Chapter 9 - THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION
One year later.
The summer sun was warm and gentle over the ranch, casting long, peaceful shadows across the pasture grass.
This time, there was another party set up beneath the oak trees.
Not a surprise party.
Not a trespasser’s party.
A celebration marking the one-hundredth anniversary of the Vance family ranch.
Three long wooden tables—built from reclaimed timber taken from the old northern fence—stretched across the lawn, loaded with slow-cooked Texas barbecue, fresh potato salad, ice-cold sweet tea, and homemade peach cobbler.
Over seventy people from the town of Bellwood were gathered on the grass.
Sheriff Marcus Miller sat at the head of the center table, laughing loudly as he shared stories with my neighbors about my grandfather’s legendary stubbornness.
Children were running freely through the pasture, playing tag near the flower beds.
Victoria stood near the barn, wearing a blue summer dress, helping her eight-year-old daughter, Lily, brush the mane of my old quarter horse, Copper. Lily was laughing, her hands covered in horse hair, completely unconcerned about getting her clothes dirty.
I stood on the porch of my house, holding a glass of iced tea, watching the scene before me.
The old wooden bench my grandfather had built thirty years ago had been completely restored, polished, and re-anchored into the soil right beside the porch steps.
A simple brass plaque was now mounted to the center rail:
THOMAS VANCE RANCH — EST. 1924 THIS LAND IS NOT FOR SALE.
Dr. Thorne walked up the porch steps, holding two cold sodas.
“Nice crowd, Ethan,” Thorne said, looking out over the gathering. “Quite a difference from the last birthday party that was held here.”
I chuckled softly. “Yeah. Nobody’s wearing a tiara today.”
“The first environmental monitoring report for the North Ridge underground facility came back this morning,” Thorne added, handing me an official state document. “Zero impact on the water table. The native grass cover along the creek has actually increased by twelve percent since we closed off cattle access to the ridge.”
I took the report, glancing at the clean figures and green compliance stamps.
“My grandfather always said if you take care of the land, the land takes care of you,” I murmured, looking out toward the northern horizon where the newly protected forest canopy rose against the blue sky.
Victoria walked up the steps, wiping her hands on a cloth, a bright, warm smile on her face.
“Lily just asked if we can move out here permanently,” Victoria laughed softly, leaning against the porch railing beside me.
I raised an eyebrow, looking at her. “What did you tell her?”
Victoria looked into my eyes, her blue gaze clear, honest, and filled with a warmth that had grown between us over the past twelve months.
“I told her we’d have to ask the owner of the ranch,” Victoria whispered.
May you like
I looked at her, then at the crowded tables, the laughing children, the restored wooden bench, and the vast, unshakeable beauty of the Texas dirt stretching beneath our feet.
“The owner says the door’s always open,” I said.
