“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” Bill shifts in his seat. “Get too many of these herds on the land, and you wind up with a dustbowl.” Cal makes a grunting noise of dissent, but my uncle continues. “I’m happy to let you cross over, back and forth, but I’m not onboard with a full-scale expansion.”
“You can’t stop progress, Bill. Places like Logan’s and Turner’s specialize in wild game. They need the meat.”
“They can go other places.” Bill’s voice is solemn, and I know he’s speaking as much as a rancher as an old ex-hippie. Balance has always been his creed.
“Or…” Evan’s voice slows. “How would you feel about parceling up some of your unused property and selling it?”
Shifting in my chair, I don’t expect my level of irritation at this suggestion. It’s not like the ranch is our family farm. Bill has been here almost twenty years, but w
e didn’t grow up on the place. As if sensing my reaction, he shoots me a confident grin.
“Don’t think I’ll be doing that,” he says. “I get suspicious when folks start trying to get rid of me.”
“We’d never suggest that.” Evan smiles, but it doesn’t seem sincere to me.
“How would you feel about capping the size of your herd?” Bill gives him a wink.
“How would you feel about being more cooperative?” Evan’s youngest son Ryan is one crack away from a smack across the mouth.
“That’s enough.” His father scolds him, but I’m not satisfied.
“I agree with Bill.” The irritation in my voice silences the table. Three pair of eyes flash to me.
“I didn’t know you had a dog in this fight, Stuart,” Evan says.
Meeting his cool blue eyes, I level my gaze. “It’s a possibility I might be taking over the place. If that happens, we’ll bring back the horses, and I don’t want an overabundance of steers mucking up their running space.”
It’s quiet several moments, and I’m gratified that the two younger Robertsons back down. Evan raises his eyebrows before taking a slug of his drink. “Well, that changes things.”
Bill leans away, giving me a sideways grin. “I’d say it does.” He stands, fishing out his wallet. I’m right beside him. “Well, I thank you for the drinks. Always good talking to you, Evan. Boys.”
He nods, placing his hat on his head, and I give them a tight smile before following him through the tables and out the door.
“Little punk needs to be taught a lesson,” I grumble as we climb into the truck.
“Nah, he’s just young. Feeling his oats.” My uncle looks through the windshield as he turns the key and gets us on the road to home.
We don’t do a lot of talking on the drive, which isn’t unusual for us, still the weight of what I said is hanging in the air.
“Interesting proposition you made back there,” he finally says. “When were you planning to discuss it with me?”
I don’t answer right away—mostly because I surprised myself tonight. My internal response to Evan’s suggestion, my feelings of possessiveness toward the ranch, my anger at the thought of breaking it up, and the idea of taking it over, all of these thoughts are new and rolling around in my mind.
“It wasn’t something I’d considered until tonight.” I look out the window at the miles of black prairie. “I didn’t like what those guys were saying.”
“I didn’t like it either.”
More silence, the sound of wheels on a gravel road crunch through the dark. Bill flicks on the radio, and the strains of Willie Nelson’s “Time of the Preacher” fill the cab. It brings Mariska to the front of my thoughts, and all the things I internally vowed I wasn’t going to do. Only now I don’t feel as sure anymore.
Before we came here, we’d decided to move into my penthouse condo in Princeton, transfer her credits, get married, and live happily ever after. Coming here wouldn’t necessarily change things, but it would increase the level of difficulty.
Glancing over at my uncle’s lined face, I don’t want to leave him hanging. Still, a decision like this requires a lot more than an impulsive statement to a punk over dinner. I have to give it more thought.
Mariska is in bed with her back to me when I enter our suite. Bill put us on the opposite wing of the house from my mother and him, giving us a nice degree of privacy. My threat to the Robertsons still dominates my mind as I stop to use the metal bootjack to pull off my cowboy boots.
Part of the land Evan wants to take over includes the small cabin on the range. It’s a primitive little shack with no electricity and only the basest of appliances and equipment, but it’s my place. It’s the one spot outside of the desert where I feel my insides unclench, where I can relax. It’s also a pretty special place for Mariska and me since last winter.
I look over at her sleeping form under the thick duvet, and I remember her naked body moving against mine, soft and beautiful as we made love in an Indian blanket beside the campfire. The sky was full of stars, and we were far from any signs of civilization, like the last two people on earth. Those were the best three days of my life up to that point.