Chapter Twenty-Five
The restaurant hums with the quiet clink of glassware and low conversation.
It’s one of the nicer places in Moose—bright interior, a long wall of windows that looks out over Main Street.
I’m seated across from my parents, trying not to feel like I’m sixteen again.
My father, Barron Garrison, sits at the head of the table like he owns the place. And he probably does—maybe not him alone, but odds are good he’s somehow involved in the investment group behind it.
His charcoal suit jacket is folded neatly over the back of his chair. His white shirt sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, exposing a watch that probably costs more than most people’s cars.
My mother, Della, sits beside him.
She looks elegant, as always, her dark hair pinned up, a soft cream sweater draped over her shoulders. She smiles politely at the waiter as he fills her wineglass.
I swirl the bourbon in my glass.
I missed breakfast.
There was just no way to get back to my house and shower in time.
So, breakfast turned into lunch.
The waiter finishes pouring the wine and steps away.
My father immediately turns his attention to me.
“So,” he says, resting his elbows lightly on the table, “tell me about the hotel.”
There it is.
The business check-in.
I lean back slightly in my chair.
“Things are good,” I say. “Occupancy was steady all summer. We’ve had a lot of bookings through fall foliage season too.”
My father nods once. “That’s good.”
“We have a new events manager in the hospitality department, and she’s done an excellent job. She even updated the Cattlemen’s Association contract and extended it another five years.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
I nod. A strange pride fills my chest. “The third quarter reports should’ve been sent to your office already.”
“They probably were,” he says calmly. “I just haven’t had the time to look them over.”
That tracks.
Senator Barron Garrison doesn’t exactly spend his days combing through spreadsheets anymore. That’s what he has me for.
Still, I know he expects the numbers to be right.
“The numbers are strong,” I say. “Better than projected.”
A faint approving look passes across his face.
Not quite praise.
But close enough.
My mother takes a sip of wine and smiles warmly at me.
“My friend Elaine and her husband spent their summer vacation at the Belicourt,” she says. “And they couldn’t stop talking about it. They plan to take their entire family back to ski over the holidays.”
I return her smile. “That’s good to hear.”
My father lifts his glass. “I’d expect nothing less.”
There’s no arrogance in the way he says it.
Just fact.
A server arrives with shrimp cocktail appetizers, served in chilled martini glasses and the conversation quiets as we dig in.
I relax, watching my parents across the table.
They look exactly like they always have.
Polished and composed.
The perfect couple.
I clear my throat. “So,” I say casually, “Josiah’s surgery is scheduled for the end of October.”
My mother’s eyes immediately flick to mine.
Concern softens her expression.
“Oh,” she says quietly. “That soon?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “They finally locked it in this week.”
My father sets his glass down. “What are they doing again?”
“Knee replacement,” I say. “The pain has gotten bad enough that he barely leaves his recliner.”
That lands heavier than I expected.
“I hate hearing that,” Mom says.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”
A beat passes.
“Are you two planning to make it out to the ranch while you’re here?”
My mother sighs. “Oh, I would love to,” she says. “I was actually thinking we could go tomorrow and maybe—”
My father cuts in smoothly, “We probably won’t have the time.”
My mother’s mouth closes.
I stare at him. “You don’t have the time,” I say flatly.
He lifts one shoulder. “We’re only here for a five days, Porter. Our schedule is packed. There are meetings. Investors to see.”
I set my glass down. “You should make the time.”
My father studies me.
“It’s only twenty minutes from the hotel. I could have one of the staff drive you over. Or you could take my car.”
My mother glances nervously between us.
“Maybe next time,” Barron says.
I lean forward. “You never know when you’re going to run out of next times, Mom.” The words leave my mouth before I even realize I said them.
My mother freezes.
Because she knows exactly what I mean.
Josiah isn’t getting younger.
None of us are.
A quiet moment passes at the table.
My father exhales slowly through his nose.
Then he lifts his wineglass as he watches my mother. “We’ll try to stop in before we leave.”
Not enthusiastic.
But it’s something.
My mother smiles faintly. “Thank you.”
The waiter arrives to take our orders, which gives everyone a second to reset.
Steak for my father.
Pasta for my mother.
And salmon for me.
When he leaves again, my father steeples his fingers on the table.
“So,” he says thoughtfully, “have you made any progress convincing the old man to sell?”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “No.”
His eyebrows lift. “No?”
“Not even close.” I shake my head. “He’s not leaving that place.”
My father nods slowly, like that confirms exactly what he expected.
“Well,” he says calmly, “then we’ll just have to wait and sell it after he passes.”
The words hit me harder than they should.
“I’m not so sure I want to sell it anymore.”
Both of my parents look at me now.
“What would you want with a run-down ranch?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “I have a lot of good memories there.”
And that’s the truth.
Some of the best ones I have.
“I love the Silver Spur.”
I spent a lot of time there when I was growing up. While Mom and Dad were busy with work and their packed social calendars, I was on the back of a horse, helping Granddad wrangle cows, or assisting my grandmother in her garden.
“So do I,” Mom says fondly.
I glance at her.
There’s something distant in her eyes.
Like she’s remembering the same beautiful place I do.
The home she grew up in. The one her father built for her and her mother.
My father snorts lightly. “It’s nothing but a money pit now.” His words cut through the nostalgia like a knife. “That place has been bleeding cash for years.” He leans forward. “And you don’t have the time to deal with a dilapidated property.”
My mother sniffles softly.
The sound surprises all of us.
She quickly dabs at the corner of her eye with her napkin. “It’s just …” she murmurs. “My mother loved that place.”
My father’s expression softens immediately.
Barron reaches over and gently squeezes her hand. “You’ll always have your memories,” he says quietly. His tone is gentler now. More husband than businessman.
I look down at the table.
Because the truth is …
He’s not wrong.
The Silver Spur is falling apart.
The barns lean.
The fences sag.
The house itself needs tons of work to make it suitable again.
And I have no idea what I’d do with a ranch.
I run a luxury resort hotel.
My life revolves around occupancy rates and guest experiences.
Not cattle.
Not irrigation systems.
Still …
My mind drifts.
Back to something Harleigh said.
Her sitting in my passenger seat, telling me I wasn’t seeing its potential.
I swirl the last of the bourbon in my glass.
Potential.
The word has been rattling around in my head nonstop ever since.
The Silver Spur has land.
A lot of it.
Rolling hills.
Creek access.
Views breathtaking enough that I had them tattooed down my arm.
Most people look at that place and see a dying ranch.
Harleigh looked at it and saw something else.
My father is still talking when I tune back in.
“… even if you wanted to keep it,” he says, “what would you do with it?”
That’s the million-dollar question.
I sit back in my chair and cross my arms. “I don’t know yet.”
He scoffs lightly. “Exactly.”
My mother watches me more carefully now.
“You’ve been thinking about it,” she says quietly.
I nod slowly. “Yeah.”
My father shakes his head. “You run one of the most successful properties in the region. Why saddle yourself with a failing ranch?”
I don’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t have an answer yet.
The waiter returns with the dessert list.
Conversation shifts for a few minutes to safer topics—travel schedules, the upcoming investor summit, my mother’s plans for a charity gala in Cheyenne.
And while my father keeps talking about market projections, my mind drifts back to the ranch and all its potential.