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“So. The plan.”

“The plan,” he repeats.

“The plan was to wait till my dad was happy and full of barbecue and pie, then, you know, go in for the kill.”

He smiles. “Does he know you’ve got him all figured out?”

I scrunch my nose. “He’s a simple man.”

“What does that look like? Give me the pitch.”

“A full guest ranch. Upscale but affordable. Not exclusive, but unique. A throwback to a simpler life . . . but with Wi-Fi. We’ll have hiking tours, horseback riding, kayaks, canoes, swimming, bonfires. No screens, hopefully, just the simple beauty of nature. I mean, you said it yourself, it doesn’t get much better than this.” I wave my hand out over the view, and he nods in quiet agreement.

“Sure doesn’t.”

A pause.

I go on. “Finn didn’t even know about the plan, so him being there was sort of a happy accident.” My mind trails back several months. I was a ball of nerves knowing that Pop could shut this whole idea down with a simple shake of his head, and I’d already invested a lot of time into researching it.

We were all outside, sitting around the big farmhouse tables in the backyard of the main house the way we did for every big family gathering. My nieces, Jordy and Libby, were running around, barefoot, doing that scream-laughing thing that little kids do, chasing each other and getting Jack and Betsy riled up in the process.

We were talking about the Silverwood Fourth of July Festival—the carnival, the parade, the fireworks—when Pop leaned back and rubbed his belly—a sign that he was winding down for the night.

A sign that it was time.

We had to catch him before he started dozing.

I looked down the table at Quent, who gave me a firm nod. My signal to go for it. Time to pony up and pitch.

I had all the facts and figures and charts and graphs, and while that proved I was serious about this and would help show it was a solid plan, I had a feeling that in order to sell my parents on this idea, it was going to take something different—it was going to take heart. I had to convince them that what we had here on the ranch was worth sharing.

So that’s what I did.

One thing about my parents is that they value their way of life. It’s something they’ve passed down to each of us. They hate how high-tech the world has gotten. They live for community and family and people more than anything else. I reasoned that it was up to us to keep our way of life going, and to share that way with the rest of the world. “People need it more than ever,” I’d said.

I wanted to give people a place to unplug. To remind them that we aren’t silos. Or islands. We’re not meant to be alone. That’s why I envisioned starting with the guest lodge and focusing on community meals and group activities, like a bed and breakfast.

We had an opportunity to bring something really unique to the Silverwood community. The Lodge at Copper Ridge Ranch—far enough outside of town to feel removed from the hundreds of thousands of tourists that visit each year, but still close enough that running to the store for that one ingredient you don’t have in the fridge isn’t too big of a hassle.

I’d just finished laying it all out for my parents, and I paused, looking at them with the kind of eager and fearful anticipation I probably had when I was twelve and I asked if I could start barrel racing. Just like back then, I wanted to prove to them I’d thought of everything—make it impossible for them to say no.

I’ve been told I’m very persuasive, but as our dad scooped his last bite of a second piece of pie into his mouth, chewing quietly, contemplating, I feared I’d lost my edge.

But then my youngest brother, Finn, piped up. “Hattie, this is a great idea.” This was his first time hearing about these plans, and it meant a lot to me that he liked it. As a professional hockey player based in Chicago, he’s back home in Montana the least of all of us, but it was clear he genuinely approved. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but it did.

“Thanks, Finn.” I smiled at him as he pushed his chair back from the table.

Finn leaned forward. “So, you’ll have, like, weddings and events and⁠—”

“Yeah, all of that, plus family reunions, company retreats,” I said. “Any kind of gathering anyone might want to do, you know? We could rent out the entire lodge as a whole or single rooms like any hotel or bed and breakfast. Plus, we’ve got the guest cabins, and in Phase Two, we could build a couple more.”

“We’ll keep it all to that side of the ranch, though, Momma,” Rowe said. “And we’ll clearly mark which parts are off limits. Family only.”

Our mom looked skeptical.

“What if . . . ours was the first wedding at the lodge?” Finn said.

“Whose wedding?” Momma’s face showed the shock all of us were feeling.