I keep the grin off my face. Force the excitement from trickling out. Calmly, I push back from the table and stand. As I'm walking from the room, I hear Gramps say to Wes, "There was a time when you'd do whatever it took to have this ranch."
I grab my mom's second set of gloves from the mudroom and return to the table. Gramps is gone.
"All set?" Wes asks.
I nod. "What was Gramps saying when I walked out?"
Wes waves me off. "Never mind him, he's a few bricks shy of a load on a good day."
"Fuck off," Gramps says. He's coming from the kitchen clutching a second cup of coffee.
Wes laughs. Gramps claps him on the back, and Wes does the same, but lightly. Sometimes I forget Wes has had more time with Gramps than any of us kids.
"You two enjoy your day," Gramps says. He shuffles to me, and I kiss his papery cheek.
"Come on," Wes says, walking from the room.
I follow, forcing down my excitement and my nerves.
Fucking.Hard.
That's what all this work is. Not that I didn't already know that, butgoddamn. It's only late spring, and still there are rivers of sweat slipping between my breasts. Swamp ass is no longer something Lindsay loudly complained about on our walks across the ASU campus in August. It is officially a very real thing for me.
I eye Wes, just twenty feet away, as he talks to some of the cowboys. Mostly he addresses Josh, who is the unofficial leader of the group. Wes pointedly ignores Troy, not that I blame him, but it makes me laugh. Troy tries, but he's always just a bit shy of the mark.
I've been spraying weeds for what feels like hours and guess what? There are still more weeds. It's like a pie-eating contest where the only prize is more pie. I'm bored out of my skull, and I have something to say. So, in true calamity fashion, I open my mouth.
"Wes, can you come here for a second?"
Wes pauses his sentence, neck swiveling my way. The cowboys stare, mouths pulled into tight lines, as if my interrupting Wes is a big deal. "Yes?" he says, eyebrows lifted on his forehead. He addresses me from where he stands, refusing to do as I’ve asked and come my way.
"Why am I spraying all these weeds again?"
"Because I can't get much else to grow here besides these damned dandelions, and I can't have the cows eating them."
"Right," I say slowly, setting my sprayer on the ground. One of the cowboys snickers, and I'd love to know who it is so I can knock the shit-eating grin off his face. "So here's the problem. Dandelions indicate poor, compacted soil—"
"No shit."
I glare at Wes but keep going. "Their roots are actually doing the job of breaking up the soil." This is, word for word, what I learned when I was searching the internet this morning. Maybe I am an impulsive spitfire, but I came prepared. "So don't just kill them and move on. Think about this proactively instead of reactively. Yes, you have weeds, but they are doing a job for you. If we eliminate them, we need to replace their function and aerate the soil ourselves."
Wes gives me a long, hard look. "Are you going to be the one to do that? Because I can tell you right now, I don't have a single second to spare."
My shoulders straighten. "I'll do it." Not that I have a clue how to, but I'll figure it out. I'll make a way.
A terse, disingenuous laugh bursts from my brother. He shakes his head and rubs a thumb over his lower lip. "You have all the answers, huh? You haven't worked this land a day in your life, but you arrive here with your head full of grand ideas."
Earlier this morning he’d shown up at my place asking me to come share those ideas with him, and now he’s being an ass. His argument with Dakota must have been a doozy. “I grew up here, too, asshole. And just because I'm not the chosen one, thenumber one son, doesn't mean I don't have valuable contributions."
"Like sending out a mailer?"
I send him the dirtiest look I can muster.
"Newsflash, Jessie. Even without that alfalfa choking out the land, we still need a little something from Mother Nature." He points up at the sky. "Rain."
I'm very well aware of that. And unfortunately, water from above isn't something I can magically produce. Or send mail to.
"The fact remains," I respond, digging in my heels, "that you have it within your abilities to do something about this soilnow. You do not have to wait for the right weather pattern. Don't just sit back and jaw about how dry it is. Prepare the soil so when it does rain, you're in the best position to benefit from it."
