The table in the ranch's meeting room — a room that was rarely used — seemed to have grown overnight. The dark, polished wood reflected the winter light streaming through the window and, more importantly, reflected the pile of papers Alice had placed right in the center. Charts, numbers, color printouts of ideas for a new logo, a timeline that looked more like a battle plan.
I sat on one side, my fingers laced together on the tabletop, feeling every knot in the wood as if it were an obstacle to overcome. Rosa was on my right, her face a mask of serious attention, but her eyes sparkled with a curiosity I hadn't seen in years.
Alice was on the other side. She wasn't wearing the red Christmas dress anymore. She had on a simple gray sweater and jeans, her hair pulled into a low ponytail. But
