There’s no way this works out. I mean, the Halloways have to have some serious luck in their back pocket to make this work.
"Stonegate Lodge is already underway on the empty lot next door.”
“Lodge?” I ask, not sure this is what we’re looking for.
“The name is understated,” Brook explains. “It’s a gathering space leaning heavily toward a wedding venue but with western touches and decor. I've already got permits and the utilities are stubbed in. It was going to be my winter project."
Holy cow. “For real?” I look at Sarah wondering how this is even possible.
Sarah shrugs as if to say:That’s Brook for you.As if everyone’s daughter just up and decides to build new businesses over the winter.
"Can it be done in four weeks?” Sarah asks.
I hold very still. We haven’t sent the date in stone, but four weeks will give us time to host the event and allow the Senator time to cancel the rezoning before the deadline.
"The main floor will be. You’ll have a kitchen, restrooms and a bar. There will also be an outdoor section which I know we can have ready and you’ll have plenty of room out there for what you need.” Brook sighs, “And every contractor who's bought feed from us, every supplier who's gotten paid on time, every vendor who knows the Hallowayname means something will step up." Brook replies, and there's steel in her tone now. "This family has been good to this community for generations. They'll help."
Sarah’s expression is pride and amazement all tangled together. This is her daughter, her brilliant, capable daughter who's been quietly building an empire one feed sale at a time.
I've spent my career around powerful people, people who make things happen through money and connections and political maneuvering. But this is a woman who's about to move mountains through a reputation of treating people right.
They are also throwing themselves behind my idea and betting the ranch on my strategy.
Don't mess this up,I tell myself.Don't you dare mess this up.
After Brook hangs up, Sarah and I lean back in our chairs. She turns to stare out the window toward the pastures where cattle graze in blissful ignorance of the bureaucratic war being waged over their heads.
"Have you started moving them to comply with the deadline?" I ask, curious about how things are going on that end. I haven’t seen much of an effort, but I was gone over the weekend.
Sarah's laugh is bitter. "Oscar refuses to move a single head. He says if we're going to lose, we lose fighting on our own land."
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and suddenly I can't breathe properly. I've been operating under the assumption that compliance was buying us space to maneuver. But if Oscar won't budge...
"Sarah," I say carefully, fighting to keep my voice level even as panic claws at my throat, "that means we succeed or die."
She turns and pins me with a look. “Halloways were forged on this land. Strip that away and I’ll be a widow in six months.”
I start calculating—guest lists, invitations, catering, logistics, media coverage, congressional schedules. It's tight but doable, assuming everything goes perfectly. Assuming Brook's construction stays on schedule, assuming Senator Martinez can attend, assuming every cowboy says yes, assuming the weather cooperates, assuming nothing goes catastrophically wrong.
Assuming I don't completely screw this up and destroy the legacy of the man who kisses me until my knees give out. This is Wyatt's inheritance. What if I fail Wyatt the way my father failed me?
I have to prove I'm worth keeping.
Professional assessment: the plan is brilliant but incredibly risky. We're betting everything on my ability to sway someone else's opinion through celebrity peer pressure tactics—in four weeks with no backup plan and no safety net.
Personal terror: if this fails, Oscar loses everything. Wyatt loses his legacy. The family that welcomed me into their home, is slowly bled dry.
I swallow hard against the tightness in my throat, the effort scraping like broken glass. What if caring this much makes me reckless?
Sarah studies my face. “You're scared."
There's no point in lying. Not to her, not to myself, notwhen everything that matters is riding on the next four weeks. My hands are trembling so badly I have to set down my coffee cup before I drop it.
"Terrified," I admit. "But that's never stopped me before." I gulp. This is the first time I've ever let someone see me this vulnerable.
"Good," she says. "Scared people fight harder."
Well, that’s not always true but in my case, she’s probably right. My phone buzzes against the table. Unknown number. I tap on the text icon.