The Rancher's Untamed Heart

“Sir?” I asked.

“I thought that you’d sent that paperwork along for me,” he said, “Instead, I find out that the deadline has passed, no paperwork has gone through, and to top it off, you went out to the damn ranch.”

He picked up a flower from a vase on my desk and absentmindedly crushed it in his hands.

I had a brief pang. Those flowers were from Clint.

“I’m afraid that I don’t know why you’re so upset, Mr. Banks,” I said, in my politest tones.

“You disobeyed me and made more work, of course I’m upset,” he said.

“Well, I don’t know how I made any more work for you by doing my job,” I said. “After all, my job is to process paperwork correctly to the mandates of the law, correct?”

He squeezed the sad remains of Clint’s flower.

“Correct,” he said. “Of course. However, there are grey areas in every field. Everyone lets a small farmer slide sometimes on ridiculous rules that should only apply to ranches with ten times that many head of sheep, or cattle, or whatever they’ve got going on.”

He eyed me.

“I know you’ve done it,” he said, flatly. “You’ve done it, and I’ve seen it, and I’ve stamped the paperwork anyways, because we’re not machines, we’re people. We use our judgment. I trust your judgment, why don’t you trust mine? I’m your superior, and I’ve been doing this since you were in diapers.”

I winced. He was right. I’d bent the rules on a handful of occasions, slipped paperwork through that shouldn’t go. Why did this time, why did my boss wanting me to do it leave such a bad taste in my mouth?

“Why are you so concerned about this?” I finally asked. “When I went out there, the guy was pretty suspicious. If it weren’t a case you were involved with, I’d have gone back with the sheriff,” I said. I’d done it before. Some ranches weren’t safe for one lone inspector. They rarely passed.

“These men

are very well-connected and very good at their jobs,” he said. “It’s the sort of big, booming business that we want to encourage in the area. They keep buying up the smaller ranches, so they step on some toes, and that’s not fair to them. They’ve brought in a lot of jobs, and that’s what we want to see. Jobs, land, cattle. Are you with me?”

“No,” I said. “The smaller operations bring in diversity and are better for the land. I don’t want this county to be one big ranch owned by one big man.”

My boss rolled his eyes.

How professional.

“Fine,” he said. “If you want to be that way, that’s just fine. I’m glad I know where you stand.”

Clint rolled into the parking lot a little after ten the next day to pick me up.

“They wouldn’t even let you sit in the damn building?” he asked tersely as he got out of his truck and slammed the door.

“Never heard you cuss before,” I said.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, automatically, still frowning. He leaned down and picked up the cardboard box next to me on the stone steps.

“Let’s go,” he grumbled, glaring up at the building. I wondered if he were going to kick the steps.

I nodded. For Herman’s sake, Clint should get out of there as soon as possible.

When I was buckled into the shotgun seat, I sighed. “Thank you for coming to pick me up, Clint. I know it’s a busy time,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “I find that I suddenly have a lot more time with Will working in the office instead of me. I’m not trying to do two long days every day, just one.”

I nodded again. I’d noticed that too. It was nice, having more of Clint’s attention.

With a small smile, I mentally patted myself on the back. Thinking about my success on the ranch was a lot better than thinking about my morning.

I sighed.