Chapter 2
Kassi
The smell of burnt toast and cheap coffee fills my tiny kitchen as I try to scrape the blackened edges off what's left of breakfast. Emma's sitting at the table, swinging her legs and humming some pop song under her breath like she doesn't have a care in the world.
I envy that. Seven years old, second grade, still believing life is simple and fair and that everything can be fixed with glitter glue or a hug.
"Sit still for one second, baby," I say, coming up behind her with the brush. I gently pull it through her wavy hair, the dark strands slipping through my fingers like silk.
"I like it messy," she protests with a laugh.
"I know, but your teacher probably doesn't want to dig glitter out of it again today."
She giggles, and I can't help but smile. These quiet, special moments are the ones I cherish most. When it's just the two of us in our little world, before the rest of the day presses in with its demands.
"You want cereal instead?" I ask, holding up the box like it's a peace offering.
"Only if it's the chocolate kind," she says with a grin, those big brown eyes lighting up the room like always. She's got this spark in her, my girl. She always has, and she's smart, curious, and way too observant for her own good.
I pour the cereal into a chipped bowl and glance around the kitchen while the milk spills over the top.
The counters are scratched, the linoleum is peeling, and the cabinet doors don't quite close all the way.
It's not a bad place, not really. But it sure as hell isn't what I imagined when I pictured my life growing up.
My phone buzzes on the counter with an incoming text. I check it while Emma crunches away, milk dribbling down her chin.
BOSS: Keep your eyes on Silver Cattle Ranch. We're not giving up on that one. The offer stands, and we're willing to push harder, but we need to find leverage.
I set the phone down as if it burned me.
Great.
Just what I needed this morning. More pressure.
Silver Cattle Ranch and Asher. His name flashes through my head even though it shouldn't. He's too much of a cowboy. Too stubborn. Too angry. And too distracting with those rough hands and that steel-cut jaw and the way he looks at me like I'm either the enemy or a problem he wants to solve.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself I'm doing good work.
I came here to help modernize Walker Lake and some of the surrounding dying small towns just outside Amarillo.
Better roads, safer schools, and access to things this little town has done without for too long.
That's the pitch. That's what I signed up for.
But some days, it feels like all I'm doing is fighting ghosts in cowboy hats who think progress is a curse word.
"Mom, you're making the face again," Emma says around a mouthful of cereal.
"What face?"
"The one that means you're thinking too hard."
Smiling, I ruffle her hair, trying to shake it off. "I just have a lot on my mind. Grown-up stuff."
She shrugs, clearly bored, and pulls her backpack off the chair. It's way too big for her tiny frame, but she wears it with pride. The little unicorn keychain bounces as she heads for the door.
"After you pick me up from school, are you still dropping me off at Candy's?"
"Yep. You two have a sleepover planned, remember?"
Clapping her hands, she squeals, "She said she's gonna teach me how to braid like a rodeo queen!"
I smile, but it's tight. I trust Candy. She's one of the first friends I made here.
We met at the library, and when she noticed me checking out a few of her favorite books, we clicked instantly.
The type of woman who remembers birthdays and drops off soup when you're sick.
She's sweet, steady, and probably the only reason I haven't completely lost my mind in this place.
When she met Emma, the two of them bonded. Everyone in town smiles when they talk about Candy and her husband, North, so I've been trusting her more and more with Emma. As a single mom, it's nice to have at least one other person to rely on.
I follow Emma out, lock the door, and hustle her into the car. We're late again, but the school's used to that by now. I do the best I can. Sometimes I wonder if that's enough.
After drop-off, I head back home and grab my laptop. Work-from-home perks mean I can shuffle around in sweats and drink as much bad coffee as I want. But it also means the pressure never stops. Emails pinging, meetings popping up, and bosses breathing down my neck through screens.
One email catches my eye. It's from a small-town library initiative in another county I consulted for last year.
"New community reading space approved——thank you for your outreach strategy, Kassi!"
I smile. That felt good. Real. Because I did something that mattered.
Then the next one punches me right back into reality.
"Re: Silver Cattle Ranch Status—urgent!"
Opening my inbox again, sure enough, there's a calendar invite labeled Urgent: Silver Cattle Progress.
Clicking into the meeting, I plaster on my best professional smile.
"Kassi," my boss says the moment the camera flickers on, "we need better traction with this ranch. We thought they'd bite at the relocation perks. They didn't. Why?"
I want to say because Asher Walker is a mule in a flannel shirt. But instead, I offer the diplomatic version.
"They're emotionally invested. It's not about the money. It's a legacy and something they worked hard to get. If I'm honest, I don't see them giving it up for any amount of money."
My boss frowns, seeing only inconvenience where there is truth. "Everyone has a price. Find theirs. We're not interested in losing this piece of land. Not when we're this close."
My stomach twists. I nod, say I understand, and close the call without another word. He has never explained why he is so set on this ranch, not when there are so many other ranchers we could talk to.
Part of me is wondering if his ego was hurt when the previous owner sold it to the brothers for less than my boss was offering him. The other part of me is certain there is a good reason, but it's above my pay grade to know it.
The truth is, I'm starting to doubt if we are the good guys. Is any of this about helping people, or is it just profit masked in PR buzzwords?
My rent's due in five days. The electric bill came in higher than I expected. And Emma needs new shoes because she's growing like a weed. I stare down at the spreadsheet of properties and offers, wondering how long I can keep pretending this is all okay.
That's when my phone rings again. This time it's Candy.
"Hey! Just confirming you're dropping off the little miss around four?"
"Yep, I'll have her packed and ready. Thanks again."
"Of course. And don't forget you are going with me to the dance hall tonight."
I groan. "Candy."
Previously, she had discussed this idea with me.
North will take Emma and their daughter, Holly, to Candy's dad's house for dinner and playtime since Candy's sister is home from school. It’s especially nice because Candy's dad treats Emma just like she's his granddaughter, and Emma eats it right up.
"Don't you dare try to wiggle out. I've already laid out your outfit. Figuratively speaking. You need to get out. Dance. Drink. Maybe make eyes at a handsome stranger."
"Pretty sure there are only twelve people in this town under sixty."
"And at least four of them are single cowboys. Come on, it's the grand opening. It'll be fun."
I hesitate. My body aches with the kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix. But Candy's right. I've been drowning in work and mom life for months. Maybe a night off wouldn't kill me.
"Okay," I say finally. "But if I'm awkward, you're not allowed to ditch me."
"Deal. I'll bring the liquid courage."
Hanging up, I glance around my kitchen again.
There's a spot near the stove where the paint's peeling, and someone before me tried to patch it with floral wallpaper.
It doesn't match anything else, and I used to think I'd cover it up eventually.
But now I kind of like it. A weird little reminder that things don't have to be perfect to be home.
Still, I let myself dream for a second. Picturing a wide farmhouse sink, painted cabinets, and a porch that overlooks rolling hills instead of the neighbor's rusty trampoline. I picture space. Peace. Maybe even love, if I'm allowed to want that, too.
But that feels far away. Right now, I've got a kid to raise, a job to hold on to, and a town full of cowboys who think I'm the enemy.
Still, tonight I'm going to dance. Or at least try.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll remember what it feels like to be a woman—not just a mom or an employee or a ticking time bomb of stress.
Just me. For one night.