33. Nash
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Nash
“This is going to be good, Nash, don’t you worry about it.”
I smile thinly as Boone pats me reassuringly on the shoulder, but I’m starting to wonder if bringing my brothers was the best plan.
These town hall meetings haven’t exactly been easy.
I don’t know if I can stand him and Dallas seeing me fail.
Dallas shuts the truck door beside us and glances toward the Town Hall building, its brick front looking a little too official this morning.
“Either way,” he says calmly, “you won’t be doing it alone.”
Boone nods in agreement, already heading toward the entrance because he plans to hold the entire town accountable if things go wrong.
“You’ve done the work,” he adds over his shoulder. “They’d be idiots to turn this down.”
I wish I believed that as easily as he does.
Town Hall smells of paper, dust, and coffee that’s been sitting too long on a hot plate. The bitter scent hits me the moment we step inside, and somehow it feels appropriate.
Boone walks beside me as a wall that decided to grow legs. Dallas trails slightly behind, already studying the room the way he does when he’s quietly analyzing how things might unfold.
The three of us together probably look crazy. A McCoy cavalry.
The council chamber is already half full.
Mayor Caldwell sits at the front table with her neatly stacked folders and the composed expression she always wears, whether she’s organizing the Christmas parade or telling someone their permits have been denied.
Hank Lawson leans against the back wall with his arms folded, watching the room as a man who expects something entertaining to happen.
I ignore him.
A few townspeople glance our way as we take our seats. Some nod politely. Others look away. A handful stare long enough to make it clear they’re forming opinions.
Buckhorn gossip moves faster than spring runoff.
Dallas pulls a notebook from his jacket pocket and flips it open.
“You don’t have to take notes,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “Habit.”
Fair enough.
Mayor Caldwell taps her pen against the table, the quiet sound carrying through the room. “Let’s begin.”
The chatter fades.
I straighten in my seat, trying to keep my shoulders loose even though every muscle in my body is already bracing for impact.
This meeting was supposed to be routine. Clarification, maybe a few cautious questions about the guest ranch plans.
Instead, the mayor folds her hands and looks directly at me. “Mr. McCoy.”
That tone rarely leads to good news.
“We’ve reviewed the preliminary proposal for the McCoy Ranch guest expansion.”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
She glances at the other council members before continuing. “Due to concerns regarding the land boundaries near Juniper Creek, the council has decided to officially delay approval of the proposal pending a formal land review.”
The room grows so quiet I can hear someone shift their chair behind me.
“Delay,” I repeat.
Mayor Caldwell nods calmly. “A survey and county review will certainly be required before the council can move forward.”
My mouth goes dry. “How long would that take?”
“That depends on the findings.”
Which is council language for this could take forever.
Behind us, Hank Lawson clears his throat loudly. “Seems reasonable.”
Boone shifts beside me, his shoulders tightening. Dallas’s pen pauses mid-sentence.
I keep my eyes on the mayor.
“With respect,” I say carefully, “that land has been part of McCoy Ranch for decades. I think everything I have shown you over the last few weeks have demonstrated that—”
“And the Long family disputes that,” another council member interjects.
The room shifts again, quietly but noticeably.
Mayor Caldwell continues. “The engagement between you and Miss Long suggested the matter might be resolved privately. Yet, things seem to have stalled in that department. Am I right?”
The word engagement hangs awkwardly in the air.
I swallow.
“That’s… complicated,” I say.
A few people exchange looks. Hank laughs softly under his breath.
Mayor Caldwell exhales. “The council cannot approve development on disputed land.”
“So the whole project stops,” I say.
“For now.”
Those two words hit harder than anything else she’s said.
I lean back slowly, the fight draining out of my shoulders before it even begins. I didn’t even get to defend myself. I hardly said a word.
Boone leans forward beside me. “What exactly needs reviewing?”
Mayor Caldwell folds her hands on the table. “Like I said, we’ll need a full survey of the Juniper Creek boundary before any decision can be made.”
