Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Hazel
The ranch is quiet by late afternoon.
Everyone scattered after training. Chace muttered something about checking the north fence line. Addie disappeared toward her house without a word. And Eli—
Eli walked away.
I've been finding things to do ever since. Mucking stalls. Organizing tack. Sweeping until the concrete shows through years of scuff marks.
Anything to avoid the fact that I watched him leave and didn't follow.
The sun slants low through the barn doors now. My shirt sticks to my back. I've been at this for hours and I still can't settle.
Chace's voice keeps echoing. Jesus Christ, will you two just fuck already and put us all out of our misery.
The way Eli's jaw tightened before he walked away without looking back.
The way I let him.
I lean against the stall door, breathing hard even though I haven't done anything that warrants it.
He's done chasing me.
He stepped back in the shed. He walked away today. That wasn't distance. That was a line.
He's waiting for me to choose.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I pull it out, expecting Shae or maybe Mae. Instead, it's a number I don't recognize. Local area code.
The voicemail notification pops up, followed by a text.
Hi Hazel, this is Kara from Red Fern Stables. Heard you might be taking boarders again. Any chance you have openings? Also, are you really showing at Fall Classic? Call me.
I stare at the screen.
Red Fern isn't some backyard operation. They're county-over, professional, the kind of place that has waiting lists and references. If they're asking, it means people are watching.
It means the show isn't just hope anymore.
I hit play on the voicemail.
Kara's voice is bright, businesslike. Three horses. Timelines. Feeding schedules. "We've been hearing good things," she says at the end. "Word's getting around that Clark Ranch is back in business."
The voicemail ends.
I lower the phone and look out at the ranch. The barn. The pasture. The house sitting solid in the afternoon light.
This isn't hypothetical anymore.
My thumb hovers before I type back. Yes, call me. We're rebuilding capacity now.
I hit send.
The choice feels small. Practical.
But my body doesn't relax.
I head toward the house. Mae needs to know about this.
I find her in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that's probably gone cold. She's staring out the window, calculating something in her head.
"Red Fern Stables called," I say from the doorway.
Her gaze snaps to me. "And?"
"They want to board three horses. Asked about Fall Classic too."
She sets the mug down slow. "That's good. That's real good, Haze."
"Yeah."
She studies me. "You don't sound convinced."
"I am. It's just—it's real now. People are watching."
"We will get this done," Mae cuts in. Matter-of-fact. "You and that boy have been working the colt hard. The ranch is coming back together."
I nod. My throat feels tight.
"Cole stopped by yesterday," Mae says after a beat. "While you were in town."
My stomach drops. "What did he want?"
"Same thing he always wants." She picks up the mug again. "Reminded me his offer's still on the table. Said he'd hate to see me wait too long."
"Mae—"
"I know." She holds up a hand. "I'm not taking it. But Hazel, if Red Fern boards here and the show goes well, that changes things. That's proof we can do this."
The weight of it settles between us.
"You're staying, right?" Mae asks. Not accusing. Just asking. "Through Fall Classic at least?"
"Yeah," I say. And mean it.
She nods once, then turns back to the window. "Good. Now go tell Eli about the call. He'll want to know."
I blink. "What?"
"He's been working himself to the bone to help get that colt ready. He deserves to hear it's paying off." Mae glances at me, something knowing in her eyes. "And you've been pacing around here like a caged animal all afternoon. Go."
My face heats.
She's not wrong.
"Okay," I say finally.
Mae just nods and goes back to her coffee.
I walk back outside, the screen door slapping shut behind me. The air feels cooler now, shadows stretching long across the yard.
I head to the barn and rinse my hands under the spigot, staring at the cracked mirror above the basin.
I look tired. Steadier too.
Eli should know about Red Fern. He's been training the colt since before I got here, putting in hours no one asked for because he cares about this place.
But that's not the only reason I need to see him.
He won't come to me again.
He stepped back last night. He walked away today. He's holding himself still on purpose, waiting for me to decide.
I think about that morning five years ago. Waking up next to him. The panic that hit when I realized how permanent it felt.
Standing in the doorway felt safer than stepping back in.
I told myself I needed space.
What I really needed was courage.
I dry my hands on my jeans.
I can't promise I'll never get scared again.
But I can promise tonight. And tomorrow. And every day I choose to show up instead of running.
That's not forever. But it's more than I've given him in five years.
If I want him, I have to stop making him wait for certainty I can't give.
I have to choose him out loud.
Right now.
I grab my keys and walk toward my truck. The sun is lower now, the light going gold across the yard.
My heart pounds as I pull the door open.
I need to tell him about Red Fern.
And I need to stop pretending that's the only reason I'm going.
I slide into the seat, engine turning over. My hands grip the wheel. My chest feels tight.
I pull out of the drive and turn toward Dawson Ranch.
The road between our properties is one I've driven my whole life. I know every dip and turn, the spot where the fence line shifts from Clark wood posts to Dawson steel.
My hands stay tight on the wheel.
The fence line appears on my left. I've ridden this stretch more times than I can count. Run it. Walked it.
It's not far. Never has been.
Just far enough that you have to choose to cross it.
The road curves, and his cabin comes into view through the trees. Small. Tucked back from the main house. His truck sits in the drive.
He's there.
My stomach flips.
I pull in next to his truck and kill the engine. The sudden silence feels too loud.
I sit there, hands still on the wheel, staring at the cabin door.
My hands shake when I reach for the door handle.
Because it's not just about the call.
It's about the shed. The porch. The way he's been holding himself back.
I open the truck door and step out. The evening air is cooler now, carrying the smell of pine and earth. His cabin sits quiet, a light on inside.
He's in there.
And I'm out here.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat.
This is the choice.
Not someday. Not when I'm sure. Right now.
I cross the gravel toward his door, each step deliberate, and don't let myself slow down.