Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Hazel
The investor is early.
That's the first problem.
I see the truck before I even pull all the way into the drive—dark, polished, definitely not from around here. It's parked too neatly near the barn, angled like someone who's used to being impressed on purpose.
My stomach drops.
I cut the engine and sit there for a second longer than necessary, hands still on the wheel. Mae's words from this morning replay in my head whether I want them to or not.
This has to work, Hazel. We don't get another shot like this.
I grab Eli’s hat from the seat beside me and shove the door open.
By the time I reach the barn, Addie's already mounted, the colt sidestepping with restless energy beneath her. Eli's checking a cinch, calm as ever, like the entire future of the ranch isn't balanced on how today goes.
The woman by the rail turns when she hears my boots on the gravel. Late forties, maybe. Crisp jeans. Clean boots that haven't seen much dirt. Sharp eyes that miss nothing.
"You must be Hazel Clark," she says, offering her hand. "I'm Renee Whitman."
I shake it, keeping my grip firm. "Glad you made it out. Sorry I wasn't here when you arrived."
"Don't apologize. Your aunt has been wonderful." She gestures toward the pen where Addie's warming up the colt. "And your crew was kind enough to get started without you."
Crew. Like we're a real operation with staff and structure and not held together by hope and early mornings.
"We try to stay efficient," I say, which is true enough.
Renee's gaze drifts past me—to the pen, to the colt, to Eli standing at the rail with his arms crossed. Watching. Assessing.
"I've heard good things," she says. "Enough to drive out early. Red Fern mentioned you might have capacity opening up."
"We do," I say carefully. "We're rebuilding slowly. Making sure we can offer the level of care people expect."
"Smart." Renee turns back to the pen. "Show me what you've got."
Addie swings the colt into motion and everything in me narrows to the rhythm of it. The way the horse listens. The way Addie rides like she belongs there, confident and light. The way Eli watches without interfering, only stepping in when necessary with a word or a gesture.
The colt moves clean. No hesitation. No rough edges.
Three weeks of work showing in every stride.
Renee asks questions. Smart ones. About training timelines. Feeding protocols. Turnout schedules. Insurance. Vet access.
About stability.
I answer carefully. Honestly. I talk about training philosophy, about long-term care, about building something sustainable instead of flashy. I don't mention how close we are to the edge. I don't mention how badly we need her to say yes.
At one point, she glances at Eli.
"You work closely together?" she asks.
The question lands heavier than it should.
"Every day," I say, maybe a beat too quickly. "He's been training with us since before I got here. Knows the operation inside and out."
Eli looks at me then. Just a glance. But something in his expression shifts, like he understands the weight behind her question. The implication that stability means more than just good horses and clean stalls.
It means people who stay.
Renee watches Addie bring the colt through a tight turn, then nods slowly. "Impressive. Really impressive."
My chest loosens slightly.
"I'd like to think on it," she continues. "I'll be in touch by end of week."
Relief hits me. Not a yes, but not a no either.
"That works," I say. "Take whatever time you need."
She smiles, more genuine this time. "I appreciate that. You'll hear from me soon."
We shake hands again and I walk her back to her car, making small talk about the drive and the weather and Fall Classic. She asks about the show, about Addie's experience, about whether we'll be taking on more riders after.
I give her optimistic answers. Careful ones.
When her truck finally pulls away, dust settling in its wake, the ranch exhales.
Addie whoops from the pen, sliding off the colt and throwing her arms around my neck before I can brace for it. "Did you see her face? She was sold. Completely sold."
"Not yet," I say, laughing despite myself. "But we're close."
"Close enough." Addie grins. "Mae's going to lose her mind."
Eli meets my eyes over Addie's shoulder. Something unspoken passes between us.
This matters.
Everything matters.
Addie heads toward the barn to cool the colt, still buzzing with energy, and the pen goes quiet. The sun sits low now, casting everything gold. My pulse is still too fast, adrenaline not quite settled.
I turn to face him, leaning back against the fence. The movement puts me right in front of him and he doesn't step back. Just looks down at me, that barely-there smirk still playing at his mouth.
"Something you want to say?" I ask.
"Not particularly."
"Then why are you standing so close?"
"Am I?" He shifts even closer, one hand coming up to rest on the fence rail beside my head. Not touching me. Just boxing me in. "Hadn't noticed."
My pulse kicks up. "Liar."
"Prove it."
The challenge hangs between us. Addie's voice carries across the pen, talking to the colt, oblivious. The sun slants through the trees. Everything smells like dust and hay and the faint edge of his soap.
I reach up and push the brim back just enough to see him clearly.
"You're trying to distract me," I say.
"Is it working?"
"Maybe."
His eyes drop to my mouth. Stay there. "Good."
Then he's kissing me—not rushed, not desperate like those first nights, but slow and sure. Like he knows exactly what he's doing. Like he's got all the time in the world and plans to use it.
I kiss him back, hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders, and he makes this low sound in his throat that sends heat straight through me.
His free hand finds my waist, thumb brushing the bare skin where my shirt's ridden up, and I arch into him without thinking. He responds by pressing closer, his hips pinning me against the fence, and suddenly I'm very aware of every point where our bodies touch.
He breaks the kiss, but only just. His forehead rests against mine, breath uneven.
