Chapter 8 #2
LandCorp doesn’t bulldoze families outright. They’re circling. Applying pressure. Creating inconvenience. Letting panic and debt do the dirty work for them.
We don’t have proof. Nothing that would hold up anywhere official. Just a growing certainty that none of this is a coincidence. And a cold, unwelcome realization settling in my chest:
If LandCorp is willing to starve ranches out quietly… they won’t stop with us.
Dad pushes his glasses up, eyes hard now. “Once LandCorp owns the subsurface, the surface follows. Always does.”
Ethan clears his throat and clicks to another screen. “There is one option they can’t touch. Montana Veterans’ Ag Resilience Grant. State program for veteran-owned operations facing financial hardship.”
I wait. There’s always a catch.
“It prioritizes married veteran operators with qualified co-signers. Infrastructure funding, matched dollar-for-dollar up to fifty thousand.”
The word “married” hangs in the air.
“Combined with the grant,” Ethan continues, “the bank would have to reconsider. Married couples with diversified management are statistically lower risk. And if your co-signer has operations credentials—business management, financial oversight, agricultural experience—”
“Someone like a ranch operations coordinator,” I finish.
“Someone exactly like that.”
The door creaks. We all turn.
Gabriel stands in the doorway, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s been scarce lately—disappearing for hours, dodging questions, that haunted look in his eyes that reminds me too much of myself three years ago.
“There’s more,” he says. “The land-grant loophole.”
Dad straightens. “What loophole?”
Gabriel moves into the room and pulls a folded document from his jacket. “Nineteenth-century provision. If ranch parcels stay trust-held and the designated heir is unmarried when a mineral-development petition is filed, there’s a reversion clause. Forced sale.”
“Where did you get this?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Just hands the document to Dad. “LandCorp’s lawyers have been digging through county records for months. They’re planning to file the petition this quarter.”
Silence. Dad’s face pales as he scans the document.
“If Daniel’s married,” Gabriel says quietly, “the title converts from trust to direct ownership. The loophole closes. They can’t force anything.”
I stare at my brother. He’s been gone for weeks, barely returning calls, and now he shows up with exactly the information we need?
Questions for later. Right now, there’s only one question that matters.
“You going to ask her?” Dad’s voice is gruff. He looks at me as if he already knows the answer.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Nothing worth having ever is.” He removes his glasses and sets them on the desk with the careful precision of a man choosing his words.
“Your mother and I got married three weeks after we met. Everyone said we were crazy.” A pause.
“I had forty-two years with the best woman I ever knew. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. ”
My chest tightens as memories play like a movie reel in my head. Mom in the kitchen, flour on her cheek, dancing with me standing on her feet while some old country song played. Before everything broke. Before Mom died bringing Gabriel into the world.
“She’d like Delaney,” Dad adds quietly. “Your mother always had a soft spot for fighters.”
“Delaney works for me. Lives under my roof.” The words come out rough.
Dad’s gaze sharpens. “Then you don’t ask her unless she can walk away,” he says, his voice like iron. “Unless she knows that no is an option and nothing changes if she uses it.”
The words hang there, immovable.
“She deserves the truth,” he continues. “Not pressure. Not gratitude. Not a damn thing hanging over her head.”
My jaw tightens. “And if I wait too long—”
“Then we lose the land,” Dad says evenly, but I hear the pain behind his words. “But we don’t lose ourselves. And we don’t take her choice away.”
I blow out a heavy breath. “She’s been fighting her whole life. I won’t make her fight me too.”
Dad nods as he stands and gathers the papers. “Figure out how to make it real for her. Not just a solution to our problem.”
He leaves. Gabriel follows without another word, disappearing like smoke.
Ethan lingers, closing his laptop. “For what it’s worth? She looks at you the same way you look at her.”
“Yeah?”
“Like everything else just got quieter.” He heads for the door. “Don’t screw it up.”
“Helpful.”
“Anytime.”
The barn smells like hay and horse and the particular dusty sweetness of a Montana evening. I find her outside Captain Winky’s stall, talking to him in that low voice she uses—the one that makes his ears flick forward, curious and calm.
She’s gotten better with him. Two weeks ago, she could barely stand in the same space without her hands shaking. Now she’s reaching out, letting him snuffle her palm, her shoulders relaxed in a way I’ve never seen.
She doesn’t hear me approach.
“You’re good with him.”
She startles, hand flying to her chest. “Jesus! Do you practice sneaking up on people, or is it a military thing?”
“Both.”
I lean against the stall door, watching her. Hay in her hair. Dust on her jeans. She’s never looked more beautiful.
I should ease into this. Build up to it. Make it sound rational.
“Marry me.”
The words come out flat. Graceless. Nothing like I planned.
She goes completely still. Even Captain Winky holds his breath.
“That’s...” She clears her throat. “That’s quite an opening line.”
“The bank denied the loan. There’s a state grant—Veterans’ Ag Resilience. Prioritizes married veteran operators with qualified co-signers.”
Christ, I’m making it sound like a business transaction. I hate myself.
“Your coordinator credentials make us ideal candidates. And there’s a land-grant loophole—if I’m not married when LandCorp files its petition, they can force a sale.”
“So you need a wife.” Her voice is flat. Guarded. “For paperwork.”
“No.” Too sharp. I force myself to breathe. “I mean—yes, technically. But that’s not—”
I’m drowning. Saying everything wrong.
She waits, brown eyes unreadable in the dim light.
“When I think about losing this ranch,” I say slowly, “the thing that scares me most isn’t the land. It’s not the legacy or disappointing my family.” I make myself hold her gaze. “It’s losing you with it.”
Her breath catches.
“You came here with nowhere else to go. I know that. And I swear, Delaney—I’m not asking because you’re convenient or because you can’t say no.
” I step closer. “I’m asking because the thought of you leaving—of not seeing you argue with my systems or glare at me over coffee—that terrifies me more than any financial crisis. ”
“Daniel—”
“You can say no. You’ll still have a job. You’ll still have a home, even if this place doesn’t survive. Nothing changes except I spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”
Silence stretches between us. A horse shifts in its stall. Outside, the evening insects are starting their chorus.
Delaney stares at me for a long moment. Something shifts in her expression—fear and hope and something else I can’t name.
“I need to think,” she says.
“Take all the time you need.”
She walks past me, close enough that I catch her scent. At the barn door, she pauses.
“Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For asking like my choice matters.”
“It does matter.” My voice comes out rough. “You matter.”
She doesn’t respond. Just walks out into the twilight, leaving me in the barn with my heart in my throat and everything riding on her answer.
Captain Winky nickers softly. Judgment, probably.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I know.”