“I’m sorry, Mr. Stanton, but that’s the way it is. I’m afraid we can’t approve another loan.”

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair and fought against the urge to clench my jaw. I felt like the ground was slowly crumbling out from beneath me. I had put everything I had into Breakaway Ranch, and now I was just days away from losing it all. From the main barn to the smallest blade of grass in the grazing pastures –- everything.

I swallowed hard, hands clenched in front of me on the bank advisor’s mahogany desk. There was a tiny little sign with his name etched into it, right beside the Lion Gates Bank logo: Albert Jones.

“Please,” I said, “isn’t there anything you can do? I just need a bit more time.”

It would have been an understatement to say that I felt out of place here. I was severely underdressed. While Albert was in his snazzy suit, I was in nothing more than a pair of worn-down jeans, a plaid shirt, and steel-toed work boots. All I was missing was my Stetson to finish the ensemble.

Albert let out a heavy sigh. He took his thin-rimmed glasses off his nose and began polishing the lenses with a blue microfiber cloth that he pulled from his front blazer pocket.

“Mr. Stanton, I–”

“Dan,” I corrected. “Mr. Stanton is my father.”

“Right. Dan. As I’ve said, you’re not the only one facing economic hardship right now. The whole community is in a slump.

“People aren’t exactly lining up to house their horses at Breakaway Ranch. Or any ranch, for that manner. No matter how many awards their horses may have.

“The truth of the matter is, you’re behind on payments from your last loan. Even if I had the ability to approve this one, the interest by itself would drown you. I can’t in good conscience give it to you. I can’t even approve a stay for auction, given how things are in the area. There just wouldn’t be enough interest in your property.”

I sat there for a moment in stunned silence. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was neck-deep in debt. Breakaway Ranch had been burning a nice little hole in my wallet for years now. But I had been so sure that I could turn it around, that I’d find some way to save the place.

I knew what the bank advisor was saying was true, but I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to think. This was my last shot at saving the ranch, and now I was all out of options.

Standing up abruptly, I gave the advisor a curt nod. “Thank you for your time,” I said through gritted teeth, then turned on my heel and left.

I strode out of the bank through their massive glass doors. This was a quiet little town, with nothing but one main street lined with small, family-owned boutiques. There wasn’t much in the way of official parking, so everybody — including myself — parked alongside the curb.

A few pedestrians passed by, keeping to their own business. There wasn’t much to do around here, not that I minded. I liked the quiet.

There was something about the idea of dealing with the hustle and bustle of city life that made me anxious, jittery. I didn’t think I would last a day in a city like Chicago. If I could, I’d stay on Breakaway Ranch for the rest of my life and be at total peace with it.

But now I was about to foreclose on the damned place.

I got in my truck and shut the door hard behind me. There were signs of rust near the base of the doors, but I hadn’t had the time nor the money to deal with the issue properly. I listened as the noises of chirping birds, passing cars, and rushing wind were suddenly muffled behind the smudged windows.

Taking a deep breath, I noted the warmth of the still air. I needed to go home, to lie down and sleep. My nights had been restless with all the stress and worry weighing me down.

But I knew that wasn’t an option. I needed to figure something out, some last desperate attempt to save the ranch. My home.

My cell phone buzzed in my jeans pocket. I pulled the device out and looked at the number, fighting the gut-deep instinct to ignore the call. “What do you want?” I grumbled into the receiver.

“Is it just me, or have greetings around here gone to shit?” chuckled Jack. There was something spiteful in his tone, something dark. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. There was a terrible pressure behind my eyes. He was probably the last person I wanted to talk to right now.

“No, Dad,” I sighed. “No, it did not.” My words were clipped, concise.

“I don’t know what you were hoping to have happen,” he scoffed. “I still think you’re an idiot for wanting to run the place to start with.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said flatly. “If I ever need supportive paternal advice, I know to call you.”

“I’m just bustin’ your chops, kid.”

I shook my head. No. No, he wasn’t bustin’ my chops. This was deliberate. Purposefully hurtful. He wanted his words to cut, and he wanted me to feel it.

“Can you bust my chops some other time? I’m having a bad day.”

“Sorry, bud,” Jack apologized. He sounded almost half-sincere, but I knew better. He’d always told me that Breakaway was going to fail, and now he was on the brink of being right. “What are you going to do now?” he continued.

I leaned back in the car seat, pressing my head against the headrest. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

Jack cleared his throat. “Look, kid, if you need a place to stay, you could–-”

“I’m fine.”

“Your mother misses you.”

I groaned. I didn’t feel like having this conversation. It wouldn’t be anything new. We had done this song and dance before, and it always ended the same way. I didn’t need Jack using my mother as another guilt trip.

