19. Nash #2
She moves to the pantry cabinet and yanks it open, because I guess food is something she can control.
There are a couple of cans. Beans, maybe. Some crackers. A bag of flour. Coffee. Thank goodness. I guess her uncle keeps it a little stocked for… whatever reason.
Tessa scans it, inventorying survival.
“We can’t stay here long,” she says, mostly to herself.
“We can stay as long as we need to,” I counter, softer. “It’s a house. It’s warm enough.”
Tessa laughs once. “It’s warm because the radiator is fighting for its life.”
“Then we help it,” I say.
She shoots me a look as if I just suggested we perform CPR on plumbing.
I move past her, checking the back door.
Snowed in there too.
Then I check the windows. The wind is pushing snow sideways, piling it fast.
“We’re not leaving today.”
Tessa’s shoulders stiffen. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” I say, sharper now. “I do. I grew up in Buckhorn. I know what this looks like.”
She doesn’t answer.
I watch her, the way she presses her lips together, holding in an emotion worse than anger.
Fear.
Fear of being stuck.
Fear of being forced to sit still inside a house full of family ghosts while her life unravels.
Because if we’re here, she can’t go back to town and pretend this didn’t happen.
And if we’re here, she can’t run back to her grandmother’s kitchen and anchor herself in normal.
She’s trapped with me.
And with what we found.
And with the fact that “later” isn’t a safe place to put hard things anymore.
“Tessa,” I say, quietly.
She doesn’t look at me.
I step closer anyway, stopping just behind her shoulder.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say.
Her laugh is small and bitter. “That’s not what my family would say.”
“Forget your family for one second,” I whisper. “Forget mine. Look at me.”
She goes still.
Slowly, she turns her head.
Her eyes meet mine, and it seems to be a dare.
I don’t blink.
“I’m right here,” I say. “And I’m scared too.”
That does it.
Her expression shifts, just a fraction, but it’s enough to see the crack.
“What are you scared of?”
I swallow hard.
Because the answer isn’t simple.
It’s not snow or phone signal… even Thomas Long.
It’s the thing that’s been sitting in my chest since I was old enough to understand my brothers’ shoulders were bigger than mine, and their decisions carried weight while mine carried jokes.
“I’m scared,” I admit, “that I’m going to screw this up.”
Tessa’s brow furrows. “The ranch?”
“Everything.”
Tessa stares at me. She didn’t expect that.
She probably expected me to say the practical thing.
The land.
The cabins.
The permits.
But the truth is, it’s all tangled together now.
The ranch is my family’s heart.
And my dream is tied to it as a rope around my ribs.
If the ranch fails, I fail.
If my dream fails, I’m just… Nash. The fun one. The one everyone pats on the head.
Tessa’s voice is careful. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s afraid of anything.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “That’s because I’m good at pretending.”
“Why?”
I stare at her, and everything inside me shifts.
Because she’s not asking to win.
She’s asking to understand.
And that’s worse.
Because understanding means she can see me.
And if she sees me… she might reject me.
Or she might stay.
Both possibilities terrify me.
“Because if I don’t pretend,” I say quietly, “then everyone will notice I’m not enough.”
Tessa’s face goes still.
The kitchen feels smaller. The house quieter. Even the radiator seems to pause to listen.
“That’s not true,” she says automatically.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “It is.”
She steps closer, almost unconsciously. “Nash—”
“I’ve been the fun one my whole life,” I continue, words spilling now because they’ve been held too long. “Boone is steady. Dallas is solid. Clay is… Clay. Even when he screws up, people expect him to fight his way back.”
Tessa’s eyes soften, just barely.
“And me?” I laugh, bitter. “I’m charming. I’m good in a room. I make people laugh. I make it easier. Which is great until you need someone to take you seriously.”
Tessa shakes her head. “They’re wrong.”
I shake my head. “No. They’re not. I’ve given them every reason.”
“Because you were young?”
“Because I was scared,” I admit.
Silence.
Outside, the wind presses against the house. Snow keeps falling.
Inside, the only thing moving is my chest rising and falling, trying not to drown.
I swallow hard, forcing the rest out.
“The guest ranch isn’t about ego,” I say. “It’s not about me wanting attention.”
Tessa’s gaze holds mine. “Then what is it?”
I take a breath.
“It’s about legacy,” I say. “It’s about making sure my family has something that lasts. Something that doesn’t rely on the next winter being kind.”
Tessa’s eyes flicker. She understands that. She understands winter.
“And it’s about proving,” I add, quieter, “that I’m not just filler.”
The word hurts to say.
Filler.
The extra brother. The joke. The one people love but don’t trust with the real weight.
Tessa’s throat works as she swallows. She might reach for me. Her body has its own instincts that don’t match her armor.
Then she stops herself.
Which is when I let the real bomb land.
“It’s a legacy that I’m pretty sure now is never going to happen.”