I already asked. Even if we sold it at a premium, we'd only buy ourselves six months. Maybe eight if we cut expenses to the bone."
"Then we cut expenses." Colt reaches for the projections, his forehead creasing as he studies the numbers. "Scale back the herd, do more repairs ourselves?—"
"We're already doing everything ourselves," I cut in, my frustration bleeding through. "Working dawn to dusk, patching equipment that should've been replaced years ago. There's nothing left to cut."
"What about that new hay supplier out of Helena?" Jake suggests, running a hand through his hair. "The one Tom Wilson mentioned? He said they're offering better rates if you commit to a yearly contract."
I tap the stack of invoices. "Already checked. Their rates are better, but the minimum order would tie up more capital than we've got. And the quality's not guaranteed."
“Ugh.” Jake pushes back from the table, tension radiating from every movement. "What about investors? Martha mentioned her nephew in Denver, the one looking to diversify his portfolio?—"
"And lose control of the place?" The words come out sharper than intended. "Have some city businessman telling us how to run our ranch?"
"Better than losing it entirely," Colt points out softly. "Dad always said pride's the quickest way to lose everything."
"Dad also said never to trust anyone who hasn't worked the land," I counter, but the argument feels hollow even to my ears.
"Times change, Wes." Colt's voice carries that same steady patience Sarah used to have. "Maybe we need to change with it.”
"What about the heritage tourism angle?" Jake persists, pacing now. "The festival's bringing attention. Paisley's connections in Manhattan?—"
"Don't." I clench my jaw, fighting back the wave of emotion her name brings. "She's got her own life to get back to. The ranch isn't her problem."
“It could be," Colt says quietly. "If you'd let it. She understands marketing and has publishing contacts. The kinds of people who'd pay good money for an authentic ranch experience."
"And she cares about this place," Jake adds, his voice softer now. "About Emma. About..." He hesitates, then finishes, "About all of us."
"She cares because she doesn't know the truth." I spread out more papers—bank statements, feed bills, medical expenses that seem to multiply every time I look at them. “She doesn't know we're one bad season away from losing everything."
"Then tell her." Colt leans forward, his eyes intent. "Let her make her own choice."
"What choice?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Stay and watch this place crumble? Give up her career for a failing ranch and a man who can barely keep the lights on?"
"You're not Dad," Jake says suddenly, stopping his pacing. "And this isn't fifteen years ago. You don't have to carry everything alone."
His words stop me cold. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Colt interjects, his voice gentle but firm, "that maybe Sarah was right. About diversifying, about bringing in new ideas. About letting people help."
"Sarah's dead." The words come out raw. "And all her plans, all her dreams for this place... they died with her."
"No." Jake's voice cracks with emotion. "They didn't. They're right here, in what Paisley's trying to do. In how she sees this place, just like Sarah did. As more than just cattle and land."
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of Paisley walking with Emma toward the barn, their heads bent together in some secret conversation. They're both laughing, the sound carrying faintly through the glass. Emma's got Sarah's laugh—full and bright and unafraid.
My throat tightens.
"Remember what Sarah used to say?" Colt asks quietly. "About how the ranch isn't just about keeping things the same, but about building something that lasts?"
"And what happens when those contacts dry up?" I counter, but my voice lacks conviction. "When the novelty wears off and we're still drowning in debt?"
"Then we adapt." Jake sits back down, his expression fierce. "Convert the old bunkhouse into luxury accommodations. Run cattle drives for tourists. Hell, even Bernard could earn his keep giving dramatic performances."
Despite everything, a laugh escapes. "You want to turn our guard goose into an entertainer?"
"Why not?" Jake's grin is desperate but determined. "Sarah always said he had star potential."
"She also said we were too stubborn for our own good." Colt picks up the bank notice, studying it like it might reveal new secrets. "What about a partnership with the Wilson spread? They've been wanting to expand their breeding program?—"
"Already talked to them." The words taste like defeat. "They're struggling, too. Everyone is.”
“So, we get creative." Jake stands again, restless energy radiating from him. "Split the property into parcels, lease out the hunting rights, maybe even that wild horse tourism thing Sarah was researching before—" His voice catches on our sister's name, and silence falls heavy as mountain snow.
"You know what Sarah told me?" Colt's voice breaks the quiet. "Right before... before the accident. She said the ranch's biggest threat wasn't the weather or the market or even the bank."
I look at him, catching something in his expression I've never seen before. "What was it, then?"
"Fear." He meets my eyes steadily. "Fear of change. Of letting go of how things have always been done. She said sometimes holding on too tight is what makes you lose your grip completely."
The words settle into the kitchen like truth, heavy and unavoidable. Through the window, Paisley and Emma have reached the barn. I watch as Emma demonstrates something—probably one of Bernard's latest dramatic episodes—and Paisley throws her head back laughing. The sight makes my chest ache with wanting and fear in equal measure.
"What about Emma's college fund?" Colt asks quietly. "We could?—"
"No." The word comes out like a whip crack. "That's Sarah's money. For Emma's future."
"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."
"What's that?"
"That it's a terrible compass for finding your way home."
He leaves me there in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by papers and projections and all the weight of choices I'm not sure how to make. Sarah's recipe book sits open on the table, her handwriting a ghost of possibilities I'm too scared to chase.
Through the window, I watch Paisley and Emma head back to the house, their heads close together in conversation. They move like they belong here, like this is exactly where they're meant to be. And maybe that's what scares me most of all—how easy it would be to believe in the future they represent.
Even if believing means risking everything I've spent my life trying to protect.