“I haven’t heard back from my photographer friend yet. How about you? Have you gotten in touch with your FBI friend about the email?”
“Yeah, I just made contact. He’s going to get to it when he can. I’ll give him at least a couple days before I harangue him again.”
Sawyer nodded. He couldn’t ask for anything more than that, though he was anxious to get to the bottom of the strange, anonymous note.
The sun had started setting, streaking the sky in a palate of reds, oranges, and blues. There was nothing like a sunset on Dry Creek Ranch. The three of them stared up at the sky for a while, each lost in its beauty. It was times like this when the ranch stole his breath away. He’d seen a lot of magnificent places—Amalfi Coast, Mt. Fuji, Big Sur, Lake Louise, Pamukkale, Monteverde. But nothing stirred him the way the land of his ancestors did. His feelings for the ranch were deep and visceral. The soil, the trees, the hills, the creek, it was in his blood.
“Apparently your Gina”—Jace poked Sawyer in the shoulder—“has been brainstorming with Charlie and Aubrey on how to add to our side hustle here.” He gazed in the direction of the old barn and the construction project that would soon house the overflow of the women’s design business. “She thinks we should approach Jimmy Ray and Laney about opening a sarsaparilla stand on the ranch.”
Cash nodded enthusiastically. “It’s not a bad idea. Their sarsaparilla is the thing of legends.”
Sawyer let out a long breath. “Not enough foot traffic. I’d hate to ask Jimmy Ray and Laney to be part of a losing proposition. I agree with Cash, their sarsaparilla is fantastic. A true original. But people aren’t going to travel miles for a spectacular glass of root beer. At least I don’t think they will. And a design studio, furniture store, and flower shop won’t bring enough crowds to make it worth Jimmy Ray and Laney’s while. What we need is a big draw, something that will make the ranch a destination.”
“You think Macy’s would be interested?”
Cash laughed at Jace’s sarcasm.
“No, dipshit, something like a general store,” Sawyer said. “And if we really wanted to be ambitious, a butcher shop that carried specialty cuts of our beef, just like Harris Ranch. Wasn’t Harris Ranch your brilliant idea, Jace?” He knocked Jace’s hat off his head.
Cash cocked his hip against the fence. “Harris Ranch is a big name, a big brand. No one has ever heard of Dalton beef. We’ve never been that kind of operation.”
Grandpa Dalton had always sold his calves to large meat distributors, like Harris Ranch, who then slapped their own brand on the package. It’s the way most cattlemen did business.
“We’d need to reinvent ourselves,” Sawyer said. “In the long run, it could be more lucrative than the old way. And we could be our own destination draw for the Dry Creek Ranch roadside attraction.”
Cash reached under his hat and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Establishing ourselves like that would take a long time. We’d have to have some kind of marketing strategy, something that sets us apart from other meat companies. We’re not organic. We’re not grass-fed. So what’s our claim to fame? I don’t know, I just don’t see it.”
“We don’t suck. That’s our marketing strategy right there,” Jace said.
Sawyer exchanged a glance with Cash and shook his head. “Yeah, that’ll go over big. I can just see the billboards now. Big splashy letters:Buy us because we don’t suck. Stick to law enforcement, dude.”
“What I’m saying is how many of these folks with organic or grass-fed, or non-GMO labels have superior beef? I’m betting not many. Whereas our beef is fucking grain-fed delicious. We could go organic. I’m perfectly good with that. But I think we’re overlooking our bestselling feature. Taste. Why not market that?”
“We’re back to how again.” Cash threw his hands up in the air. “Everyone says their product tastes better than the rest. How do you say it loud and effective enough to turn a butcher shop in the middle of nowhere into a destination? Marketing something like that would cost a fortune. A fortune we don’t have.”
“No, but we are related to one of the top PR agencies in the country.” Sawyer didn’t usually take advantage of his parents’ position, but this was something for all of them. Even though his father had never taken to ranching, keeping Grandpa Dalton’s legacy in the family was of paramount importance to him.
“And we just so happen to know a celebrity chef, too,” Jace said.
“A fallen celebrity chef?” Sawyer was pretty sure that right now her endorsement would be the kiss of death. “I wouldn’t count on Gina’s influence.”
“A butcher shop is certainly something to think about,” Cash said. “But until we figure it out, I’m with Sawyer. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Jimmy Ray and Laney to make that kind of investment. I know they’d do it if we asked. But it would be taking advantage.”
The couple was getting on in age and had enough work running the coffee shop. And it wasn’t as if they were desperate for money.
“Okay,” Jace said. “But I like this idea of a butcher shop. If we can make more money going retail than selling our beef on the hoof we should go for it. There are all kinds of possibilities there, including mail order. I bet Kansas City Steak Company is making a killing.”
Cash adjusted the brim of his hat. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”
Sawyer didn’t blame Cash for being conservative, but he was on board with Jace. They were onto something, something that made sense. “I’ll talk to my parents about it. They’ll have some ideas. In the meantime, I like where this is going. It’s a hell of lot better than turning the ranch into some kind of Disneyland sideshow.”
The three of them pushed off the fence, ready to call it an evening.
“Hey, Jace, don’t forget to talk to Tiffany.”
“Will do.”
They walked their separate ways. Sawyer would’ve paid a visit to Gina, but because Cash was her neighbor…he could do without the ribbing. He and his cousins generally stayed out of each other’s social business. But now that Cash was married and Jace engaged, the two of them had relaxed that unspoken rule. And because he had no idea what he was doing with Gina— besides enjoying mind-blowing sex—he didn’t want to face an interrogation by two skilled cops. Clearly, they had an inkling that something was going on, but Sawyer didn’t feel the need to give them a front-row seat.
