But something about the way she talked about her father, the raw grief in her voice, the desperate need to prove herself worthy of his faith, cracked something open in me that I usually keep locked down tight.
It doesn't mean I trust her. It just means I understand her better than I want to.
"This valve here should regulate water pressure to the entire south section," I say, crouching down to examine the rusted mechanism. "But it's been stuck for two years. We've been manually opening and closing these smaller valves to compensate, which means someone has to walk this entire line twice a day during growing season."
Sierra kneels beside me, peering at the valve. She's close enough that I can smell her shampoo. Something strong and citrusy that has no business being in a cattle pasture. "How long does that take?"
"Hour and a half, give or take. Depending on how many problems you find along the way." I stand, wiping my hands on my jeans. "It's not efficient, but it's what we can afford."
"Which is why the new system would save not just water, but labor hours." She's taking notes on her phone again, thumbsflying across the screen. "Labor hours you could allocate to more productive tasks."
"We don't think in terms of 'productive tasks' out here, Vaughn. We think in terms of what needs doing."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive concepts." She looks up at me, and there's a challenge in her green eyes. "Just because something needs doing doesn't mean it's the best use of time. That's basic resource allocation."
"This isn't a spreadsheet."
"No, it's a ranch. Which requires resources—time, money, labor—that need to be allocated efficiently." She stands, brushing dirt off her knees. "You can be annoyed at me for pointing that out, or you can accept that maybe someone with outside perspective might see inefficiencies you're too close to notice."
She's not wrong, which irritates me more than if she were spouting nonsense. I start walking toward the truck without responding. After a moment, I hear her following.
"I'm not trying to be difficult," she calls. "I'm trying to help."
"I know." The admission comes out rougher than I intend. I stop, turning to face her. "That's the problem. You actually mean well. It'd be easier if you were just another rich person playing games."
"But I'm not."
"No. You're not." I stare at her. She's covered in dust and dirt, her hair escaping its ponytail, her cheeks flushed from sun and exertion. She looks tired and determined and stubbornly present in a way that makes something uncomfortable twist in my chest. "Which means I can't just write you off. Means I have to actually deal with the fact that you might be right about some things."
A small smile crosses her face. "Was that physically painful to admit?"
"A little."
She laughs, and the sound is unexpectedly warm. "For what it's worth, I know I don't know anything about ranching. I'm not trying to pretend I do. But I do know business, and I'm trying to apply that knowledge in ways that help rather than hurt."
"I know." I head back toward the truck. "Come on. There's more I should show you if you're going to understand this place."
We drive further into the property, and I find myself narrating as we go. Pointing out landmarks, explaining the layout, sharing details I haven't thought about in years. The old line shack where Frank used to take shelter during winter fence checks. The creek that runs through the north section, providing natural water for that part of the herd. The section of forest where we harvest timber every few years for fence posts and repairs.
"Frank thought of everything," I say as we pass the woodlot. "He knew how to make the land work for itself. How to use what we had instead of constantly buying what we needed."
"Sustainable before it was trendy," Sierra observes.
"He didn't care about trends. Just about doing things right." I slow the truck as we approach a hill that rises above the surrounding pasture. "There's something up here I want to show you."
The road becomes more of a track, rutted and rough. The truck bounces and groans, but it makes the climb. At the top, I park and kill the engine.
"Come on."
I lead her to the edge of the hill, where the land drops away to reveal a view that never fails to steal my breath. You can seealmost the entire ranch from here. The main buildings tiny in the distance, pastures spreading in every direction, mountains standing guard on the horizon. The late afternoon sun paints everything gold and amber.
"Oh," Sierra breathes. "Wow."
"Yeah." I stand beside her, hands in my pockets. "Frank proposed to his wife here. Fifty years ago, before he owned any of this land. He was working on her father's ranch, and he brought her up here on horseback and asked her to marry him."
"That's incredibly romantic."
“He said this view reminded him that some things are worth fighting for, even when the odds are against you." My throat tightens. "Said he hoped I'd find something or someone worth fighting for like that."
