“Ah.” She nods knowingly. “Beau Hayden.”
It’s not a question, and I find that amusing. He must be the only rancher in this area.
“Do you know him well?” I ask, leaning forward and tucking my hands between my knees. Any inside information we can glean about the man will help us in our meeting tomorrow morning.
“Not Beau, no. I don’t know any of themwell. I went to school with the youngest of the three Hayden brothers.” A look passes through her eyes, like something has brought her internal happiness down to a simmer. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out it has something to do with the youngest brother.
“Anyway, enough chatting. I’m sure you’re hungry.” Josephine takes our order and doesn’t say much when she comes back to drop off my wine and my dad’s beer.
“Thanks, Josephine,” I say as she slides the wine across the table to me.
“You can call me Jo. Everyone does.” She smiles again, but it’s not as bright as it was when she first approached our table.Beforethe youngest Hayden brother was brought into the conversation, however briefly. Maybe it’s my imagination running wild, but whatever happened between them, it was enough to upset her.
Dad and I spend dinner strategizing about the meeting. Beau Hayden shoots from the hip (I hope not literally, but then again Rich Calloway learned that lesson the hard way), so we know not to show up at the ranch talking about anything fluffy. He needs numbers without fuss or preamble.
When Jo clears our plates, I sneak my hands under my flowy top and unbutton the top button of my jeans. I definitely overate.
My dad asks, “Jo, can you point me to a store where I can buy a few toiletries? I forgot a couple things.”
“The Merc is just around the corner.” She thumbs behind her shoulder. When she sees our confused expressions, she adds, “It’s short for mercantile. Sorry.” She laughs. “I already forgot you’re not from here. Dessert?”
“No, thank you,” I groan, and she laughs again.
We pay the check, and I feel this weird desire to hug Jo goodbye. She is sunny and warm, and I want a little of that feeling. I don’t though, because I’m not interested in frightening her, and instead give her a look I hope conveys how much I want to hug her. Like an eye-hug. Is that a thing?
Jo waves goodbye to us and we walk back through the small lobby to the staircase. It’s wide, with an ornate wooden rail, and I’m glad we opted to take the stairs instead of use the elevator. Out of three floors, our rooms are on the second, so it’s not like I’m burning off even a bite of steak, but Ifeellike I am and that’s what counts.
“‘Night, Dad.” I lean in and kiss his cheek at his door.
“‘Night, Junior.”
The pang hits me the way it always does, and I hide it just like I always do.
I go to my room, take a shower, and watch Netflix on my phone until I fall asleep.
* * *
“I don’t knowwhat I was picturing, but this wasn’t it.” My shoulder presses against the window of our rental car as I strain to take in the landscape.
The town of Sierra Grande is in a valley, and it’s flat with scrubby large bushes. I was picturing the Hayden Ranch as a cabin-type home on the same landscape, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
We drove north out of Sierra Grande and the bushes gave way to pine trees and cottonwoods. I hadn’t been expecting the vegetation, or the purple, orange, and pink wildflowers dotting the landscape.
“We just crossed over into Hayden Ranch territory,” my father says, his flattened palm running the length of an imaginary horizontal line.
“How could you possibly know that?” I ask, certain he’s about to make a joke.
“I studied a map of Beau Hayden’s property last night before I fell asleep.”
“Me too. The town, I mean. I researched the town. I learned a lot about what I think Sierra Grande is missing in terms of retail space.”
My dad glances over. He’s impressed. “You should tell Beau in the meeting.”
I nod, and nerves turn over in my stomach.
We continue to climb in elevation, and soon we’re running parallel to the town. The roads look like a grid, and a large street which I’ve learned is called High Street, runs through what is obviously the center of town where all the shops and stores are, and eventually gives way to homes. It has a decent-size population, but the way Jo automatically knew about the Hayden family makes me think it’s a place where everyone knows everyone else. Or, at least, everyone knows the Haydens.
“And here we are,” Dad announces, slowing as we approach a large metal sign held up by two wooden posts. The sign reads Hayden Cattle Company. He turns, the car tumbling off the paved road and onto a long dirt driveway, where maybe a half-mile away a house sits. Despite my dad’s slowed speed, dust kicks up on either side of the car, and it hits me that this is a convenient way to force visitors to announce their presence.