“I miss her, too,” I mumbled.

“She’s more than happy to have you back, if you just–-”

“If I just what?” I snapped, angry. I wasn’t about to let him finish.

“If you would just stop with all this … all this…” Jack tiptoed around the words, but there was no delicate way to put it. “All this gay business. Aren’t you over it by now?”

I felt a twinge of fury well up inside my chest, a disgusting lump in my throat. I wanted to burst out screaming. But I knew I couldn’t keep having the same fight again and again and again.

It was exhausting. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Dad and Mom thought that if they nagged enough, they could turn me straight. I would give up, and they would win.

“I told you,” I said firmly, “this isn’t a phase. It’s not something I can just get over.”

Jack made a sound over the receiver like he didn’t quite believe me. “But what about that old high school classmate of yours? Teresa? Didn’t you … I don’t know. Didn’t you date her for a while?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I stated.

“But you liked her, didn’t you?”

“Goodbye, Dad.”

Without another word, I pressed the end button, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. Had he called just to rub it in my face? Of course he had. Jack had a knack for contacting me when I was feeling low.

I gripped the steering wheel hard, glaring a hole into the speedometer. The skin of my knuckles turned white from the pressure. My family was never going to understand. They were never going to accept it.

My skull was throbbing with a headache in full force, and my eyes were dry. They would make things easy for me if I took everything back, told Mom and Dad that it really was a phase. But the very thought made me feel sick.

Telling them I was straight and pretending like it was natural made my stomach churn. But things would be so much simpler if I told them that it was a mistake, that Michael was–-

I cleared my throat.

I didn’t want to think about that asshole. He didn’t deserve a moment in my thoughts. Especially not after what he’d done.

Reaching down, I stuck the keys in the ignition, twisting hard to get the truck’s engine roaring. It sputtered to life, internal mechanisms under the hood grinding and chugging, and I let out a silent prayer of thanks. The last thing I needed was for my truck to die on me, too.

I signaled and merged onto the main street. The entire town was only about five blocks wide. I was out of the area in less than ten minutes, headed down the long dirt road back toward Breakaway Ranch.

The silent ride soothed my jagged nerves. No radio, windows down. It was just me, the rough grumble of the truck engine, and the tires of my four-by-four crunching the gravel beneath them.

Before I knew it, I was home. The tall wooden fences I had installed around my property were still looking strong, surrounded on all sides by acre upon acre of heavily-wooded land. Parking the truck next to the woodshed, I stepped out of the vehicle and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air.

The horse shed and two hay silos were buildings that I’d bought with the property all those years ago, but the house I’d built myself. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. I’d poured its concrete foundation with my own hands, nailed its frames, installed its windows, cemented its brick chimney all by myself.

I’d felt a grand sense of achievement when it was all finished. It was just a shame that nobody was around to share the feeling with me.

Leaning against my truck, I soaked in the image, committed to memory all of its details. Memories would be all I had left once the bank seized the land.

I was about to head inside when I heard Maybelle whinny. It had been a warmer day than usual, so I had left her out in the paddock. I approached the fence, watching the beautiful mare trot around in circles around the enclosure.

She was a true beauty, a chocolate-brown Thoroughbred with a gorgeous black mane and matching tail. As I watched her enjoy the space, I wondered what it would be like to be as carefree as she must have been.

Maybelle had no idea what was going on. She didn’t know she wouldn’t have a home soon. She just ate, stretched her legs, slept, rode with me around the trails.

It must have been nice.

Nice not to have to deal with a family who thought you were broken. Nice not to start believing them. Nice not to worry about bills, or loans, or the fact that money seemed so distressingly hard to come by these days.

Nice to be able to run as far as your legs could carry you, wind whipping through your hair and chilling your skin.

I considered, for a moment, packing up what little I had. Maybe a change of clothes, some food, camping supplies. Then I would saddle up and take Maybelle to live off in the mountains somewhere.

I’d lived alone for this long; surely I could survive being an actual hermit. I could be that old man who lived alone in the woods, that all the schoolchildren would warn each other about. If I wanted to, I could go off the grid and live out my dream of falling asleep beneath the stars every night. I wouldn’t have to worry about the ranch anymore, or dealing with people and their problems.

If I disappeared, nobody would miss me. It was a feasible option, albeit a desperate one.

Maybelle walked over to me, her big dark eyes staring directly into mine. I reached out to pat her gently on the muzzle. She snorted, sniffing my palms in search of a treat.

“Sorry, honey,” I said softly. My words betrayed just how weak I felt. “I’ve got nothing.”

Nothing at all.