"We should stop," he says.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
His hand slides from my waist to my hip, fingers curling around the belt loop of my jeans. Not pulling. Just holding. Like he's considering his options.
"Addie's right there," I point out.
"I know."
"And Chace is probably around somewhere."
"Don't care."
I laugh against his mouth and he kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my knees weak.
His other hand comes down from the fence to cup my jaw, tilting my head exactly where he wants it, and I let him because this—us—is still new enough to feel like stolen time.
Like something I might wake up from.
His mouth moves to my jaw, then my neck, finding that spot just below my ear that makes me gasp. He knows it now. Learned it over the past two weeks. Memorized it.
"Eli," I breathe.
"Hmm?"
"We really should stop."
"You keep saying that." His teeth graze my neck and I shudder. "Not very convincing."
My hands slide into his hair, holding him there even as I'm telling him to stop. "Someone's going to see."
"Let them."
He kisses me again, hard and claiming, and for a second I forget why stopping was important. Forget everything except the heat of his mouth and the solid weight of him against me and the way his hands feel on my body.
Then Chace's voice cuts across the pen.
"Jesus Christ, can you two not do that where I have to witness it?"
Eli pulls back with a sigh, but he doesn't step away. Just turns his head enough to look over his shoulder.
"Little busy here, Chace."
"Yeah, I can see that. It's traumatizing."
I duck my head, laughing into Eli's chest, and feel the rumble of his answering chuckle.
"Go away," Eli calls back.
"I’m trying to work."
"And now you're leaving."
Chace mutters something I don't catch, but I hear his boots retreating across the packed dirt. Addie's laugh follows him, bright and clear.
Eli looks back down at me, eyes warm, mouth curved.
"Where were we?" he asks.
I push at his chest, still grinning. "We were stopping."
"That doesn't sound right."
"It's not. But we should anyway." I reach up and tip his old hat back into place. "For now."
Something flickers in his expression. Heat. Promise.
"For now," he agrees.
Then he leans in close, mouth brushing my ear. "But tonight, that hat stays on."
My breath catches. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He steps back, finally giving me space, and the loss of his warmth feels like a shock. He looks at me for a long moment—taking in his hat, the flush I know is in my cheeks, the way I'm still leaning against the fence like my legs might not hold me.
"See you tonight, Clark," he says.
Then he's walking away, back straight, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like he didn't just promise me something that's going to make the rest of this day feel about ten hours too long.
I watch him go, heart pounding, and shake my head.
***
I text him after dinner.
Me: You still expecting me tonight?
The response is immediate.
Eli: Yeah. You coming?
Me: Depends. You still want the hat?
Eli: Definitely want the hat.
I grin at my phone, heat already pooling low in my stomach.
Me: Give me twenty minutes.
His cabin is dark when I pull up except for the light over the door. I grab my hat from the passenger seat—I'd left it in the truck on purpose—and head inside without knocking.
He's waiting.
Leaning against the kitchen counter in jeans and nothing else, bare feet, hair still damp from the shower. He straightens when he sees me, eyes tracking down my body and back up, lingering on the hat.
"You wore it," he says.
"You asked me to."
"I did." He pushes off the counter and crosses to me. Slow. Deliberate. "Wasn't sure you would."
"When have I ever not done what you asked?"
His mouth curves. "Want me to make a list?"
I laugh and he catches me around the waist, pulling me flush against him. His skin is warm, still smelling like soap, and I slide my hands up his chest just to feel the solid muscle under my palms.
"Hi," I murmur.
"Hi."
He kisses me. Not gentle. Not hesitant. Just claiming, like he's been waiting all day for this and now that I'm here, he's not wasting time.
I kiss him back, fingers curling into his shoulders, and he walks me backward toward the bedroom without breaking contact. My legs hit the edge of the bed and I sink down, pulling him with me.
He follows, bracing himself above me, and reaches up to tip my hat back so he can see my face.
"Leave it on," he says.
"That was the deal."
"Good." His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear, and I arch into him. "Because I've been thinking about this all day."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." His hands slide under my shirt, palms warm against my ribs. "You in this hat. In my bed. Exactly like this."
Heat floods through me. I reach for his belt, and he helps me, clothes disappearing in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter.
The hat stays on.
***
After, we're both breathing hard, tangled together, the hat somehow still miraculously on my head though listing dramatically to one side.
Eli reaches up and straightens it, grinning. "Told you it should stay on."
I laugh and shove at his chest weakly. "You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
I do. God help me, I do.
He rolls to the side, pulling me with him so I'm tucked against his chest, his arm solid around my waist. My hat finally falls off, tumbling to the floor, and neither of us bothers to retrieve it.
For a while, we just lie there. Breathing. Existing.
His hand traces lazy patterns on my back. My fingers draw circles on his chest.
"You think Renee's going to say yes?" I ask eventually.
"Yeah. I do."
"You sound sure."
"I am. She saw what we're building here. She saw you with that colt. She's smart enough to recognize something good."
I tilt my head to look up at him. "And if she doesn't?"
"Then we find someone else. We keep going." His hand tightens on my waist. "We're not stopping, Hazel. Whatever it takes."
Whatever it takes.
The words settle warm in my chest, and I press my face back into his shoulder, breathing him in.
This. This is what I want.
Not just him, but this. The work. The ranch. The feeling of building something that matters.
I just don't know yet if I'm brave enough to keep it.