Except now as she leans across the table, one sunspotted hand reaching for mine. I take it immediately because I’d never deny this woman a single thing.
Her bulbous knuckles bend, squeezing my fingers between hers, forcing me to meet her gaze. “When I told you we were strapped for cash this year, this is not what I expected you to do.”
I nod at that. I know she didn’t tell us over a family meal all those months ago to make us feel guilty. It was more of a general’s directive to the troops that we would need to batten down the hatches. Lend a hand when we could to keep this place afloat.
The cost of hay when running Stal Brandt, my grandparents’ sport horse breeding farm, is punishing. Especially with how relentlessly hot and dry our climate in the Cascade Valley has become. Veterinary bills, staffing, and utilities on top of that have made maintaining their family legacy and passion more of a hardship than ever.
It was when I’d overheard her and Opa discussing filing for bankruptcy or selling off some of the land—land that’s been in his family for generations—to make ends meet for a while longer, that I caved.
I couldn’t stomach it. Not after everything they’ve done for us—forme.
I was the black sheep. The half brother with the deadbeat dad. I haven’t always been easy to love, but they loved me anyway.
Through unimaginable tragedy. Through unimaginable heartbreak. They have loved me—all four of us really.
And they have sacrificed for us. I’m sure they never imagined having to raise all four of their grandchildren. But they have showed up every day for us anyway.
Which is why I’ll fight until my dying breath for the couple sitting across from me.
I squeeze my oma’s hand and offer her a terse smile. “I know you’d never expect me to do this, but they’ll host it here at the farm for a rental fee. It will only take six weeks to film, around July, so most of the foals should be on the ground by then. It’s offseason for me, so I’d be here anyway. What I make I’ll give over too. Take the pressure off for a bit.”
Guilt prickles at the back of my neck. Parker has been busy with classes at the university here in Emerald Lake. Evan is a farrier—the best hoof care specialist in the area—so he’s constantly busy and traveling several hours up and down the valley for appointments. And Riley? She has her eyes set on the Canadian Olympic show jumping team with our homebred mare, Hula Hoop. She’s training and competing almost constantly.
So basically, everyone in my family is working overtime to either make this place run or cement our family’s legacy. Except for me.
I’m off riding bulls. Something my dad, Carl Bush, has been pulling me away to do for years now. It started off as a way to spite my family and turned into the career I can’t envision my life without. I win my fair share of events as a professional now and have landed some nice sponsorship deals. I keep funneling my winnings into the farm. But it’s just never enough.
They need more money and morehelp. I wish I could provide both. But I haven’t figured out how yet. Which means the guilt of being on the road almost constantly from November through May eats me alive.
It’s my hope that being here for the summer and adding a nice windfall of cash to the farm’s accounts will be the help they need to keep it all going. It could be the thing that helps Riley make it to the Olympics. Hell, I’d settle for it meaning they can just take a few days off here and there.
“I think it’s very sweet of you, Emmett,” Parker says with a firm nod.
My lips twitch as I turn to watch her. She looks as though she’s weighed the merits of my plan and can see them clearly—her moral compass always points due north. Over the years she has undeniably identified herself as the middle child in this family. My sister is introspective, doting, and softhearted—if nota little on the chilly side. She’s also the family mediator. The one I’d go to for rational, tough-but-fair advice. If my plan makes sense to Parker, then it just plain makes sense.
“Is this one of those shows where you have to marry the girl at the end?” Opa’s gruff voice fills the glassed-in dining area. “Because I’m not sure I like that idea for you.”
“No. I don’thaveto marry anyone. Just choose a winner.”
“What do they win?” Evan asks in a clearly mocking tone.
“Me? I guess?”
“You’re going to give them all participation trophies though, right?” Parker quips.
“Yeah, and by participation trophies she means dick—”
“Evan! For crying out loud. You’re like a wild animal that’s made it inside for the first time,” Oma scolds him, and I shoot him a mocking smirk.
“Are they going to be in the way?” Opa pipes up. “I don’t need a bunch of frilly city girls making more work for me than this place already is.”
Oma squeezes my hand as I turn my attention to him. “No, we’ll use the empty bunkhouse down the old driveway. Get it cleaned up. If we need to use the facilities here, I’ll make sure we get you a schedule. I’ll be in my log cottage over on that back quarter, so the farmhouse and stables stay clear of the crew. They told me they’re hiring a location consultant and that person will be in charge of choosing our spots for filming on the farm and elsewhere in the valley. I’m certain I can get you a meeting with them.”
He nods at that, satisfied with my explanation.
“And, Opa, if you don’t want me to do this, I will back out. Or tell them the farm isn’t available. But I just know ten grand a day for thirty days will do a lot of good for this place.”
For the second time today, I swear you could hear a pin drop.
