Wade parks the truck and gets out. I follow, and he starts walking the fence line, pointing out problems.
"See this section? Should be lush this time of year. But the irrigation line broke last month, and we've been hand-watering as best we can. It's not enough." He crouches down, running his hand through the dry grass. "We lose about thirty percent of our hay yield from this pasture every year. That's thirty percent less income, or thirty percent more we have to buy to feed the herd through winter."
"And a new system would fix that?"
"A new system would cost forty thousand dollars we don't have. So, we patch and pray and watch this pasture slowly die." He stands, and the frustration radiating off him is palpable. "This is what you're investing in. Not some romantic idea of ranch life, but broken equipment and failing systems and constant crisis management."
I walk along the irrigation line, examining the damage. "The two hundred thousand would cover this, though. The new system. That's part of the strategic improvements budget."
"If we allocate it that way. If there's not some other crisis that demands the money first. If—" He stops himself. "There are always too many ifs in ranching."
"That's true in any business," I say. "There are always variables you can't control. The key is managing them strategically instead of reactively."
"This isn't a business school case study, Vaughn."
"I know that. But it is a business, whether you want to admit it or not." I turn to face him. "And businesses need strategy. They need planning and market analysis and financial projections. Those aren't dirty words. They're tools. Tools that could help you save this place."
"Save it by turning it into something Frank wouldn't recognize?" His voice rises. "By branding it and marketing it and making it perform for customers instead of just doing the work?"
"By making it sustainable!" I shoot back. "By ensuring it survives instead of stubbornly clinging to 'the way things have always been done' while it slowly goes bankrupt!"
We're both breathing hard, facing off across the broken irrigation line like it's a battle line.
"You've been here one day," Wade says, his voice tight with anger. "One day, and you think you understand what this place needs?"
"I understand what the numbers say. I understand that hard work isn't enough if you can't pay your bills. And I understand that sometimes caring about something means being willing to change it so it can survive."
"Change it into what? A tourist attraction? A boutique beef brand for wealthy people who want to feel good about their consumption? That's not what Frank built."
"Frank built something he loved," I counter. "But Frank's dead, and you're alive, and you get to choose whether his legacy dies with him or evolves into something that can last." Myvoice cracks slightly. "My father left me money to honor his memory by building something meaningful. You think I want to disrespect what Frank created? I'm trying to save it. The same way I'm trying to prove my father was right to believe in me."
Wade stares at me, and something in his expression changes. The anger is still there, but underneath it I see something else. Pain, maybe. Or understanding.
"Your father," he says quietly. "You really were close to him."
"He was the only person who ever saw me as more than..." I swallow hard. "More than my mother's chubby daughter or my sisters' less-successful sibling. He saw potential when everyone else just saw problems."
"Frank saw that in me too." Wade's voice is rough. "Saw something worth saving in an angry sixteen-year-old with a chip on his shoulder and no prospects. He gave me everything. And I'm terrified of letting him down."
This is the real Wade Turner. Not the defensive, hostile cowboy, but the man underneath who's carrying crushing weight.
"We're both trying to honor someone we lost," I say softly. "Maybe we could try doing that together instead of fighting each other."
He looks at me for a long moment, and I can't read his expression. Then he nods once, sharp and decisive.
"Come on. I'll show you the rest of the system."
Before I can respond, he's walking away, and I'm left standing in the fading sunlight, exhausted and sore and more determined than ever to prove myself.
Not just to Wade Turner, though that's definitely part of it.
But to myself. To my father's memory. To everyone who ever doubted I could do something hard and meaningful and real.
Chapter 5 - Wade
I shouldn't have told her about Frank.
The thought nags at me as I lead Sierra along the irrigation line, pointing out each break, each failure, each place where the system is slowly giving up. I don't talk about Frank with people. Don't share what he meant to me, what this place means. That's private. Sacred.
