Chapter 10 - Small Town Storm
Max
The wind had a bite to it that morning, sharp enough to sting the skin straight through a flannel shirt and burrow into your bones. I tugged my collar up against it as I stepped out onto the porch, coffee in hand, watching the fresh snow a dull, deceptive gold.
It should’ve been beautiful. Peaceful. But my stomach was tight with worry, a cold, hard knot that had become a familiar companion.
The numbers didn’t add up—no matter how I crunched them. Repairs. Feed costs. Equipment. And now a roof that might not survive the next hard snow.
I hadn’t told Ella yet how much worse it was than she knew. Partly because I didn’t want to add more weight to her shoulders. Partly because saying it out loud made it real.
I finished the last sip of coffee, then ducked back inside to grab my gloves and scarf. Duke padded after me, his tail swishing lazily against the floorboards, utterly unburdened, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I envied him for that profound simplicity.
Before heading to the barn, I took a detour to the west fence line. An old post there had been leaning for weeks—nothing urgent, but the kind of thing I couldn’t let slide.
As I crouched to dig the frozen soil around it, the chill bit into my knees. But working with my hands, the steady rhythm of digging and pulling, helped clear the fog in my head, replacing worry with purpose.
“Can’t fix the whole world, Max,” I muttered to myself, the words a familiar mantra. “But you can fix this one damn post.”
Duke barked once, as if in agreement.
By the time I made it to the barn, the light had turned from gold to gray. A few of the hands were already at work stringing lights and clearing debris.
We were down to just two regulars now—Clint and Jerry—but both of them had brought their teenage sons this morning to help, no questions asked.
“Mornin’, Max,” Clint called. “Snow’s holdin’ off, but not for long.”
“Appreciate you bein’ here,” I said gruffly.
“My wife’s been bakin’ up a storm,” Clint added, his voice low, “says we’re not lettin’ the bank steal Starcrest without a fight. Not if we can help it.”
His words hit me harder than I let show, a surprising jolt of warmth in the freezing air. I gave him a tight nod, meeting his steady gaze for a beat longer than usual, and walked on.
In town, Starcrest folks could be stubborn as mules—but when something mattered, they showed up.
I’d seen it before after storms, fires, a bad calving season. But this? This was different. This was my home—our home—on the line.
After checking in with the guys and fixing a broken hook on the barn door, I decided to swing into town to grab more staples and a new bale hook. I figured I’d be quick, but everywhere I went, folks stopped me.
“Max, is it true the ranch might go under?”
“What’s this I hear about a holiday festival?”
“Is Ella stayin’ for good?”
I didn’t have answers for any of them. Just nods. Shrugs. Grunts.
At the feed store, Sheriff Harris cornered me by the salt blocks. “Heard the bank might come early,” he said quietly.
My head snapped up. “Who told you that?”
“Someone who knows someone in Abilene. Could be just a rumor—but I’d keep your boots laced, Max, and your eyes open, just in case.” He gave me a knowing look.
“Yeah,” I said, a knot forming in my gut. “Thanks, Sheriff.”
When I got back, I spotted Ella crouched by the side fence near the paddock, tangled in a mess of green wire and red bulbs. Christmas lights, a tangled green snake of wire and red bulbs, were knotted around her arms like they had a personal vendetta.
She huffed, a plume of breath in the cold air, trying to yank them free with growing frustration. “Oh come on, you glorified extension cords…”
I leaned against the post, a silent, amused observer. She didn’t notice me at first, completely absorbed in her struggle. Then, with a muttered curse, she stood—and promptly tripped over the same wire again, stumbling back with a yelp.
I stepped forward, catching her elbow. “Need a hand?”
Her cheeks flushed as she looked up. “Nope. Totally fine. Just performing a festive wrestling match with electrified plastic.”
I crouched down, taking the string of lights gently from her. “You ever untangled fishing line?”
“Only if it’s attached to a YouTube tutorial.”
I chuckled. “Same principle. Patience. Loops. No yankin’.”
We worked together in quiet rhythm, her hand brushing mine occasionally as we loosened knots. Duke trotted over, sat beside me, then leaned into Ella like she was his favorite person. She ruffled his ears, her smile warming the cold air.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
I shrugged. “Just lights.”
She looked at me for a beat too long. “Yeah… but it’s not.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I stood, string of lights slung over my shoulder, and walked them toward the porch.
She followed, humming something under her breath—“Silver Bells,” maybe—and I let myself listen. Just for a moment.
We hung the lights together, string by string, and when the final strand clicked into place along the porch rail, Ella stepped back and smiled up at them. “Not bad for a couple of amateurs,” she said.
I was about to agree, a genuine smile almost touching my lips, when the wind shifted. A sharp gust carried a new sound—the faint crunch of tires on packed snow, steadily growing louder.
I turned.
A silver pickup, gleaming like a polished knife against the white landscape, crept up the long drive. Clean. Shiny. My stomach dropped, the familiar knot tightening into a cold fist.
“That’s the bank manager,” I said quietly.
Ella stepped beside me, her eyes narrowing. “He’s not supposed to be here until next week.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans, jaw tight. “Guess he’s early.”
She took a deep breath. “Then I guess we’d better be ready.”
The wind howled around us, carrying the scent of snow and something else—change. And I wasn’t sure we were ready for it at all.