Page 3 of Tessa and Nash

The question lands sharper than it should. He’s not just asking about the council.

I swallow. The cold bites at the back of my throat. “I’m ready for them to listen.”

Dallas shifts on the step, boots scraping wood.

“They’ll say you’re dreaming,” he says. “They’ll say you get excited, then move on.”

I hate how true that is. Or how true it used to be.

I can feel that old version of me rising up. Grinning, shrugging, pretending it doesn’t matter if nobody believes me, because at least Ι believe me. But I’m tired of being the guy people call fun when what they mean is unreliable.

“This isn’t that,” I say, quieter. “This isn’t some half-baked idea I’m gonna abandon when it gets hard.”

Boone’s gaze flicks to my face, looking for the crack in the statement. The lie. The weakness.

I hold it anyway.

Dallas blows out a breath.

“I like it,” he says finally. “Honestly. It’s smart. Town needs something that isn’t just rodeo weekends and folks driving through on the highway.”

Hope flares hot in my chest, stupid and bright. “You do?”

He shrugs. “It’s work. But it’s smart work.”

Boone’s silence stretches. Then he nods once. “Could be good for the ranch.”

My chest loosens.

Then he adds, “If you can pull it off.”

There it is.

Not disbelief exactly. Boone doesn’t do outright doubt. Boone does caution. Boone does weight and balance and consequences. Which means the doubt is in there anyway, tucked under the careful words.

“If,” I repeat, forcing a grin because it’s easier than admitting it stings. “You got a bet going on how fast I crash and burn, Boone?”

He takes another drink. “No.”

Dallas snorts. “He does. He just won’t say it.”

Boone’s mouth tilts. “I’ve got a bet going on how fast you overpromise.”

I laugh, but it’s a little tight. “Fair.”

The pasture stays quiet. The ranch stays strong. It always has. It’s why we’ve survived.

But survival isn’t the same thing as living.

I finish my beer, set the bottle down, and stand. My legs feel restless, the idea already demanding motion. Boone and Dallas stay where they are. They belong to the porch, to the land, to this stillness. I’m the one who’s always trying to outrun it.

“I’m gonna go write it all down.”

Dallas lifts his brows. “Now?”

“Now,” I confirm, already backing toward the door. “Before I talk myself out of it.”

Boone’s voice follows me. “Don’t stay up all night.”