Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Hazel
Ifind Mae in Dad's office.
She's at the desk with the ledger open, reading glasses perched on her nose, pen tapping against the page in that absent rhythm she does when the numbers aren't adding up the way she wants.
The afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust motes and turning them gold. The room still smells like him—old leather, paper, the faint ghost of aftershave that five years hasn't managed to erase.
I knock on the doorframe even though the door's open.
Mae looks up, eyes tired but warm. "Hey, honey."
"Got a minute?" I ask, laptop tucked under my arm.
"For you? Always." She sets the pen down and leans back in the chair. It creaks—the same sound it made when Dad sat there, the same protest of old wood and older springs.
I cross to the desk and pull up the Fall Classic registration page on my laptop. "I'm ready to register. Just need the ranch account info to pay the entry fee."
Mae's expression doesn't change immediately. But something shifts behind her eyes. A hesitation. A weight.
"Sit down, Haze."
My stomach drops.
Those three words carry more than they should. I lower myself into the chair across from her, the leather cold even through my jeans.
Mae takes off her glasses and sets them carefully on top of the ledger. For a long moment, she just looks at me. Not unkind. Just... tired. The kind of tired that lives in your bones and doesn't leave.
"How much is the entry fee?" she asks quietly.
"Eight hundred dollars." I say it like it's nothing. Like it's reasonable. "For both classes—trail and ranch horse."
She nods slowly. Doesn't say anything right away.
The silence stretches.
"Mae—"
"I know this plan matters to you," she says, cutting me off gently. "I know you and Eli have been working hard. I see it. I see you out there every morning before the sun's up, putting in the hours."
"But?"
She exhales, the sound heavy. Then she reaches for the ledger and turns it toward me.
Numbers fill the page in her careful handwriting. Columns of them. Income. Expenses. Red ink in places there shouldn't be.
"We're three months behind on the grain bill," she says. "Vet expenses from last quarter are still unpaid. The fence repair we've been putting off is going to cost more the longer we wait. And the equipment—" She stops. Shakes her head. "It's breaking faster than I can fix it."
I stare at the numbers. They blur slightly.
"I can't justify eight hundred dollars for an entry fee when we're this far underwater, Haze." Her voice cracks just slightly on my name. "I want to. God, I want to. But I don't have it to give."
My throat tightens. "But this is how we save the ranch. This is the plan. We place well, we get attention, boarders come back—"
"I know," she says, and the exhaustion in her voice makes me stop. "I know what it could do. But 'could' doesn't pay the feed bill that's due next week."
I close my eyes.
This can't be happening.
"Cole called again yesterday," Mae says quietly.
My eyes snap open. "What?"
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you. Didn't want to make you feel like—" She stops. Starts again. "He's been patient. Kinder than I expected, actually. But he made it clear the offer won't stay on the table forever."
The room feels smaller suddenly. Too warm.
"How long?" I ask.
"He said he'd give me until end of summer. That's six weeks, Haze."
Six weeks.
My mind races. The Fall Classic is in four weeks. Even if we placed well, even if we got attention, we'd need months to rebuild the client base. Months we don't have.
"There has to be another way," I say, but it comes out weaker than I mean it to.
Mae reaches across the desk and covers my hand with hers. Her skin is warm. Papery. She squeezes gently.
"If you've got another solution, honey, I'm listening."
I don't answer.
Because the only solution sitting in my head is the one I can't say out loud.
The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
Finally, Mae pulls her hand back and closes the ledger with a soft thump. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."
"It's not your fault," I manage.
"Feels like it is."
I stand, legs unsteady, laptop clutched against my chest like a shield. "I should—I need to tell Eli."
Mae nods. "He'll understand."
Will he?
I turn toward the door, then stop. Look back.
"Mae?"
"Yeah?"
"How close are you? To saying yes to Cole."
She doesn't answer right away. When she does, her voice is so quiet I almost miss it.
"Closer than I want to be."
***
I find Eli in the north pasture, checking fence posts.
He's crouched low, hands working over a section of wire that's come loose, his hat tipped forward against the afternoon sun. His shirt is damp with sweat, dust clinging to his forearms.
He looks up when he hears me coming, squinting against the light.
"Hey," he says, straightening. "Colt looked good this morning. He's really starting to—"
"We can't afford the entry fee."
The words come out flat. Blunt. No buildup.
