Chapter 5 – Wylie
My dad gestured toward his office with a nod. As I followed him, I heard Clay grumble about always being left out before heading back to the deck where the rest of the group had gathered.
I refilled my glass and followed Nash into my dad's familiar office, where he spent most of his evenings after working on the ranch. We sank into the worn leather chairs that carried the scent of my childhood and tobacco, exchanged shrugs, and waited.
Dad stood with his back to us, staring out the big bay windows that overlooked the sprawling backyard and deck where everyone was still gathered, laughing, and talking. He had that same stupid grin on his face that he wore every time he was around Ms. Vector now, and I started to realize the man was in love.
Cutting through the bullshit was my forte and I intended on doing that this evening.
"So, how exactly is Cameron ranch going to work with you gallivanting all over the world with your new girlfriend?" I demanded, knocking back half of my glass before setting it down on his desk.
Despite my dad being with Stevie's mom—my feelings on the matter aside—I did want him to be happy. However, I wasn’t sure how this arrangement would affect his management and ownership of the Cameron ranch. Not having him present meant that major decisions would need to be made by someone else.
He slowly turned to face us; the puppy-love smile gone from his lips. “That’s why I called you boys in here. I’m done managing the ranch.”
“What?” I asked, sitting forward.
My dad had been managing Cameron ranch since he was in his 20s and it was the one place he'd always said he'd live and die in. He sunk down into the chair behind his desk and nodded.
“I may only be 56 years old, but I’ve lived a long, full life and have done a lot with the property to improve it. I supported Clarence Ashwood while he battled cancer and made sure his granddaughter was set up to take things over properly. Turns out, I didn’t have to worry about that since Nash went ahead and married her.”
I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “Get to the part about what's happening with Cameron ranch,” I said pointedly as my dad chuckled softly, used to my impatience.
"Marianne and I are planning to enjoy our lives and embrace early retirement. We'll return eventually to Lonestar Junction, and I intend to build her a home on the land where we can grow old together. But besides that, I'm prepared to pass the reins to you. You're ready, Wylie, well, almost."
“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded, the whiskey catching up to my smart tongue now. I hated being doubted, especially about matters that I’d been training for since I was a child.
“You were born into this and have shown the initiative to learn everything you can. Hell, you practically manage it all on your own already with a little help from Clay and me, though that’ll be ending soon since Clay is shifting to help Nash more on Ashwood and I'll be leaving. But I'm confident you can manage Cameron ranch on your own with the help we have hired. There's just one thing you're missing.”
I clenched my jaw, ready to confront whatever it was my dad thought I lacked to fulfill my destiny on the land I intended to die on.
"What's that?"
“A wife,” he stated with a completely straight face.
I burst into laughter, rocking back in my chair, tears springing into my eyes as I looked over at Nash, who was smirking, but not laughing.
“You started drinking again, Dad?” I asked.
My dad smiled as he chuckled that same laugh that he always had when he was definitely not joking.
“Wylie, the ranch is a lot to manage. You know that more than any of my boys because you’ve been with me since the start. It can pull you in, suck you dry of a life, and spit you out as a broken man. Louisa stuck by my side through all of it until she passed, but without her, I don’t think I would have been able to do it.”
“I’ll hire more help. I don’t need to marry someone in order to successfully manage Cameron ranch." I insisted.
“That’s not why I’m telling you to marry. I’m telling you to marry so that you have a partner. There are things that you can’t do on your own here. Nash is focused on Ashwood ranch full time and helping with the co-op. Clay is focused on Ashwood and you’re losing me. We've all been involved in some way with management and upkeep of the property and the home. You don’t realize it now, but that’s going to put a lot of pressure on your shoulders to step up and keep things running here when I’m gone.”
I crossed my arms defiantly. “I can handle the pressure.”
He chuckled again. “I know you can, son, but think about the lonely nights when you don’t get done working until close to midnight. What about the weekends? Nash and Jovie are moving forward with their lives. Even Clay is with Savannah. Don’t you want what they have someday?”
Of course I do.
I struggled with his logic—it made sense and yet it didn't. The idea of being pressured into marriage just to secure my inheritance felt not only absurd but wrong. I couldn't see how marriage would enhance my life, especially given how consumed I already was with ranch responsibilities. Where would I even find the time to tend to a wife?
“And what if I don’t marry?” I demanded. “Are you going to sell Cameron ranch? A place that’s been in our family for generations?”