Councilman Price nods beside her. “The county will also have to review the historical filings connected to that parcel.”
I frown. “Those records already exist.”
“Some of them,” Price replies carefully. “Others may need verification.”
Another council member leans forward. “There are questions about older property agreements in that area. If there were informal arrangements between families, the county will want documentation.”
“Which means?” I ask.
Mayor Caldwell sighs slightly. “Which means the council cannot move forward until those boundary lines are clarified.”
Dallas resumes writing.
I stop listening halfway through, because I already know how this goes.
Delays turn into months.
Months turn into a year.
By then, the momentum disappears, and the idea fades, buried under paperwork and hesitation.
Hank Lawson won’t forget it.
Neither will Thomas Long.
By the time the meeting adjourns, my chest feels hollow.
People begin filing out of the room. A few clap my shoulder awkwardly. Others avoid eye contact entirely.
Buckhorn doesn’t enjoy open conflict. It prefers pretending everything is simple.
Outside, the cold air hits hard.
Boone steps beside me on the sidewalk. “That was bullshit.”
Dallas nods. “They were never going to approve it today.”
“Still…” Boone mutters.
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “It’s fine.”
Both of them look at me.
“That didn’t sound convincing,” Boone says.
I shrug. “What do you want me to do? Throw a chair?”
Dallas smirks faintly. “That would’ve been entertaining.”
Despite everything, I laugh.
The sound fades quickly.
Across the street, Virgil Tucker stands outside the feed store talking with two ranchers. One nods when he sees me.
The other looks away.
Buckhorn is already choosing sides.
Quietly.
Some backing tradition.
Others hoping for something new.
Boone studies me carefully. “You’re not giving up.”
It isn’t a question.
I stare down Main Street.
Clara’s bakery window shines warm. Kids run past with hot chocolate. A pickup rattles down the road as if it’s any other winter afternoon.
Everything looks the same.
Except it isn’t.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Boone frowns. “Nash—”
“I mean it,” I say, gesturing back toward Town Hall. “They’re building a wall.”
Dallas closes his notebook slowly. “The land issue complicates things.”
“That’s a polite way of saying it kills the project.”
Boone shakes his head. “It’s a delay.”
“Yeah.” I kick a loose piece of ice across the sidewalk. “And delays have a way of becoming permanent.”
We stand there while the town moves around us.
Dallas finally speaks. “You’ve worked harder on this than anyone expected.”
“That’s not exactly comforting.”
“I’m saying it matters.”
Boone nods. “You’re serious about this, Nash. Everyone can see that now.”
I let out a breath.
Serious.
That’s what I wanted, right?
My whole life, people looked at me as the fun one, the guy with big ideas and no follow-through. Turns out, when you finally prove them wrong, the town still finds another reason not to believe you.
Boone claps my shoulder. “We’ll figure something out.”
Dallas adds quietly, “We always do.”
I nod, but the truth sits heavy in my chest.
What if we don’t?
What if this was my one and only shot?
My chance to build something that was mine instead of just riding along on the ranch Boone runs and the paperwork Dallas manages.
The thought creeps in before I can stop it.
Clay left.
He chased rodeos halfway across the country and is way happier for it.
Buckhorn never expected him to stay.
Maybe they don’t expect me to either.
And suddenly I’m thinking about Old Mill Road.
About standing in the cold with Tessa while the barn dance music faded behind us, the way the words came out of me before I could stop them.
I love you.
I see it again as if it’s happening right now, her face going still, her eyes widening just a little before all that careful control snapped back into place.
The way she kissed me because she meant it.
The way she ran afterward as if she didn’t.
I haven’t heard from her since.
No message. No explanation. Nothing.
The land is a mess. The council doesn’t trust me. Half the town thinks this engagement is a stunt.
And the one person who made any of it feel like it might work took off the second things got real.
Maybe that’s the answer.
The problem isn’t the ranch or the council.
It’s Buckhorn.