Page 97 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

I forced my jaw to move. “Not foreclosure behind,” I clarified.

Beau nodded. “Didn’t think that.”

“We’re not losing the ranch.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“But we’re close enough that everyone would assume it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

That made me look at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re still making payroll.”

I went still. “How do you know that?”

“Ranch hands wouldn’t stick around otherwise.”

I considered him. “You notice a lot more than you lead on.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“No. Mechanics notice engines.”

“Good mechanics notice people too.”

That sounded suspiciously like something Walter would say. I looked toward the open doors. Outside, Blueberry grazed near the fence. “The ranch isn’t broken.” I hated how defensive the sentence sounded. “We just don’t have room anymore for mistakes or even one missed delivery day.” That was the truth. Every month had become a balancing act.

If nothing broke, if no cow got sick, if feed costs didn’t spike, if everyone paid on time, if the cooling system held, if the truck started, we made it. Except the problem with the ranch was that something always broke.

Beau rested both hands against the edge of the storage bin. “So the festival buys room.”

“Potentially.”

“Then why don’t you want to do it?”

There it was. The real question. Not why won’t you host.

Why don’t you want to do it.

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve said no to it approximately twenty times.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“Then what is it?”

The barn suddenly felt smaller as I stood there fighting the truth. “I don’t know.” I lied, because I did know. He waited. I hated people who waited for the truth.

“It was ours.”

“What was?”

“The festival.” I waved around the barn. “This. All of it.”

Beau crossed his arms over his chest, navy eyes darting around the barn and then focusing back on my face, understanding in his gaze.