Chapter 19 - The Saboteur
Ella
I didn’t sleep much after Sarah’s warning. My mind replayed the image of a stranger in the dark, circling the ranch like a buzzard.
The idea of losing this place, this feeling, kept my heart hammering in my chest. By morning, I was already halfway through my second cup of coffee, standing at the kitchen window, watching the snow melt in rivulets off the barn roof.
Max came in, stamping snow off his boots. "No sign of anyone this morning. But I'll ask Clint to keep an eye on the back fields. Just in case."
I nodded, wrapping my hands tighter around the mug. "It just doesn’t make sense. Why now?"
"Because we’re making progress," Max said simply, his voice low and steady. "Some people hate to see that."
Later that day, I walked the fence line near the southern edge of the property. The snow had crusted over, making each step crunch beneath my boots.
That’s when I saw him. A man in a dark jacket crouched near one of the boundary markers, camera in hand, snapping photos of the barbed wire.
All the fear and anxiety of the night coalesced into a fierce, protective anger. I marched straight toward him, my boots biting into the hard ground.
"Can I help you?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He straightened, startled, but quickly masked it with a smirk. "Public right of way, isn’t it?"
"Not here it isn’t," I said, a tremor in my hands that I hoped he couldn’t see. "This is private property."
He slipped a business card from his coat. "Just doing my job. We’re evaluating potential development opportunities in the area. No harm intended."
I didn’t take the card. "There’s no opportunity here. This ranch isn’t for sale."
"Everything’s for sale," he said, walking past me with maddening calm. "Some just don’t know it yet."
I stood there long after he was gone, heart hammering, fists clenched. It wasn’t just about the land anymore. It was personal. He had circled my home, threatened my future, and I wasn't going to stand for it.
Max came in for lunch, and I told him what happened. We sat at the kitchen table, Duke curled at our feet, the midday sun casting long shadows across the floor. Max didn’t say much at first, just stared out the window like he could will the world to leave us alone.
"He said everything’s for sale," I whispered.
Max shook his head. "He doesn’t know Starcrest. He doesn’t know you." He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine, a simple gesture that felt like a fortress against the world.
"We need a plan," I said, drawing strength from his touch. "We can’t just hope this all goes away."
Max looked at me, then nodded slowly. "You’re right. First thing tomorrow, I’ll talk to Clint and Jerry about extra security. We need eyes everywhere. And maybe we reach out to Sarah’s cousin—the one who’s a paralegal. She might know someone who can help us sort through this deed challenge."
"That’s a good idea," I said, relieved by his steady resolve. "Maybe we can pull together anything my grandfather kept from the original filing. Even a dated letter or note would help."
After Max went back outside, I stopped by the bakery. Sarah was still there, wiping down the counter, the scent of cinnamon hanging thick in the warm air.
"Hey," I said softly.
She looked up, then immediately set her rag down, her expression changing to one of shared concern. "Saw you pacing outside the fence line earlier. I figured you found something."
I nodded, the words tumbling out. "It wasn’t just something. It was someone. Taking pictures. He handed me a card—some developer rep. And then today, I got a letter from a law firm. Someone’s contesting the will."
Sarah’s brows knitted together. "That’s dirty. They’re trying to rattle you before the festival." She came around the counter and gave my arm a squeeze.
"You’re not alone, Ella. This town loves that ranch. You think people are gonna let some outsider come in and take it from you? Not without a fight. And not without a whole lot of noise."
Tears sprang to my eyes, unexpected and uninvited. They weren’t from sadness, but from the overwhelming relief of not being alone. I blinked them back. "Thanks, Sarah. I really needed to hear that."
She handed me a bag. "Pecan muffins. One for Max, too. Y’all need strength for what’s ahead."
That strength didn’t come from muffins, though. It came from people like Sarah.
When I got back to the house, Max was on the porch, checking the latch on the gate.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded, a tired smile lifting my lips. "We’re not going down without a fight."
Max stopped what he was doing, a look of fierce pride and shared determination on his face. "That’s the spirit."
Inside, the tree still glowed with soft light. I thought of my mother’s ornament. My grandfather’s weathered hands. The way Max had looked at me earlier, like I belonged. I placed a hand on my chest, feeling my own heart beat with a fierce, quiet resolve.
I wasn’t leaving.
Not without a fight.