Chapter Three
Early the followingmorning, Steven strode into the dusty paddock where the cowboys were beginning to gather. He could feel their eyes on him. There was tension in the air, and he knew they were all worried about whether or not they would keep their jobs.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Steven greeted, his voice steady and clear. The cowboys muttered responses, their tones ranging from grudging respect to open hostility.
“George,” Steven nodded toward the older cowboy who leaned against the fence, arms folded across his chest, his steely blue eyes sharp beneath the brim of his weathered hat.
“Steven,” George acknowledged with a curt nod. “You planning on changing things around here?”
“Changes that need to be made to improve the ranch,” Steven replied, meeting George’s challenge without flinching. He knew he couldn’t declare war on George outright, though it was difficult not to.
A younger cowboy spat tobacco juice into the dirt, his sneer evident. “And you think you’re the man to do it? Just because you married the boss doesn’t mean you can march in here and play lord of the land.”
Steven’s hazel eyes swept over the group, his posture unyielding. “I’m not here to play at anything. This land, these cattle, they’re all part of our livelihoods. I aim to see that we’re doing the best we can for them—and ourselves. Anyone who doesn’t want to follow me is welcome to leave.”
“Sounds like a lot of pretty words,” George countered, pushing off from the fence to stand squarely in front of Steven. “But words don’t move cattle or mend fences.”
“True enough,” Steven conceded. “Which is why I plan to show you through action. You’ll see the fruits of what I propose soon enough. And you’ll also see that I’ll be there with you every step of the way, working as hard—if not harder—than every other man here.”
“Or we’ll see this place run into the ground by some greenhorn from back East,” one of the cowboys muttered, earning a few chuckles from his companions.
“Perhaps,” Steven said, undeterred. “But I’ve worked land before. Different soil, same principles. And I’ve got ideas—ones that could make this ranch thrive if you’re willing to give them a chance.”
“Like what?” George demanded, eyeing Steven skeptically.
“Rotating the grazing areas more frequently, for one,” Steven explained. “Improves the health of the grass and the cattle. And diversifying our livestock— maybe introducing some sheep. It’s risky, but it could pay off.”
“Risky? That’s putting it lightly,” George scoffed. “Cattle and sheep don’t mix. You’d start a range war with a fool notion like that.”
“Only if we handle it poorly,” Steven maintained. “We can set up separate grazing areas. It’s been done successfully elsewhere.” Steven had spent time reading about agriculture for years. Some men read novels or poetry. He read about building empires.
“And if it fails here?” George pressed.
“Then we adapt and try something else,” Steven answered simply. “Because doing nothing isn’t an option. Not if we want to survive and see this place grow.” He shook his head. “Looking around this ranch, I can see many things were let slide. The buildings are in disrepair. Some of the land has been used to pasture the cattle too often. Some barely at all. We’re going to correct those mistakes, and make this ranch the best in the entire state of Montana.”
The cowboys exchanged wary glances, the seeds of doubt sown among the lines of resistance. George held Steven’s gaze for a long moment before finally stepping back.
“Time will tell, I suppose,” George said gruffly.
“Indeed, it will,” Steven agreed. “We’re rotating the grazing fields effective immediately. I’ve marked out the new boundaries on these maps.” His finger traced the lines he’d drawn the night before.
“New boundaries?” one of the cowboys, a wiry man named Hank, questioned with a furrowed brow.
“Correct,” Steven responded, meeting Hank’s gaze squarely. “It’ll ensure we don’t overgraze any one area. Keeps the land healthy, the cattle fed.”
Murmurs rippled through the group, but Steven continued undaunted. “I’ve also scheduled repairs for the north fence line starting tomorrow—”
“Repairs? The foreman never bothered with that rickety old thing,” another cowboy interjected.
“Which is exactly why we’re fixing it,” Steven replied smoothly. “Can’t have the cattle wandering off or worse, getting injured.”
There was a pause as the cowboys digested his words, their expressions a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Steven took advantage of the silence, handing out the maps and instructions with a quiet confidence that seemed to steady the lingering doubts.
“George, I want you leading the team on that fence. You know the terrain better than anyone.”
George received the map with a nod, a grudging respect beginning to dawn in his eyes.
“All right, boss,” he said, and the single word held the weight of a turning tide.
