“So you’ve got some good variety in product,” I say. “Quantity is good, but what about quality? Is there anything that makes your cows special?”
Everett shrugs, his shoulders shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. It’s sticking to his skin with the sheen of sweat that’scovering both of us, and the movement highlights the kind of musculature that I definitely don’t expect on someone his age.
I force myself to stop admiring his build as we enter the barn again. Well, after I glance down to confirm that he’s got the thighs to match his shoulders.
“The cows are all grass-fed, free range, all that bullshit. Pigs have their own quarter of the land to roam on and get fed the specialty shit that Al insists on. Chickens have a big open-air coop that we built a few years back,” he says. “Everything’s bred and raised on the ranch.”
Nowthere’ssomething I can work with. I hum as I pull my phone from my pocket, typing away into a note so I can reference things later. All of that needs to go onto the website I’ll get set up for the ranch, and most of it can be great touch points in the advertising campaign I’ll put together. My sister is annoyingly good at dealing with the earth forward, hippie type clients, and I’m a little smug at the thought that she’d definitely be having trouble with Everett.
At least it’s not just me.
“A lot of chain stores would probably be interested in signing you on,” I say, although all of the communication I’ve had with his daughter has been heavily leaning toward staying in the private sector. “Plenty of places look specifically for non-GMO, free range cattle from their distributors. It might be a harder sell, but a deal with a larger grocery chain or?—”
“No chains,” Everett says firmly, shooting a disapproving frown at me over his shoulder. “I’m not selling out to some mega-store so that our quality can tank and they can bleed us dry.”
“Touchy,” I whisper under my breath.
There’s probably some history there, and while it certainly doesn’t seem like there’s much heart in anything around here, I can respect him wanting to stick to his guns. It’s a more seriousanswer than he’s given me toward anything else so far, so at least that’s proof that there’s something other than apathy and exhaustion in that pretty head of his.
“What about a more local angle, then?” I ask. “Grocery stores—no chains, just some family-operated places around the state. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to reach out to some restaurants, or even local markets. We can lean into that, keep things close to home and see how the margins handle that change.”
He doesn’t seem like he’s listening to me at all, so I decide to take his gestures—the way he glances at his watch, or how he stares impatiently down the impossibly long driveway—as agreement.
The private sector will probably be a harder sell, mostly just because it means more people to convince, and Everett isn’t exactly the most dazzling conversationalist. That’s what I’m here for, though, and even just the brief tour Everett has sped me through is enough to get a good start on things.
Sure, the ranch is a mess, to put it kindly, but there’s plenty of marketable ruggedness about the place. Most of it is currently hidden between the overgrown grass and fence posts that are practically crumbling under their own age, but I can spin a vast majority of it as rustic charm. With some careful camera angles and a little more cooperation than Everett is currently offering me, I can definitely make this work. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, whether it be from a ranch that’s clearly on its last legs or a rancher whose grumpy frown and broad shoulders keep making me lose track of my thoughts.
If I can whip this place into shape, it’ll be both a victory over Everett’s reticence and a big fat gold star on my resume.
It’ll be worth the work.
“Fuck’s sake,” Everett grumbles from beside me.
He glances at his watch again and rolls his eyes before turning to yell for one of the guys currently wrapping more wire around one of the fence posts.
“Tony, can you have Al keep an eye out for the feed guy?” he asks, rubbing over his forehead in annoyance. “He’s late again, and I have too much to do to wait around.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Tony agrees.
Tony wipes his hands off on his jeans, offering me a nod. I nod back, a bit uncomfortable with the scrutiny he’s aiming at me. I know I look entirely out of place, and the combination of my lovely pantsuit and oversized rubber boots probably isn’t doing me any favors.
“And tell him to double-check the dates on the new bags!” Everett adds at Tony’s retreating back. “I’m not paying him if a single one of them is expired again.”
That sounds like an ongoing battle of its own, and I frown for a second at the thought of having to deal with all of the ranch’s suppliers through this change. Hopefully there won’t be too many changes that need to happen on that front, but if the rest of the business is getting a facelift, I need to make sure everything is up to the same standard, from all angles.
I have a feeling Everett himself is going to be my biggest hurdle, unfortunately.
He’s prickly, but I can handle that easily. It’s the way that his shoulders slump in defeat and exhaustion every time he thinks I’m not looking that I don’t quite know what to do with. Obstinance is easy, but getting someone who’s given up to put in effort can be a real challenge.
Maybe with some more concrete examples of what I can do for the ranch, he’ll come around to the idea of putting in some work toward this. With a focus on more local buyers and a heavy emphasis on the humane treatment of the animals at the ranch, I should be able to get their prices up quite a bit, even before weput any work into fixing up their image. They’re definitely going to need the increased profit if they want any chance of getting the property back into good condition.
“I’m going back to the house for lunch before I get back out there,” Everett says, already starting toward the main house. “I’ll show you to the guest room my daughter was planning on having you stay in, but I don’t know if she already has it set up for you.”
I can’t really bring myself to be insulted at the assumption that I don’t want to stomp around the ranch with him for the rest of the day: I’m too excited to get as far away from all the dirt and animal stench as I can. The idea of getting into air conditioning and taking the longest shower of my life sounds absolutely lovely.
“What’s for lunch?” I ask.
He doesn’t really answer, just shrugging as he lumbers his way up the porch steps. There’s no welcome mat to scrape my boots off on, so I pull them off at the door and set them beside his. The rocking chairs by the window look like they haven’t been touched in about a decade, and the little table between them is covered in debris. He doesn’t invite me in when he steps over the threshold, so I just follow him inside.
