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Still, it’s a pretty good life. But the restless side of me is ready to move on. To have something that’s uniquely mine. The plans are in motion, and the next two weeks are crucial to making them come true.

I don’t know why I didn’t get the idea sooner. Too busy ordering bougie bouquets or assuring tourists the carabiners will totally hold them over the ravine, maybe.

A year ago, I overheard my dad and my oldest brother Quent talking about money. With over thirty thousand acres of land, fifteen hundred head of cattle, and solid contracts, Copper Ridge Ranch was doing just fine, but Quent was kicking around ideas for diversifying the business. With all the uncertainty around the beef industry, it was Quent’s thought that maybe we shouldn’t put all our eggs in one basket—or “all of the cows in one pen,” as he put it.

I made fun of him later for that analogy.

Of course, those two crusty cowboys got about as far as a conversation about breeding thoroughbred horses before they got sidetracked when my next oldest brother Boone strolled in with a mechanical question.

I stood in the kitchen, watching them all walk outside, two sheepdogs, Jack and Betsy, trailing behind, and that was all it took. The seed had been planted.

I knew the perfect way to diversify the business. Maybe even claim a piece of it for myself. As usual, it was going to take a girl to show the men what for.

That was over a year ago now. A year of dreaming and planning and thinking through every single detail. A year of research and construction and renovation. A year of working every free second and roping my entire family into jumping on board.

And in two weeks, the brand-new Lodge at Copper Ridge will welcome its first guests—my brother Finn, his soon-to-be bride, Raya, and their entire wedding party.

I’m so excited I could spit nickels.

Everything has to be perfect. For them and for me.

And if it is going to be perfect, the “get to” gal is going to be a permanent thing.

Which is why I took two weeks off work—to put the finishing touches on last minute projects, shore up orders and decorations and plans, and make sure that every last sprig is fashioned on every last table before they fly in for their wedding in ten days.

I park my old Ford Bronco in front of Seb’s Market and kill the engine. Okay. Essentials. Coffee. Creamer. Chocolate.

They’re the only way I’m going to get through this last, final push.

I get out of the car and take a second to inhale the cool air. There’s nothing like autumn in Montana. It’s so stunning, I’m pretty sure on the seventh day, God kicked up his feet here. The cooler temperatures make me want to spend all my time outside, and the aspens turn golden as the month goes on.

One of my favorite things is to watch city people’s faces light up at the beauty of it all. The tourists see it for a week at a time, but I get it 24/7—and it still isn’t lost on me.

Finn and Raya want an outdoor wedding, which is the correct choice, and that’s exactly what I’ve planned for, but I also have a contingency plan—just in case the weather decides to be a jerk.

“Hey, Hattie!” An old man dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt lifts his cowboy hat and waves, pausing his sidewalk sweeping in front of his hardware store.

“Hey, Walt!” I call back, walking over to him. “How’s business, young feller?”

“Young feller, ha.” He waves his hat at me and puts it back on his head. “Can’t complain, can’t complain,” he says. “Miss seeing you in here all the time, though. You must be almost finished with your renovations, huh?”

“We’re so close! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.” I give him a smile. “Just hope that light’s not an oncoming train.”

He laughs a wheezy, old-timer’s laugh, stamping the broom on the ground. “Well, with you in the mix, it’s sure to be a winner.” He points a finger at me and gives me a wink.

“Aw. You’re making me blush. Thanks, Walt,” I pat his arm and turn to head back across the street. “Tell Maria I said hi!”

“That old harpy’s done dumped out all of my soda, says I can’t have sugar no more. Says she read some stupid article about diabetes!”

I stifle a laugh. Walt and Maria have been at each other’s throats for a better part of forty years now, but you’ll never find two people more in love.

“Don’t be a stranger!” he says.

“I’ll be back, I promise!” I call over my shoulder, thinking about my Phase Two plans for the lodge. Yep. I’ll definitely be back.

As I walk away, I hear Walt muttering to himself. Something about “I can have darn Dr Pepper if I want to, crazy woman. It’s not gonna kill me.”

I make my way toward the door of Seb’s and notice a small group of women gathered nearby. They’re chattering on about who-knows-what, like a bunch of chickens twitching their necks, watching the door of the market like it might catch on fire. I could stop to ask what the deal is, but I try not to get caught up in town gossip—there’s always drama somewhere in Silverwood, and if I stop to ask, I’ll get sucked right in. I don’t have time for that today.