“And Quinn’s going to want to know about this,” he adds after a second, glancing toward the house like he’s already thinking two steps ahead. “She’s working with Sheriff Adams still, which means if this ties into anything bigger, we don’t sit on it and hope it goes away.”
"Draw up some plans for us to see," Brooks tells me.
“You’ll have them,” I say, that part’s already decided on in my head. “I’ll be out there every day if I have to.”
Luke nods once. “We rotate,” he adds. “No one’s out there alone longer than they need to be until we know what we’re dealing with.”
That sits right, not just because it’s practical, but because it means this isn’t just my call anymore, it’s ours, the way it’s supposed to be even when it gets complicated.
Brooks picks up on that same thread. “I’ll start running numbers tonight,” he says. “If we’re doing a full build, I want to know exactly what it costs us and where we can move things without putting pressure on the rest of the operation.”
“I’ll handle the physical side,” Wade adds, already shifting into it despite himself. “Clearing, equipment, whatever we need to get the ground ready.”
Luke glances at me. “You take point on the layout,” he says. “You’re the one who’s been thinking about it. We’ll make sure it fits everything else.”
I nod, the plan coming together faster than I expected, not because it’s easy, but because once we decide something as a unit, we don’t half-step it.
That’s always been the difference with us.
We argue it out, we push, we question, and then when it matters, we lock in.
Wade shifts his weight and jerks his chin toward the house. “We’ll eat, then we go over it,” he says. “No sense making big decisions on empty stomachs.”
“Now that sounds like a rule we can all agree on,” Brooks mutters.
A faint grin pulls at my mouth despite everything. Even with all of this sitting between us, some things don’t change, and maybe that’s exactly what we need right now.
Whatever Colt’s got tied to our land, whatever he thought he was hiding out there, he’s not the only one making moves anymore.
And this time…
We’re ready for it.
By first light the next morning, the decision has teeth.
There’s no easing into it, no slow roll or second-guessing once the sun comes up over Miller land and burns the last of yesterday’s hesitation out of the air. We move like we always do when something matters, each of us taking a piece and getting to work without waiting to be told twice.
Wade’s already out there before I am. His tractor idling low as he starts clearing a strip along the rise where the ground sits firm and drains right. The kind of place you build something that’s meant to last. Luke is walking the perimeter with a tape and stakes, marking out lines like he’s drawing the shape of something that doesn’t exist yet but will soon enough.
Brooks pulls up not long after with a stack of folders and a clipboard. Even out here, in the dirt and dust, he’s still thinking in numbers and timelines, making sure what we’re doing doesn’t just feel right, but holds up when everything gets added together.
I take a second when I step out of my truck, letting the scene settle in front of me, the hum of equipment, the scrape of metal against earth, the quiet coordination that comes from years of working side by side, and something in my chest locks in a way that feels solid.
This is happening.
Not later.
Now.
“You’re late,” Wade calls over the noise, not looking up from what he’s doing.
“By five minutes,” I shoot back, grabbing a set of stakes from the bed of my truck. “Try not to fall apart without me.”
“Don’t worry,” he mutters. “We already started without you.”
“Shocking,” I say, but there’s no heat in it.
Luke glances over as I move in, handing me a line. “We’re setting the footprint here,” he says, nodding toward the stretch he’s marked out. “Gives you a clear view of the whole place and keeps you close enough to the fence line without crowding it.”
