Page 70 of Saddle and Scent (Saddlebrush Ridge #1)
REVELATIONS AND BOUND TOGETHER
~JUNIPER~
T he silence that follows my refusal to sell stretches across the town square like a held breath, thick with tension and the weight of an entire community's future hanging in the balance.
Marcus stands at the top of the courthouse steps, his expression cycling through disbelief, calculation, and growing fury as he realizes that his carefully orchestrated pressure campaign isn't producing the capitulation he expected.
For a moment, I think he might actually retreat, might recognize that he's pushed too far and miscalculated the strength of local resistance.
But then his face settles into the kind of cold determination I remember from our worst confrontations, and I know he's about to escalate this conflict to a level none of us are prepared for.
"Five million dollars," he announces, his voice carrying across the square with the weight of a gavel striking wood. "That's my highest offer for this entire town. Five million dollars for all the properties, businesses, and land rights necessary to complete my development project."
The number hangs in the air like a physical presence, so large and overwhelming that it seems to suck the oxygen out of the surrounding atmosphere.
I can hear sharp intakes of breath from the crowd, see people exchanging glances that speak to the same shocked calculation running through my own mind.
Five million dollars.
More money than most of the people gathered here will see in their entire lifetimes, offered for properties and businesses that represent generations of family investment and community building.
It's the kind of sum that transforms abstract resistance into concrete financial pressure, forcing people to weigh principle against practical reality in ways that feel almost cruel.
"No one here can counter that," Marcus continues, his tone carrying the satisfied certainty of someone who believes he's just played a winning hand.
"I've done my research on local property values, business revenues, individual net worth.
You're all good people, hardworking people, but you don't have the resources to match that kind of investment. "
The devastating accuracy of his assessment settles over the crowd like a blanket of defeat. Because he's right, and everyone knows it. The combined wealth of every family, every business owner, every property holder in Saddlebrush Ridge wouldn't come close to matching his offer.
I feel my own heart sink as the mathematical reality hits home.
Five million dollars is so far beyond anything I could counter that it might as well be five hundred million.
The sanctuary, the ranch, everything we've been building together—none of it can survive the kind of financial pressure he's prepared to apply.
"Unless," he continues with the kind of theatrical pause that suggests he's enjoying this moment of community helplessness, "someone wants to step forward and demonstrate that small-town values are worth more than small-town budgets?"
The challenge hangs in the air, met by the kind of silence that comes from people realizing they're facing impossible odds. I can see defeat settling into faces throughout the crowd, the gradual acceptance that fighting him was always going to be futile.
But then Wes steps forward.
"Fine," he says casually, his voice carrying the kind of calm confidence that immediately draws every eye in the square. "Make it ten million."
The words land like a thunderclap, so unexpected and impossible that for several heartbeats, no one moves or speaks or even seems to breathe.
Every head turns toward Wes with expressions of shock and disbelief, as if he's just announced his intention to fly to the moon using nothing but determination and wishful thinking.
"What did you just say?" Marcus demands, his own composure cracking as he stares down at Wes with obvious confusion.
"Ten million," Wes repeats with a playful smirk that suggests he's enjoying this moment far more than someone facing financial ruin should. "That's my counter-offer. Ten million dollars to keep Saddlebrush Ridge exactly as it is."
The crowd remains frozen in stunned silence, and I feel my own mouth fall open as the implications of his words sink in.
Because there's no way— absolutely no way —that a small-town veterinarian has access to that kind of money.
The confidence in his voice suggests he's not bluffing, but the mathematics don't make sense.
"Wes," I whisper, moving closer to him with growing concern. "You don't need to go into debt for the town. We'll find another way?—"
But he just laughs, the sound rich with genuine amusement rather than the kind of desperate bravado I'm expecting.
"Debt?" he echoes, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Who said anything about debt?"
Before anyone can process that statement, Marcus finds his voice again.
"This is ridiculous," he snarls, his professional composure finally cracking completely. "You think you can bluff your way out of this with numbers you don't have? I've researched everyone in this pathetic little town. None of you have that kind of money."
"Perhaps," comes a new voice from the edge of the square, "you didn't research thoroughly enough."
Every head turns toward the source of the comment, and I feel my heart skip several beats as I recognize the speaker.
Beckett's father, Thomas Ford, emerges from behind the crowd with the kind of deliberate presence that immediately commands attention.
But he's not alone. Behind him walks a woman I recognize as Sarah Mitchell, the mayor of the neighboring town, along with four other people in various professional uniforms that speak to official authority—business suits, police uniforms, and what appears to be military dress.
They move through the crowd with the coordinated precision of people who've planned this moment carefully, their collective presence transforming the atmosphere from community confrontation to something that feels more like an official proceeding.
"Mr. Steele," Thomas says when he reaches a position where his voice will carry to the entire gathering, "if you had done proper research into the founding families of Saddlebrush Ridge, you would have discovered some interesting historical details."
Marcus's expression shifts from confused anger to wary attention as he realizes he's no longer dealing with simple small-town resistance.
"Many people have forgotten," Thomas continues, his voice carrying the kind of authority that comes from years of community leadership, "that Michael R.
Carter was the original founder of Saddlebrush Ridge.
He was also the first investor in the regional oil, flour, and wheat businesses that eventually grew into some of the most successful agricultural and energy companies in the Midwest."
A murmur runs through the crowd as people begin connecting historical dots that have apparently been overlooked or forgotten over the generations.
"The Carter family has been quietly managing a multimillion-dollar investment portfolio for decades," Sarah Mitchell adds, stepping forward with the kind of professional demeanor that suggests official backing for whatever is about to be revealed.
"Though as of this year, thanks to some particularly shrewd investments in veterinary pharmaceutical companies and animal health technology, they've recently achieved billionaire status. "
The revelation hits the crowd like a physical blow, and I feel my own knees go weak as the implications sink in.
Every eye in the square turns toward Wes, who's standing there with the same casual confidence he's displayed throughout this entire confrontation, like having access to billions of dollars is just another interesting detail about his background.
"Wait," I breathe, staring at him with growing amazement. "You're... you're actually serious about the ten million?"
He shrugs with the kind of practiced nonchalance that suggests he's been keeping this secret for a very long time.
"What can I say?" he responds with a grin that's equal parts sheepish and satisfied. "I'm good at gambling on stocks and making financial decisions when I'm not busy being a simple veterinarian part-time cowboy."
The casual way he dismisses what most people would consider the defining achievement of their lifetime makes my head spin with questions and implications. But before I can process the full scope of what he's revealed, Marcus's voice cuts through my confusion.
"What?" he roars, his carefully maintained composure finally shattering completely. "You're a fucking billionaire living in this dump? Why not move to the city where it actually matters?"
Wes turns to face him directly, and for the first time since this confrontation began, his expression becomes completely serious.
"Because," he says, his voice carrying across the square with quiet intensity, "the root of my purpose came from this very town. And I was willing to wait however long I needed for her to come back home."
His gaze finds mine across the crowd, and the weight of emotion in his eyes makes my chest tight with feelings I don't know how to process.
Because what he's describing isn't just loyalty to a place—it's years of hoping and waiting and building a life around the possibility that I might eventually return to claim my place in it.
He was waiting for me…to return home…
"Saddlebrush has its flaws, sure," he continues, his voice gaining strength as he addresses the entire community.
"But every small town does. Nobody is perfect, just like life isn't perfect.
But together, as a community, we stand up for what's right.
We protect what matters. We take care of each other. "
He turns back toward Marcus, and there's something implacable in his posture that suggests negotiations have just shifted into an entirely different category.