Chase reared back his head and scoffed his disbelief, “What fool would pay that kind of money for a half interest in a bull?”
Ty didn’t turn a hair. “Apparently there are a number of fools out there. That isn’t a rumor. It’s the truth.” He intercepted Jessy’s questioning glance and explained, “I was making some calls today and heard that same rumor from more than one source. I did some checking and managed to verify it.”
“Ballard is right then.” Jessy held his glance, leaving Ty in little doubt that Ballard had spoken at length to her about his idea.
“It’s possible.” Ty nodded.
With eyes narrowed in suspicion, Chase looked at first one, then the other. “Right about what?” he challeng
ed. “Why do I have this feeling that something has been discussed that I don’t know about?”
“I planned on talking to you about it after dinner tonight,” Ty admitted. “When I spoke to Ballard the other day, he made some suggestions about ways to increase the ranch’s gross revenue. And its profits.” Ty briefly explained Ballard’s proposal to hold auctions of their registered livestock at the ranch, and watched his father’s expression darken with distaste.
“I’ve been to a couple of those fancy shindigs they call sales. And you’re saying you want to hold one here, on the Triple C?”
“Initially that was my reaction.”
“And now?” The very quietness of Chase’s voice gave it the weight of challenge.
“I don’t like the idea any better than you do. But I think it’s one we should investigate further, put some facts and figures together, and see if there would be a substantial return,” Ty reasoned. “When we sold that bull to Parker, I was more than satisfied with the price he paid. But a quarter of a million dollars for an animal that was inferior to the ones we kept”—he shook his head—“that isn’t something I can easily dismiss.”
“That happens every time a man sells anything,” Chase insisted, but none too convincingly for either of them. “He always wonders if he could have gotten more money.”
“I know. But we’re already operating on an extremely narrow profit margin, and that’s in good years. You string together a few bad years in a row, and we’re in trouble.”
Chase grunted a nonanswer, sliced off another bite of roast beef, then asked, “Exactly what is your proposal?”
“To do some more checking, find out what it would entail in both manpower and facilities, put some numbers to it, and see if it’s something we should seriously consider.”
“What do you think about all this, Jessy?” Chase pinned her with a look.
She met the hard bore of his gaze without flinching. “I think it’s a wise move.”
He considered her answer quietly for moment then nodded with reluctance. “Probably. But I still don’t like the idea of a bunch of strangers descending on us, even for a day.” He sighed and shot a glance at Ty. “If your mother was alive, she’d know how to keep them all organized and happy.”
So would Tara, Jessy realized.
Chapter Four
Snowflakes, fat and lazy, drifted toward the ground, making a white landscape out of the Triple C headquarters and the surrounding plains. The outside temperature was a good ten degrees below the freezing mark, but there was no wind to swirl the flakes or blow the fallen snow into drifts.
On this snowy Sunday morning in December, all was quiet on the ranch. Smoke curled from one of The Homestead’s brick chimneys, the gray of it quickly lost against the backdrop of an equally gray sky, thickly speckled with snow.
The steady hum of an approaching vehicle penetrated the snowfall’s hushed silence. Soon the dark Suburban became visible through the white screen of flakes as it traveled along the ranch’s forty-mile-long driveway to the Triple C headquarters.
With tires crunching over the heavy wet snow, the vehicle rolled to a stop in front of The Homestead. The wipers ceased their rhythmic sweep of the windshield and the engine died. The passenger doors opened, both front and back.
Five-year-old Quint Echohawk hopped out of one side, his slender body made plump by the heavy parka and snow pants he wore, but on his head, he wore his favorite cowboy hat. With barely disguised impatience, he waited for the others to join him.
After stepping out of the front passenger side into the snow, Cathleen Calder Echohawk, affectionately known by everyone on the Triple C as Cat, handed her son the smaller of the two wrapped gifts she had in her arms.
“Will you carry this one, Quint?”
“Okay.” Taking it, he tucked the present under his arm.
On the driver’s side, Logan Echohawk held the rear door open and offered an assisting hand to Sally Brogan as she climbed out of the back seat. Like Cat, she also carried two presents, but hers were on the large and cumbersome side.
“Let me carry those for you?” Logan relieved Sally of them.