Chapter 7
Kassi
Istare at the screen as the video call blinks to life, trying not to let my expression betray what I feel in my stomach.
That familiar swirl of nerves and something colder, something tighter.
My boss, Martin Delaney, appears in his usual crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he's ready to dig in, but we both know he's never lifted a shovel a day in his life.
"Kassi," he says, with that smooth, practiced smile. "You're looking well. How's Walker Lake treating you?"
I keep my own smile polite. Measured. "Productive. The community engagement numbers are strong. Local businesses are showing interest in the revitalization package."
"That's good," he says, but his tone shifts. Just a little. Enough to make my spine straighten. "But we both know the crown jewel is that ranch. Without it, the whole layout of phase two falls apart."
Here it comes.
"We need that ranch."
I nod slowly. "They've refused the three offers you have approved so far."
"That's why I'm calling. I need you to find leverage."
The word hits harder than I expect. I blink once. "Leverage?"
"You've been talking to them. Get close.
Figure out what their weak points are. Everyone's got one.
Money. Secrets. Debt. Sentimentality. Whatever it is, find it and bring it to me.
What can I use to sweeten the deal so they say yes?
Do they need us to pay for their move? Or is there something we can use to force them to sell? "
His voice is calm. Not threatening. Which somehow makes it worse. As if this is just part of the job. Something he’s done a million times before.
He's not on the ground getting to know these people. While Asher has been my point of contact, and he hasn't been the nicest person I've dealt with in Walker Lake, I already have a knot in my stomach thinking about manipulating him.
I swallow. "That wasn't what I was brought in to do. My role is community redevelopment. Not—"
"Kassi."
He says my name. It’s a warning. Gentle, but firm. "You're a single mom. You've told me yourself how much this job means. I know you want the best for your daughter. Let's not pretend we do this work for fun."
It's easy for him to make demands from miles and states away.
It's harder for me since I've taken the time to get to know people here.
This is the community I live in, where my daughter lives, and the last thing I want to do is uproot her again if I lose my job because this whole development plan goes south.
He pauses for effect, then softens. "Look, you do this, and there's a project manager role opening up next quarter. Bigger salary. Better benefits. We're talking real security for you and Emma. But I need results now. No more waiting."
I flinch. Just a fraction. "I won't lie to them."
"No one's asking you to lie. Just find out what makes them tick. You're good at reading people. That's why I hired you."
He pauses again, then continues, his voice quieter and colder.
"This project manager role I mentioned? That promotion is going to someone who delivers.
Someone who gets results. And I want that to be you.
But you have to give me a reason, Kassi.
Don't make me wonder if you're still the right person for this job.
Listen, I have another call, but do some digging, we will chat soon. "
He ends the call before I can say anything else. Leaving me staring at my own reflection on the dark screen.
Suddenly, the apartment around me feels too still. The stack of project files, the community feedback forms, the framed photo of Emma from last Christmas, with her face all lit up from the glow of the tree, making the silence louder than before.
I lean forward, pressing my hands to my temples. What am I doing?
This job was supposed to be about building something. Helping towns like Walker Lake survive and grow. I thought I was making things better. But lately, it's felt more like I'm helping tear something down. And the worst part is, I didn't see it. Or maybe I just didn't want to.
The longer I live here and get to know the town, I can see they may not be thriving on big city standards, but they aren't hurting either.
This town is nothing like what I was led to believe it was before I moved here.
It's so much better. They have a strong community, with events, culture, and history. There’s some tourism, but the people living here are here because this is the life they want.
Who am I to come in and turn that upside down?
I open my laptop, fingers hovering over the keys.
Against my better judgment, I begin to pull up public zoning records and agricultural easements.
The ranch is listed under three names, all brothers, with no recent liens or open permits.
I click through tax history, water rights, then a spreadsheet from last year showing county assessments.
I'm halfway through looking into property transfer histories when my stomach flips. It’s making me feel as if I'm violating something sacred, poking around in a life I haven't earned the right to dissect.
I slam the laptop shut.
Pushing out of my chair, I walk to the window and look out at the little main street leading toward the lake below.
People are strolling, enjoying the day. Someone is hauling a sack of groceries to an old truck.
Real life unfolds below, and they don’t know I'm standing behind glass, as I watch from my apartment above one of the shops on the square, wondering if I'm about to hurt them all.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the texts I've exchanged with Bear. His name in my contacts makes me smile and ache all at once. There's one from last night. Something about wanting to hear my laugh. It’s sweet and disarming.
