“Maybe. You said it before, people need to eat. This prison will hire many more people than the farms do. Those people need to feed their families too.”
I hated that he was right. “I’m not backing off.”
“I know. But you need to consider all sides of an issue. Farming may have built this town, but not everyone is a farmer. You need to keep them in mind as well.”
“Is that all?”
He laughed. “Never get in the way of a woman on a mission. I’ll leave you to it.” He exited my office.
I sat in my chair knowing he was right. Maybe it was time for Salvation to move forward and away from farming. But not with a prison. There were plenty of other places in Nebraska that could house a prison. If Salvation needed to look at alternative industries, locking people up wasn’t going to be it.
A little while later, Trina knocked on my door. “I’ve got a list of farms that surround the area of the farms we know have been approached. I don’t know that these are on Stark’s list to buy, but they could be based on proximity.”
I took the list and reviewed it. My heart had a little extra beat when I saw the name Jones on the list. I’d never forgotten Wyatt. For a long time, I was angry and hurt at how he simply left. Later, perhaps because of age and learning more about his father, I could see how he needed to escape Salvation. I hoped he was happy.
Rumor was his father left his wife, which could make her property a prime target for Mr. Stark. With her husband and son gone, would she want to continue to farm or would she see this as a chance to take off too?
“What will you be doing?” Trina asked me.
“I’m going to talk to these people and see if they’ve been approached.”
“How much does the town know about this prison? My guess is most people wouldn’t want a prison in their backyard,” Trina said, sitting in the chair in front of my desk.
“I think it’s just talk now. But we may need to find someone who is willing to form some sort of protest or opposition group.”
Trina quirked a brow. “You’re a rebel. I like it.”
“Yeah, well, I’d do it myself, but the mayor is right in that it won’t look right if I take a side based on my personal ideas. But there must be someone who could help the community see that a prison isn’t the answer. To help them show support for our farmers.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
I looked through the list again, but no one popped out. “Not yet.”
3
Wyatt
Growing up, I’d always helped on the farm. In fact, it was expected I’d take it over from my father, as he had from his father, and my grandfather had from his father, and so on back to the late nineteenth century. The Jones farm was the oldest farm continuously owned by one family in the county. Not that it got any special recognition for that. Clearly, I didn’t care about it as I’d left with no intention of coming back. I had no siblings so unless there were some cousins somewhere who wanted the place, the farm would have passed to someone else.
Now I was home with every intention of continuing the family tradition. Not much had changed about cattle ranching in the ten years since I’d been gone. In fact, there were aspects of ranching that weren’t much different from the military. I had to get up before the sun. I had to have discipline. And I needed to be strong.
A few days after being home, I realized I’d gone soft in some areas. I was right in that my ass hurt after my first ride. My shoulders were pissed too from the hauling and mucking out. But physical labor was good. I liked it.
This morning I was up before five, eating the hearty breakfast my mother made me, as she used to do for my dad, and I was out the door and in the truck before six. I drove with horses in tow to the far pen, and after inventorying the cattle, I and the men still working for us moved the cattle to the lower pen. Now as the head of the farm, I barked out the orders while the two other guys herded the cattle and within a few hours, we had them moved.
Back at the house, my mother had lunch for all of us, meatball sandwiches, potato salad and chocolate chip cookies. It was a reminder of how much I used to eat too. It was a reward for hard work.
By late afternoon, I was in the barn taking care of the horses. It was still hotter than hell, and I took a second to remove my hat and wipe the sweat off my brow. I’d already taken off the western shirt I wore when we herded the cattle. Despite the heat, the long sleeves protected me from the sun. But in the barn, I didn’t need the long sleeves, so I took off the shirt and worked in my t-shirt.
I finished with the horses and went into the office to grab water from the fridge. Still fucking hot, I pulled my t-shirt over my head and used it to wipe my chest. As I guzzled the water, I heard a car pull up the drive to the house. I went to the barn door and looked out as a woman stepped from the car.
My breath stilled in my chest as Sinclair Simms made her way to the front steps of my parents’ home. Since coming home, I often thought about her, wondering how she was doing. What she was doing. At the same time, I hadn’t done anything to find out. In some ways, she was still a dream I’d lost. But now she was very real as she knocked on the front door of the house.
It took me a minute to get my feet working, but soon I was moving toward the house. My mother answered the door. I could see them talking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then my mother pointed to me.
Sinclair turned toward my direction and her mouth formed a small O as she watched me approach. I couldn’t stop the smile on my face at seeing her again. Jesus, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. She was rounder. Sexier. Her hair was pulled back, suggesting it was still long. Instead of her usual short shorts from ten years ago, she wore a pencil skirt and a sleeveless white top that looked just as sexy somehow.
I took the steps up to the porch. Every step that I got closer to her, the more beautiful she seemed to become. In this heat, she was like a mirage and I wanted to drink every bit of her in.