Page 33 of Holding Hope

Those towns—Mooresville, Halstone—didn’t exist anymore. Developers had swallowed them whole, turning farmland into sidewalks and churches and hotels. Nothing historical remained.

Opal Springs saw what was coming and fought back. The town came together, determined not to become another tourist trap. But when word of Sonja’s birds spread, people came anyway—filling every empty bed.

“When the day finally came, more than a thousand people showed up. The town used the money from visitors to push back against the government’s development plans. And it gave them an excuse to celebrate.”

I smiled as I finished, glancing over at Avalon.

She’d shifted in her seat, knees pulled to her chest, sitting sideways to face me. Her long arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting atop her knees. She looked genuinely interested.

“Wow. So crazy bird lady saves the town and gets her own holiday,” she said, smirking. “That’s sick.”

I nodded, yawning. I turned over the satellite phone—still cold. Was the battery dead? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used it, but these things were supposed to last forever.

“And what about the vet?” Avalon pressed, her storm-grey eyes fixed on me. When we first met, I thought they were blue. Now I was convinced they changed shades like a mood ring.

“What about the vet?”

“Did he fall in love with Sonja or not? I mean, spending all that time together—feelings are bound to happen.”

She sighed, a wistful look crossing her face before she cleared her throat.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. No one ever talked about him. I’m not even sure it was a him.”

Her question lingered. Why had no one ever mentioned the vet?

“Maybe there’s something in the public library?” Avalon pulled out her phone, only to toss it aside. “Fuck, I forgot there’s no cell service in horse country.”

She paused. “I don’t think I’ve been in Texas long enough to start seeing things, but I swear on my life, there are two men on horses riding toward us.”

I sat up, feet dropping from the dashboard. She was right—two riders were approaching, their silhouettes growing clearer with each step.

The wide brims of their hats hid their faces, but the way they carried themselves, the way they commanded their horses…

Big city riders.

Houston or Dallas, most likely.

Ah, shit.

“Shit,” I muttered. Big-city “cowboys” and actual cowboys rarely got along. They liked what horses could do for them, not the horses themselves. They didn’t put in the work—the dirt, the sweat, the connection. Horses in the city were showpieces, not souls.

Avalon looked at me, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? Are we fucked? Are they going to kill us?”

Her face paled as she frantically patted herself down.

“What—no. What are you doing? They’re not going to kill us.”

God, she was dramatic.

Avalon shook her head, still rummaging through her pockets. She pulled off her necklace and rings, hesitating over which earrings to remove.

“Nope. You might be comfortable dying at the hands of some dirty Texas bandits⁠—”

She was stripping off her jewelry now.

“—but I refuse.”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter. The sight of her—panic-stricken, clutching her valuables—was too much.