Page 34 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

Vivi exhaled, the tension in her shoulders softening slightly.

"Thanks. I appreciate that," she said—then paused. The words she'd been holding in all her life spilled out before she could stop them. "People have always underestimated me. My parents, my boyfriends⁠—”

“Lewis?”

“Especially Lewis. I say yes to everything to try and make everyone happy, but I end up exhausted and overlooked. I just wanted to show you I could handle this. That I could contribute."

Boone's expression gentled in a way that caught her off guard. He wasn't frowning, or smirking, or guarded. He was listening—like really listening—and the intensity in his warm green eyes made her heart stutter.

"I'm sorry I put myself in that group," he said, finally, his voice rough and low, almost growling with that undercurrent of care. "It wasn't you⁠—"

"Oh God," Vivi groaned. "If you're about to say 'it's not you, it's me,' don't you dare finish that sentence."

She'd heard it so many times it was practically tattooed on her forehead.

"But it was me." Before she could whack him on the head, he held up a hand. "Let me explain. This land was left to my guardianship. Not my brothers'. Mine. The idea of outsiders knowing I'm failing at my job is embarrassing. The idea of strangers renting out my family's land like it's some kind of boutique vacation spot feels sacrilegious. It's not just property. Every fence post, every pasture, every quiet corner holds my parents' voices. Their lessons and their pride.

"Letting someone treat it like a commodity, no matter how well-intentioned, makes my chest tighten and my stomach turn," he continued. "This isn't just about me. It's about them and about what they entrusted to me. I won't let it be cheapened."

Hearing Boone speak about the ranch like it was sacred—like every sunrise and pasture carried the weight of memory and legacy—had her rethinking their entire exchange yesterday.

Her chest tightened with empathy and guilt at the same time. Guilt for suggesting the bunkhouse idea in the first place. Empathy for the man who carried so much responsibility on his shoulders.

She wanted to tell him it was okay to let someone in, even on his own terms—even if it meant letting her help. But another part of her hesitated because she didn't want to be shot down again.

She also didn't want to be another person who added more problems to his carefully measured world—an outsider meddling in something that mattered more than anything else to him.

Every time she opened her mouth, she feared she'd say the wrong thing, push too hard, or remind him that she was a city girl who didn't belong. And yet the urge to make a difference, to help lighten the load, was almost unbearable. She wanted to help him lighten his load, even if it meant standing in the line of his disapproval.

She could see the struggle in his gaze, the tension in his shoulders and she knew that if she approached carefully, gently, maybe she could prove she was more than just another complication in his life.

"Don't think of it as cheapening your legacy," she said. "Think of it as sharing the beauty of this land. As for time? Your brothers want more than anything to be part of this place. It's their legacy too. They just don't know how to participate without stepping on your toes."

Boone's hands flexed at his sides until his knuckles when white. He stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing every word and the intentions behind each one. The early morning sunlight caught in his eyes, softening them just slightly—but the tension in his body didn't ease.

"I—" he started, then stopped and shook his head. "You make it sound so simple. They both have dreams they're working toward, and I don't want them to give those up."

"Isn't that their decision to make?"

He let the words hang between them, the tension easing slightly. "I'm not promising I won't grumble every step of the way, but maybe you're right. Maybe it's time to breathe a little life in here without losing what matters."

Boone sat down beside her. "Alright. If we're doing this, we do it right. No shortcuts, no half-measures. The bunkhouse gets fixed up, but we stick to the budget because there is no extra for mistakes and the outcome stays true to the land and to my family. If anyone fucks that up, I won’t just bellow, I will bite."

Vivi's chest lifted with a rush of relief and excitement. "I can handle the planning and the design. I'll get supplies and organize the work. You won't have to do any more lifting than you want to."

He grunted. "You've got a plan for everything, don't you?"

"Only the important things."

CHAPTER 15

Vivi had never imagined she’d manage a renovation project, but there she was, sprawled over a pile of floor-plans, Pinterest printouts, and a half-empty coffee mug, trying to figure out how to turn a crumbling bunkhouse into something resembling civilization.

The Montana morning sun poured through the kitchen window, glinting off the measuring tape and casting a warm glow around the room.

Vivi leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead, and muttered under her breath about how maybe she'd completely overestimated her abilities. The walls needed rebuilding, the floors begged for refinishing, and how the hell she was going to make any of this work without creating a bigger mess than it already was.

Before Vivi could dive back into her sketches, the kitchen door opened with a dramatic flair that could only belong to Rea. Behind her, Colter trailed reluctantly, his usual calm replaced by the hard, irritated edge of suspicion.