Page 176 of Tessa and Nash

I frown. “Those records already exist.”

“Some of them,” Price replies carefully. “Others may need verification.”

Another council member leans forward. “There are questions about older property agreements in that area. If there were informal arrangements between families, the county will want documentation.”

“Which means?” I ask.

Mayor Caldwell sighs slightly. “Which means the council cannot move forward until those boundary lines are clarified.”

Dallas resumes writing.

I stop listening halfway through, because I already know how this goes.

Delays turn into months.

Months turn into a year.

By then, the momentum disappears, and the idea fades, buried under paperwork and hesitation.

Hank Lawson won’t forget it.

Neither will Thomas Long.

By the time the meeting adjourns, my chest feels hollow.

People begin filing out of the room. A few clap my shoulder awkwardly. Others avoid eye contact entirely.

Buckhorn doesn’t enjoy open conflict. It prefers pretending everything is simple.

Outside, the cold air hits hard.

Boone steps beside me on the sidewalk. “That was bullshit.”

Dallas nods. “They were never going to approve it today.”

“Still…” Boone mutters.

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “It’s fine.”

Both of them look at me.

“That didn’t sound convincing,” Boone says.

I shrug. “What do you want me to do? Throw a chair?”

Dallas smirks faintly. “That would’ve been entertaining.”

Despite everything, I laugh.

The sound fades quickly.

Across the street, Virgil Tucker stands outside the feed store talking with two ranchers. One nods when he sees me.

The other looks away.

Buckhorn is already choosing sides.

Quietly.