Page 88 of A Cowboy's Claim

“Three years of investment, and you’re willing to throw it away for a man.”

“No,” she said, her voice still calm but her spine straight. “I’m throwing away the illusion that your support was ever about me succeeding. It was about you controlling the way I succeeded.”

Grandpa Nate looked away for the first time, gaze flicking off-screen to his window, his bookshelves, maybe even his reflection.

Then he came back, voice colder than before.

“I’m proud of the doctor you’ve become,” he said. “But I’m disappointed you think emotions are more valuable than excellence.”

“I think love is more powerful than pride,” Sydney said softly. “And for the record, I’m proud of me, too.”

She didn’t wait for him to reply. She ended the call.

Her hand dropped to her lap, the phone face-down. The air on the porch was still, and so was she.

Then Declan exhaled beside her. “That was intense.”

“Yeah.”

“Feel good?”

She nodded. “Better than I expected. Worse than I hoped.”

He slid his hand into hers, his thumb rubbing slow circles across the back of her knuckles. “You did the right thing.”

“I know.”

“You’re not alone.”

“I know that, too.”

She turned her face into his shoulder and rested there for a moment, letting the weight of the last fifteen years slowly burn away and drift like ash on the wind.

When she straightened, there were tears in her eyes, but her chin was high.

“I’ll find a way to keep the clinic open. Even if it’s small. Even if it means asking for help.”

Declan grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got a community full of stubborn people who like you.”

“I’ll remind you of that when I’m elbow-deep in budget spreadsheets.”

“I’ll bring snacks.”

Sydney let out a half laugh-half sob and leaned into him again.

She’d told her grandfather the truth.

And for the first time in her adult life, the woman who’d done the telling belonged to no one but herself.

20

As the week stretched on, Declan felt like he was holding his breath, shoved beneath the surface and battered by too many currents.

Every morning started the same way. Sydney curled up next to him, her ankle slowly healing but her laptop never far from reach. Between breakfasts and clinic hours, she’d dig through spreadsheets and grant possibilities, chasing any thread that might keep her practice alive.

They brainstormed over coffee, mapped out backup plans that never quite felt solid enough.

No answers yet, but at least they were trying. Together. And somehow, that mattered more than the unknowns.