His expression shifts. Not surprise. Something worse. Like he was already braced for this.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Mae can't pay it. We're too far behind on everything else. Feed bills, vet bills, repairs—" I swallow hard. "Eight hundred dollars might as well be eight thousand right now."
Eli exhales slowly through his nose. He looks away, jaw working.
The silence stretches between us. Wind rattles through the grass. A horse whinnies in the distance.
Finally, he looks back at me.
"We keep training," he says.
I blink. "What?"
"The colt." His jaw sets, stubborn. "We keep working him. Keep Addie riding. Maybe something changes. Maybe we find the money. Maybe—" He stops. Shakes his head. "I don't know. But we've got four weeks. Giving up now doesn't help anything."
"But if we can't pay—"
"Then we can't pay," he cuts in, voice harder now. "But at least we'll have done the work. At least we'll know we tried everything."
There's something in his tone that makes my chest tight. Not hope exactly. More like refusal to surrender.
"So we just... keep going?" I ask quietly.
"We keep going." He holds my gaze. "Until we can't anymore."
I want to tell him I can fix this. Want to say I have the money.
But the words stick.
"Mae said Cole called again," I say instead.
Something flickers across his expression. "When?"
"Yesterday. She didn't tell us." I wrap my arms around myself even though the day is warm. "He gave her six weeks."
Eli goes still. "Six weeks."
"Yeah."
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
The wind picks up, rattling through the grass, carrying the smell of dust and sun-baked earth. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnies.
"Then we've got four weeks to figure this out," Eli says finally. His voice is steady. Controlled. "Four weeks to train. To get Addie ready. To find the money or find another way."
"And if we can't?"
"Then at least Mae will know we tried." He looks at me, something fierce behind the exhaustion in his eyes. "At least she'll know we didn't just hand it over without a fight."
My throat tightens.
"Okay," I manage.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." I nod. "We keep training."
Something eases in his expression. Not relief. Just acknowledgment.
"Four a.m. tomorrow?" he asks.
"I'll be there."
He nods once, sharp and final. Then turns back to the fence.
I stand there for another moment, watching him crouch down again, hands moving over wire with practiced efficiency.
But this time it doesn't feel like dismissal.
It feels like a promise.
We're not giving up.
Not yet.
I turn and walk back toward the house, boots crunching over dry grass, throat tight with everything I can't say.
My room feels too small.
I sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at the black screen like it might offer answers.
For a long moment, I don't move. Just sit there with the weight of the afternoon pressing down on my shoulders.
Then I unlock the phone.
Open the banking app.
The numbers load slowly, as if the phone knows what I'm about to do and wants to give me time to reconsider.
Checking Account: $1,043.27
I stare at it.
One thousand forty-three dollars and twenty-seven cents.
That's what's left after five years in Denver. Five years of rent and student loans and trying to build a life that costs more than I make. I'm not broke. But I'm not comfortable either.
Entry fee: $800.
I could do it.
Right now. I could transfer the money. Register us. Tell Mae it's handled. Tell Eli we're going.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
But if I pay it, I'll have $243 left.
Two hundred forty-three dollars.
That's not enough to cover an emergency. Not enough if my car breaks down or I need a bus ticket home—back to Denver, I mean. Not enough if something goes wrong and I need to leave fast.
My chest tightens.
If I use this money, I'm not just paying an entry fee.
I'm betting everything I have that this works.
And if it doesn't—if we compete and nothing changes, if the boarders don't come back, if Mae sells to Cole anyway—I'll be here with nothing. No cushion. No safety net. Just a choice I can't undo.
I close my eyes.
Dad's voice echoes in my head, the way it used to when I was young and couldn't decide something: Sometimes the scariest choice is the right one, Hazelnut.
But what if it's not?
What if I bet everything and lose?
I open my eyes and look at the number again.
$1,043.27.
Entry fee: $800.
The math is brutal.
I close the app.
Set the phone down on the bed beside me.
And sit there in the quiet, the weight of it pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe.
We're still training. Still working toward something that might not happen.
Eli said we keep going until we can't anymore.
I could make it so we can keep going.
Right now.
But not yet.
Not today.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after. Maybe when the deadline gets close enough that there's no other choice.
Outside, the sun slips lower, painting the room in shades of gold and amber.
Eli said we keep going.
So that's what I'll do.
Even if I don't know yet what it will cost me.