Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Add in being short-staffed again, and the tension around here grows so thick, we can cut it with a knife. A break from the ranch will be a welcome change. I can see it on the employees’ faces too as they wait for me to get moving.
Ranch life is never easy, and as the world modernizes, it’s harder to find staff who still want to work the land. But it’s either in your blood or it isn’t. The environmentalists picketing in town and sometimes outside Sullivan Ranch obviously don’t help, and some employees have gotten gun-shy about our way of life despite it being important to the state of Colorado.
I mount Midnight, and we canter over to the ranch hands, a couple on ATVs, the rest on horseback, while Dad follows beside us to greet them. He gives last-minute instructions because he can’t help himself, even though I’m in charge.
My parents are in their sixties, which isn’t old by today’s standards, but I know Mom dreams of them retiring and handing over the reins to their only child. It wasn’t always that way, but my older sister, Faith, died after a fall from a mare when she was eight. It’s the reason Mom still won’t get on a horse unless she needs to, though I can’t be sure about that, just a good guess. It’s as if she holds a grudge against the entire species because one took her child from her. Since then, she’s been in charge of brokering the cattle deals and spends most of her time at her desk or on the phone. Dad buries his grief in his work, just like me. Being on a horse actually makes me feel closer to Faith, though I was only five when the accident happened and don’t remember much about that day, except all the sadness.
Speaking of my mother, she must’ve spotted us out the kitchen window because she rushes out of the house to add something extra to my food satchel, no doubt some of our favorite sugar cookies or maybe chocolate chip this time. It’s her way of working out her own worries about a trip like this.
“Much obliged, ma’am,” Wade replies with a wink, knowing the treats will be a sweet ending to a long ride.
“See you in a couple of days.” Dad pats Midnight’s muzzle. “I’ll make sure to place an ad in the newspaper asking for ranch hands and a cook.”
That only gets me thinking about Mrs. Dixon, our last amazing cook who passed away suddenly more than a decade ago. We haven’t had anyone stick around long since then or make tasty meals like she did. And her son…God, would I ever not think of Porter or what we shared so long ago? I thought of him even when Aimee and I were married. Maybe that’s why it had only lasted two years. Just wasn’t meant to be because Porter had ruined me in more ways than one.
“The newspaper? Does anyone read those anymore?” I tease. “I told you nowadays people look for jobs online.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Your mother said the same.” Mom winks when I glance at her. “If there’s no luck, we’ll try it your way.”
I turn toward the mountain, and the others follow. I prefer rounding up the cattle on horseback, and plenty of the others do as well. That’s the one overlap I have with my dad regarding tradition. ATVs might be more efficient in certain scenarios, but nothing beats human or animal instinct.
After trotting for a spell, I lead them in a gallop as we cross the field and surround the cattle we’ll be driving up the foothills and toward the gorge. With the wind whipping against my cheeks, I get that feeling in my stomach that can’t compare to any other when it comes to working the land. Even after I inherit this ranch, I don’t think I can stop being out here. I have that in common with Dad too. No way he can’t have his hand in every aspect of the business on a daily basis. It somehow grounds us, makes us feel part of the earth.
“Come on, boy!” I press my heel against Midnight’s flank, and he ups the pace and leads the way, urging the cattle toward the far end of the pasture. Our two border collies are there as well, helping contain the herd and watching for livestock strays. They’ll stay the night with us. It’s their way of life too.
As we head toward a thicket of trees at the base of the mountain, my gaze naturally tilts toward where one of the many streams on the property lies. The stream. The one I never returned to since Porter left town so suddenly, I’d practically gotten whiplash. And my heart broken. We wouldn’t have worked, I’d told myself repeatedly over the years. It would’ve ended soon enough. But I crave him like no other. His company, his laugh, his quiet groans. I wanted so badly to knock the chip off his shoulder. But I never got the chance.