Page 13 of Tessa and Nash

“I like the phased approach,” she says. “Starting small shows restraint.”

A ripple of interest moves through the room.

My chest loosens a fraction. Just enough to hurt when it tightens again.

Then Councilman Harris leans forward, fingers steepled. “Mr. McCoy, how old are you again?”

The question lands as a pebble in my shoe. Small. Irritating. Impossible to ignore.

“Twenty-three,” I say evenly.

A murmur ripples through the room.

“And how long have you been managing large-scale operations?”

“I work full time on the ranch,” I reply. “Have for years.

“That’s not what I asked,” he says. “This is a business venture in hospitality and tourism. Do you have any experience seeing something like this through over the long term?”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

“I’ve done my research,” I say instead. “And I’ve got support. From my family. From⁠—”

Councilwoman Price cuts in. “You’ve had ideas before, Nash.”

She says my name as if she’s known me since I was in diapers. Which she has.

“Big ideas,” she continues. “And they’re always exciting. But they don’t always… stick.”

Heat crawls up my neck.

The self-serve produce stand I sketched out at seventeen, abandoned after one summer when the highway traffic dried up.

The weekend trail ride idea that fizzled once calving season hit, and no one had time to spare.

The half-built website Rose still teases me about, full of photos and no follow-through.

None of them were failures, not really, but none of them were finished either.

“This isn’t that,” I say. “I’m not asking you to approve a whim. I’m asking you to consider a plan.”

Hank Lawson clears his throat loudly from the back row.

Oh hell.

“Plans are only as good as the people behind them,” he drawls. “And the McCoys have a long history of biting off more than they can chew.”

A few heads nod. A few don’t.

I grit my teeth. “With respect, Hank, McCoy Ranch has been operating continuously for⁠—”

“On land that’s always been a little… flexible,” he says smoothly. “Depending on who you ask.”

My gaze flicks, without meaning to, to Tessa.

Her pen pauses.