The jet pierced through the heavy gray clouds of ridon, bleak and tallic, and burst into clear skies.
Sunlight flooded the cabin.
Below them stretched endless blue and gold, crisp winter air over vast and unbroken plains.
Catherine didn’t move to the bedroom, though the jet had so. She remained seated by the window, elbow resting lightly on the armrest, chin supported by her hand.
And then she saw it.
Laurel Creek.
Their land.
Six counties wide.
Her chest tightened, not in pain this ti, but in sothing softer.
Ho.
"Are we landing near the hospital?" Maximilian asked carefully.
He wasn’t sure how any of this worked. Private airports. Private jets. Helipads on rooftops. He felt like he had stepped into another dinsion of power.
Catherine shook her head faintly. "No. We’ll land at our airport and take a chopper from there. It’s faster."
Of course. Another helicopter. And judging by everything else he had seen, it wouldn’t be hired.
She leaned closer to the window, pointing quietly.
"Everything you see... It’s ours."
There was no prideful tone. No arrogance. Just a need to speak. To anchor herself in sothing familiar while her heart pounded in her throat.
"There’s the school district," she continued softly. "That cluster over there is the hospital complex. Those towns? They’re private. Built for our ranch workers and their families."
Maximilian followed her hand.
Tiny roads cut through golden fields like threads.
"See the oil wells?" she added. "Those are ours. The ones farther west belong to Miranda’s father — Billy’s father-in-law. He’s the largest oil producer here. His crude is considered so of the best in the country."
She pointed again.
"That stretch there? That’s cattle land. And farther north, we have a wolf pack living in the protected forest. Over there are the hunting grounds. The deer are..." She paused faintly. "...delicious."
She kept talking. Not boasting, but sharing. Because if she stopped talking, she would start thinking about operating rooms and heart monitors.
Maximilian stared down at the expanse below them. "It’s a kingdom," he murmured.
She gave a small, distracted smile. "A very small one."
He glanced at her.
Small?
The dry land stretched endlessly — plains, wells, ranches, infrastructure — wealth carved from earth and discipline.
In their previous life, a king might claim all land under his banner, but it was fragnted among nobles, lords, vassals.
This?
This was direct. Managed and overseen directly. Her father knew every acre. In that sense... it was more concentrated than a kingdom.
And Catherine knew what he was thinking.
Although a monarch was said to own his realm, he rarely commanded every detail personally. Her father did. In his own way... he had ruled better than many kings.
The jet began its descent.
Catherine’s fingers tightened slightly on the window fra.
For all the power beneath them... For all the land, oil, cattle, aircraft... None of it mattered right now.
She was just a daughter flying ho, praying she wasn’t too late.
The jet door opened. The sun shone bright, dust rose, lifting her skirt. The mont Catherine stepped down holding down her skirt, she was surrounded.
Younger workers lingered at a respectful distance, whispering to one another, their eyes wide. They must have joined recently; they had never seen her in person before.
The older n didn’t hesitate.
They walked straight to her, smiles familiar and warm, as if welcoming their own child ho.
"Missy..."
"Uncle Marty. Uncle Trent. Uncle Clint..." Catherine moved forward and hugged them without hesitation. "How are you all?"
Martin gave a firm nod and squeezed her shoulder. "He’ll be fine. Jimmy’s strong."
Her lips trembled. "He has to be."
Their gazes shifted then — curious, assessing — to the man standing a step behind her.
Maximilian.
She felt it but ignored it. "Is the chopper ready?" she asked. They could ask about him later. She needed to see her father.
"Right this way, Missy."
They began leading her toward the helipad when the roar of an engine cut across the air. A jeep sped toward them, tires kicking up dust.
It stopped abruptly.
Two n jumped out, their clothes soaked in blood.
"He got careless. A bull caught him wrong. He’d been thrown and gored..." one of them said breathlessly. "Ambulance is thirty minutes out."
Catherine didn’t wait for more explanation.
She rushed forward.
The injured man, who was in his early thirties, was pale, and drenched in red. Too much blood even after giving first aid. His breathing was shallow. Thirty minutes looked like a lifeti he didn’t have.
"Take the chopper," Catherine said imdiately.
Martin looked at her.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t remind her that her father was in surgery.
"You heard Miss Catherine!" Marty barked. "Trauma center. Now!"
Clint was already shouting, "Prep another chopper! Move!"
There was no hesitation.
They lifted the injured worker into the helicopter ant for her. The blades were already spinning when they secured him inside. Within seconds, it lifted off.
Catherine watched it go.
"Five minutes," Marty assured her.
She nodded once.
"Find out how this happened," she said steadily. "Retrain the staff if necessary. Make sure safety checks are enforced. And check our liability. If we’re responsible, compensate fully. Imdiately."
"Yes, Miss Catherine."
He smiled faintly.
Jimmy had built an empire with discipline and sharp instinct.
But his children... They carried their mother’s heart. Kind, fair, and unflinching.
Jimmy was blessed.
Maximilian stood silent beside her. She had been racing against ti. Her father might be wheeled into surgery at any mont. No one would have blad her if she asked them to use the next chopper while she took this one.
And still... She had chosen a ranch hand over her own urgency.
If she arrived late and never spoke to her father again, that regret would haunt her forever.
Yet, she hadn’t even hesitated.
Because a life bleeding out in front of her outweighed her fear.
It wasn’t calculation. It was instinct.
Maximilian felt sothing shift in him as he watched her. Not just admiration. It was reverence.
No crown sat on her head, there was no throne beneath her feet... But in that mont, making a split-second decision that balanced power with compassion...
She was every inch a queen.
The second chopper was ready within minutes.
Catherine stepped inside without a word, gathering her skirt tightly in her fists as if holding herself together by fabric alone.
Daddy... please. Please be okay.
The rotors roared to life, wind whipping her hair loose around her shoulders.
She stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes glassy but refusing to break.
Maximilian sat beside her and didn’t speak.
He simply covered her trembling hand with his own. And kept it there, the entire flight.
When the hospital rooftop ca into view, Catherine’s breath shortened. The mont the helicopter touched down, she was already moving.
She didn’t wait for assistance. Didn’t slow.
She rushed through the corridors she had walked a thousand tis growing up... ribbon cuttings, pediatric visits where her father had carried her on his shoulders.
Now the sa hallways felt endless.
Critical Care.
She turned the corner and saw him.
"Billy—" Her voice broke as she ran to her brother. "How is Daddy? Where is he?"
William caught her before she could stumble, pulling her tightly into his arms.
"Bitty Bean..." he murmured, using the childhood nickna that made her chest ache.
His embrace was strong. Too strong.
Catherine pulled back slightly, searching his face.
His eyes were red.
"Tell ," she whispered.
Maximilian stood a few steps behind her, silent, watching the way her fingers clutched at her brother’s shirt like the little girl who used to ride on her father’s shoulders.
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