I start to type a reply, then delete it. Then start again.
And stop.
Because the thing I want to say most is the one thing I can't.
Who are you really?
I want to know if he's someone I've crossed paths with.
Someone I know in town. It's not like I haven't tried to figure it out.
I've hovered over the idea of asking for a photo, or even searching his number online.
But it feels wrong, like pulling at the thread of something that's just starting to feel real.
Pocketing my phone, I stand up. I need air. I need out. Finally, I decide to head out early and stop by the diner for one of their iced coffees before I go pick up Emma.
When I push open the door of the diner, the familiar jingle of the bell overhead greets me.
The place smells of fresh-baked biscuits and fried bacon, and it's the kind of scent that makes my shoulders droop a little.
Austin, the owner, stands behind the counter, wiping down a tray. She glances up, eyes crinkling.
"Well, well, changing the world herself. What brings you in here at this time of day?"
"Just needed some caffeine and a familiar face," I say, sliding onto one of the stools. "Rough morning."
She raises an eyebrow. "Rough like bad coffee? Or rough like corporate nonsense?"
"The second one," I mutter.
Austin pours with practiced ease cold brew over ice, the way she knows I like it. "That's what I thought. You've got the same look my sister gets before she fires someone she secretly likes from their ranch."
"It's not quite that." I pause. "But I might have to choose between doing what's right and doing what's required."
She sets the iced coffee in front of me and leans forward. "Then make sure you can sleep at night, Kassi. That's the only thing that matters in a place like this. We don't forget who helped and who didn't."
I stir the coffee slowly. "Thanks, Austin. That actually helps more than you know."
She nods. "That's what I'm here for. And your usual's on the house today. Call it a community discount."
I smile. "You're gonna make me cry in public."
"Then take it to go," she says, winking.
By the time I pull up outside Emma's school, the guilt is sitting heavier than ever. She comes barreling down the sidewalk, backpack bouncing, hair a mess, and joy in every step. I open the car door, and she climbs in with all the grace of a puppy.
"Guess what?" she announces.
"What?"
"We had a spelling test, and I only got one wrong."
"That's amazing, baby. What word?"
"Entrepreneur. That word is dumb. But it was only a bonus word, and no one in class got it. "
I laugh because she's not wrong.
She buckles in and glances sideways at me. "Are you still smiling about that boy?"
I blink. "What boy?"
"The one from your phone. The one who makes you laugh when you're cooking."
I feel my cheeks heat. "Maybe."
We get home, and I make pasta while she sits at the table coloring. The weight in my chest doesn't lift, but it shifts. Watching her, I think of everything I've promised her. Stability. A better life. No more last-minute moves. No more struggling to make rent or skipping snacks to save money.
This job gave us that. But at what cost?
After dinner, we play a quick game of Uno, and she beats me twice, throwing her arms up in victory.
Her laugh fills the room, and for a moment, I can breathe again.
She's the reason I took this job. The reason I said yes to everything Martin offered.
And she's also the reason I'm second-guessing all of it now.
Later that night, after Emma's bath and story time, she crawls into bed and pulls the covers up to her chin. I sit beside her, smoothing her hair away from her forehead.
"Mommy?" she whispers. "How do you know if something is good or bad?"
I blink. "That's a big question."
"Well... Miss Rhonda said good people always tell the truth. But what if you don't tell the truth, but you're trying to help someone?"
The breath catches in my throat. "Sometimes it's not easy to know what the right thing is. You just have to listen to your heart and be as kind as you can."
She nods sleepily. "Okay. I'll try that."
I kiss her forehead, tuck the blankets tighter around her, and linger at the door after turning the lights off. Watching her little body curl into her stuffed bear, I whisper the question I'm too scared to ask aloud.
Am I protecting her... or teaching her to settle?
Later that night, I sit on the couch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, staring at my phone. I've got a dozen texts half-written, none of them good enough. My laptop sits open beside me, project documents glowing like a threat. One email from Martin, subject line: Ranch—Leverage Ideas?
I don't open it. I already know what it'll say.
Bear hasn't texted tonight. For once, the silence is mine to break.
I type.
Me: Ever feel like you're stuck between two truths?
The reply takes a while.
Bear: All the time. What are yours?
I hesitate.
Me: One says I'm doing my job. The other says I'm breaking something that matters.
He replies almost instantly.
Bear: Some things are harder to fix once they're broken.
I stare at that message until the words blur.
And I wonder what he'd say if he knew who I really was.
What would I say if I knew who he was?