Even if every instinct I have is screaming that this woman is going to be the final nail in Promise Ranch's coffin.
Sierra follows me toward the equipment barn, her fancy boots already picking up dust. She's still taking notes on her phone, occasionally looking up to take in the surroundings. I notice she's not complaining about the walk, at least. Not yet.
"That's the equipment barn," I say, pointing to the large metal structure ahead. "Where we keep the tractors, the hay baler, tools, anything mechanical. Most of it's older than you are and runs on spite at this point."
"How old is the tractor you mentioned? The one that's on its last legs?"
"Nineteen eighty-seven."
Her eyebrows go up. "That's... wow. Okay. And you haven't been able to replace it because of cash flow issues?"
"Because a new tractor costs upward of a hundred thousand dollars, and we've been choosing between that and keeping the lights on." The words come out harsher than I intend, but I don't apologize. She wanted honesty. "Ranch equipment isn't cheap. Nothing about ranching is cheap."
"I'm getting that impression."
We reach the barn, and I pull open the door. The old tractor sits inside, along with the hay baler, various ATVs, and more tools than I can count. It's organized. I make sure of that, but everything shows its age.
Sierra walks slowly through the space, and I watch her face, waiting for the moment of realization. The moment she understands that this isn't some romantic notion of ranch life, but hard reality and harder choices.
"You maintain all this yourself?" she asks.
"Mason handles most of the mechanical work. He's got a knack for keeping things running past their expiration date." I lean against the workbench. "But yeah, we all pitch in. Have to. Can't afford a full-time mechanic."
She nods, still looking around, and I can see her brain working. Calculating. Maybe already figuring out how to tell us this isn't worth her investment.
Good. Better she realizes now before—
"What's that?" She points to a tarp-covered shape in the corner.
"Old truck. Hasn't run in five years. We keep meaning to either fix it or scrap it, but there's always something more urgent."
"Could it be fixed? Or is it too far gone?"
I shrug. "Mason thinks it's salvageable. Needs a new engine, transmission work, probably a thousand other things. It's a project for when we have time and money, which means never."
She walks over to the tarp and lifts a corner, peering at the rusted truck bed underneath. "My dad had an old truck he was always working on. Said it taught him patience." Her voice goes soft. "He never did finish restoring it."
The grief in those words is raw enough that I feel something uncomfortable bubble in my chest. I shove it down. I can't afford to sympathize with her. Can't afford to see her as anything other than a threat.
"We should keep moving," I say. "Lots more to see."
She drops the tarp and follows me back outside. The sun is climbing higher now, warming the April air. It's going to be a nice day. The kind that makes you remember why Montana's worth the brutal winters.
We're halfway to the cattle pens when I see Tucker coming from the main house, his daughter Emma bouncing beside him.
"Uncle Wade!" Emma shouts, breaking into a run. She barrels into me, and I catch her, swinging her up.
"Hey, troublemaker. Thought you weren't coming back until tonight."
"Grandma had to work, so Grandpa brought me home early." She grins at me, gap-toothed and fearless. "Can we go riding later?"
"Maybe. I've got some work to finish first." I set her down, very aware of Sierra watching this interaction. "Em, this is Miss Vaughn. She's visiting the ranch."
Emma turns those curious seven-year-old eyes on Sierra. "Are you Wade's girlfriend?"
"No!" The word comes out too fast, too sharp. "No, she's... she's here to look at the ranch. For business."
"Oh." Emma seems disappointed by this. "He needs a girlfriend. Daddy says Uncle Wade's too grumpy and a girlfriend would help."
