Page 12 of Tessa and Nash

She doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t acknowledge me.

Still winning, Long.

I turn back toward the podium, jaw setting. If she’s taking notes today, I’ll give her something worth writing down.

Mayor Caldwell clears her throat. “Mr. McCoy. You may begin.”

I nod and step up to the podium.

“Thank you, Mayor. Council members.” I glance around, meeting eyes where I can. “I’m here to present a proposal for a limited guest ranch expansion on the McCoy property.”

I unroll the first rendering and smooth it flat with my palm, anchoring it before it can curl back in on itself.

“This is the west edge of the property,” I say, tapping the corner with my finger. “It’s already set back from the main pasture. We don’t move a single head of cattle to make this work.”

My hands start moving, tracing fence lines, circling empty space, mapping it the way I’ve walked it a hundred times in my head.

“The building here?” I add, pointing to the rough sketch of the old structure. “That’s not new construction. We renovate instead of building out, which keeps costs down and impact low.”

I flip to the next page, the paper whispering in the quiet room.

“These are buffer zones,” I continue, outlining the shaded areas. “Natural breaks. The creek stays untouched. No cabins, no trails, nothing within the setback. Ever.”

I pause, letting that sit.

“This isn’t about scale,” I say, quieter now. “It’s about balance.”

I step away from the podium and slide a single-page handout with typed numbers across the council table. Then I glance down at my own battered notebook, the one with the messy math I trust.

I turn the notebook sideways and jab a finger at the rough columns of numbers scrawled in the margin.

“Startup’s phased. One cabin first. Weekend bookings only. If it works, we add another. If it doesn’t, we stop.” I glance up, meeting a few eyes. “No debt spiral. No land sales.”

Someone shifts in their chair.

“Cattle prices go up and down,” I continue, pulse ticking faster now. “Feed costs don’t. Weather doesn’t care how long your family’s been ranching. This gives us another leg to stand on without cutting corners.”

I take a breath, forcing myself not to rush.

“We’d keep guest numbers limited and access controlled. People would come for real work and real experiences, not some staged show.”

The room stays quiet.

My fingers curl around the edge of the podium, steadying me.

“This isn’t about turning Buckhorn into a theme park,” I say, glancing at the audience. “It’s about giving people a reason to stay. To spend money locally. To keep this town alive without selling off pieces of it.”

Someone coughs. Someone shifts in their chair.

I push on.

“The cabins would have solar panels, the trails would be low impact, and there’d be no construction near the water.” I tap the rendering for emphasis. “We’re already doing half of this on the ranch. This just gives it structure.”

For a second, just a second, I think maybe it’s landing.

Councilwoman Price nods once, slow and thoughtful.