Page 31 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

She had carved out a piece of her life that was hers alone and it felt like she was finally steering her own story instead of drifting along in someone else's plan. Thanks to Beyoncé, there was a lightness to her step, a grin that kept threatening to spill across her face, and an almost ridiculous sense of giddiness at how good it felt to finally put herself first.

She realized happiness could be something she actively chose, and that decision had given her the courage to dive into something else she'd been thinking about ever since news of the ranch's money problems had gone public.

Sorry, comfort zone. It's not you, it's me.

Vivi looked at the three Callahan men staring back at her like she'd just announced she'd burned down the barn. Which, honestly, might've earned her a warmer reception.

They sat around the kitchen table like it was some kind of family tribunal.

Boone sat at the head, arms crossed and jaw set, looking two heartbeats away from walking out. Colter was half-grinning like he was watching his favorite sitcom. And Eli, well, Eli looked like he'd rather be back dodging gunfire than sitting through whatever this was.

She clasped her hands together and forced a bright, slightly-too-wide smile. "First off, thank you all for coming."

Boone's brow arched. "We didn't exactly have a choice. Rea said it was mandatory."

"Right." Vivi’s chin lifted and she tried to sound confident and not like her pulse was currently doing the cha-cha. "I may have heard around town that you're having a little cash flow problem at the ranch."

Boone groaned like he was two seconds away from killing the next person who spoke. But Vivi wasn't deterred. She had a plan—a good one—and she was going to lay it all on the table.

"What if I could help with that?" she asked.

Three pairs of Callahan eyes landed on her with equal parts suspicion and irritation. Rea's were full of amusement.

Colter leaned forward, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "This should be good."

"Good doesn't even begin to cover it," Vivi said, straightening her notes like she was pitching to investors instead of three very attractive skeptics. "Gentlemen, what if I told you Callahan Ranch could become Montana's next big vacation destination?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Boone blinked, slow and incredulous.

Finally, Eli muttered, "Oh hell, she's serious."

"What if we turned the bunkhouse into a collection of rentals? Like Airbnbs. Tourists, weekend stays, people who want the Montana ranch experience. It could bring in extra cash to help with the rising water costs."

Boone looked at her like she'd just grown antlers. "You want to invite strangers to stay on my land? Fuck no."

"An Airbnb? How would that even work?" Colter asked.

"The bunkhouse is just sitting there unused. You could turn it into a rustic getaway for city folks. You know, cowboy charm, horses, hay bales … the whole shebang. I can help with the setup, the marketing, and making it look inviting. I mean, if I can make accountants sound like a thirst trap, I can write a bio for this place that will get you booked for months."

Boone stared at her for a long moment. "You're insane."

"Insane is paying ten grand for a month of country living and having to shovel horse shit," she countered.

Eli choked. "I still can’t believe you paid ten grand to live in this shit hole."

"I know, right? Anyway, if you get those bunkhouses up to snuff, that's six places, which could house six to ten guests at a time, easy. Charge three-hundred a night. That's five-grand a weekend during peak season."

Colter and Eli exchanged impressed looks, and Vivi grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline.

Step outside your comfort zone. Check.

She couldn't help the little thrill that maybe, just maybe, she'd done more than survive the ranch—she might actually help save it.

Boone leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, the old wood chair creaking under his weight. He looked at her sketches like they were rattlesnakes, then cut those skeptical eyes her way. They were intense with a cutting kind of skepticism that could flatten enthusiasm faster than a Montana windstorm.

"And where are we going to get the money or the time to fix up the bunkhouses?" he asked, voice even but laced with that rancher practicality that always sounded like doubt.

He wasn't mocking her—but he didn't have to. The measured way he rubbed his thumb along the calloused edge of his palm and the slow exhale through his nose, it all said the same thing: You're dreaming.