I take notes on my phone, trying to keep up. He's talking fast, clearly trying to overwhelm me with information. Testing me.
"How much land do you have total?" I ask.
"Two thousand acres. Half pasture, half forest and rough terrain. We run about three hundred head of cattle, mostly Angus. Sell the calves at market, keep the breeding stock." He pauses at the barn door, finally turning to look at me. "It's simple in theory. Hard as hell in practice."
"I don't expect it to be easy."
"Don't you?" His eyes narrow. "You flew in this morning. Probably stayed in a nice hotel last night. Rented a car with heated seats. You're going to invest money you didn't earn in a business you don't understand, and you think that makes you part of this?"
The words hit like slaps. I feel my defenses rising, the familiar shame that always comes when someone points out my privilege.
"You're right," I say quietly. "I didn't earn this money. My father died and left it to me. I didn't have to work in a barn at sixteen. I went to college. I had opportunities you probably didn't." I meet his eyes. "That doesn't mean I can't learn. Or that I don't respect what you do here. And it definitely doesn't mean my money isn't just as green as anyone else's."
Something flickers in his expression: surprise, maybe. But it's gone in an instant.
"Come on. I'll show you the cattle."
We walk in silence toward the pastures. The land really is beautiful out here, rolling and green with mountains standing guard in the distance. I can see why Frank loved it. Why they all love it.
Why they're terrified of losing it.
"The east fence that you need to check," I say. "That's one of the critical repairs Rhett mentioned?"
"One of many. Fencing, irrigation system, barn roof, equipment that's held together with duct tape and prayer." He climbs onto a fence rail, gesturing at the cattle grazing nearby. "See those? That's our livelihood. We take care of them, they take care of us. It's not complicated. But it requires constant work, constant vigilance, constant money we don't have."
"What would you do if you had the capital?" I ask. "Not just to fix what's broken, but to improve operations?"
He's quiet for a moment, and I think he might not answer. Then: "Better irrigation in the south pasture. We lose grass every summer because we can't water efficiently. New equipment. The tractor's on its last legs. Upgrade the breeding program, maybe bring in some new bulls to improve the genetics." He pauses. "And I'd pay the staff we've had to let go over the past two years. Good people who needed work, and we couldn't afford to keep them."
There's pain in his voice when he mentions the staff. Real pain.
"That's what the investment is for," I say. "To give you breathing room to do those things."
"At what cost?" He jumps down from the fence, landing with ease. "You want fifteen percent. That's fifteen percent of every decision, every profit, every loss. That's fifteen percent of Frank's legacy in the hands of someone who might decide ranching is too hard and bail."
"I won't bail."
"You say that now. Wait until you've been up since four feeding cattle in February. Until you've watched a calf die because youcouldn't afford the vet. Until you've worked sixteen-hour days for weeks and still can't make the numbers add up." His voice is rough. "This life isn't pretty. It's not a business plan. It's blood and sweat and heartbreak. And we're about to hand part of it to you based on what? Hope?"
I don't have an answer that will satisfy him. How can I? He's right. I don't know what this life is like. I can't promise I won't fail, or get discouraged, or realize I'm in over my head.
All I have is the desperate need to prove I'm capable of something that matters.
"My father believed in me," I say finally. "He was the only one who ever did. And then he died, and everyone else—my mother, my sisters, the lawyer, half the people who knew him—they all said he was wrong. That I'm too impulsive, too inexperienced, too much and not enough at the same time." My voice cracks slightly. "I can't bring him back. Can't prove it to him. But I can honor what he saw in me by doing something real. Something hard. Something everyone thinks I'll fail at."
Wade stares at me for a long moment. "And if you do fail? If this ranch goes under because we took your money, and it wasn't enough? What then?"
"Then I'll have failed trying, which is better than never trying at all."
He shakes his head, but I catch something in his expression. Not agreement, but maybe the tiniest fraction of understanding.
"Come on," he says. "I'll show you the rest."
Chapter 3 - Wade
I shouldn't have said I'd show her the rest.
Should have handed her off to Tucker or Mason, someone with more patience for outsiders who think they can waltz in and save the day with a checkbook. But Tucker asked me to do this, and despite everything, I can't bring myself to completely abandon the responsibility.