He shrugged as if it wasn’t his most cherished place in the world—the place where he grew up, fell in love with Ms. Vector, then my mom, and now found love with Ms. Vector once more.
As if it meant nothing to him anymore.
“Love means more to me, son. I’ve got hopefully a solid 40 years left on this earth, and I intend on spending them all with Marianne, no matter how that looks. If you can’t do this one thing and stop whoring around Lonestar Junction, then the ranch goes to Nash once he’s married to Jovie this summer.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“Your great-great-great-grandfather Homer Cameron purchased this land for just $200 and in the deed that he created, he put a clear provision that said the ranch would be passed down for generations to the oldest Camerons in the family with one stipulation: they must marry and remain married for at least twelve consecutive months before they become the new owners.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
He shook his head and smiled. “Even Homer Cameron knew it was a lot to manage without a partner.”
I looked at Nash, who was scowling now. “That’s a lot to put on Wylie, Dad. He isn’t even dating anyone.”
Yeah, tell him, Nash.
He shrugged. “I can’t change it. That deed’s been with the Martin & Associates Law Firm family for over one hundred years, and they know the words by heart. Wylie has to marry before I give up my ownership of the ranch or it’ll pass to you in three months, Nash.”
My heart raced as I struggled to process his words. The whiskey amplified everything, making the situation feel even more surreal, though even if I’d been sober, it wouldn't have made sense.
“I don’t get how some old grandfather I never even met is allowed to make decisions for my life. Times have changed, Homer.” I pointed up at the sky with the glass in my hand.
My dad shrugged like it was nothing. “It's impacted every generation since. It’s impacting you. That’s life.”
“Is this why you married Mom? So that you could take over Cameron ranch from Grandfather when you were 20?” Anger reared its ugly head as I wondered if my parents' relationship had been arranged out of convenience.
“Of course not, son. I loved your mother more than life itself. Marrying her was the best thing I ever did, and I’ll miss her for the rest of my life regardless of what Marianne and I had and have now.”
Good .
“How the hell do you expect me to find someone to agree to a marriage in three months when I’m not even dating?" I demanded.
He shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I think one of the Vector siblings is still single. Maybe if you play your cards right, Stevie’ll agree to a marriage of convenience."
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
He stood up and tossed a copy of what I assumed was the ancient deed that was now controlling my life, my inheritance, and my potential first marriage on his desk.
“It’s all right here, son. Take some time to think about it. You’ve got three months to figure things out or it’s going to Nash, though I’d strongly suggest you find someone sooner than later. Once the marriage is legal, and the paperwork filed, the clock starts ticking on the twelve months.”
He left the office as my eyes ping-ponged between the deed, Nash, and the back of my father’s office where an old family rifle was hanging on the wall.
“Don’t do it…” Nash cautioned as I weighed my options again.
But Nash could never talk me out of my reckless decisions even though he was the steady middle child, always trying to keep the peace and be the voice of reason. I, however, was the oldest, wildest, and ready to fight for family and my freedom at all times. Especially when I felt confined and like I was being forced to do something I didn’t want to do.
I jumped up, downed the last of my whiskey, smashed the glass on the table and ripped the rifle from the wall.
“Aw, hell, here we go,” Nash groaned as I raced out of the office, across the living room, and out onto the deck.
Nash chased after me, yelling, “Don’t fucking shoot in the direction of my wife!” he bellowed.
As if I’d ever put my family—the next generation of Camerons—in harm’s way.
I sprinted off to the woods, not caring about the voices shouting behind me full of confusion and concern. I knew my dad kept this rifle loaded at all times, so I wouldn’t be disappointed.
Getting far enough away from the rest of the family, I took aim at one of the dead trees dotting the skyline of the ranch. It was one I’d been meaning to remove for months now but hadn’t had the time to pull out the stump grinder. Now, it felt like a metaphor for the deadness inside of me being uprooted uncomfortably and blown to bits.
I took a deep breath and steadied my hands, feeling the weight of the rifle crushing me like the weight of the words my dad had just dropped on me. Bringing it up to my shoulder, I grasped the lever and pulled it down smoothly, hearing the satisfying click as the chamber opened. I checked to find a bullet already placed, then pushed the lever back up, locking it with a firm snap. The rifle was ready.
I took aim at the tree in the distance, focusing on a spot in the center, and steadied my breath. With a final exhale, I squeezed the trigger, feeling the powerful kick as the shot rang out and the butt pressed back into my arm with a firm kick. I channeled my frustration and anger into the next three shots as splintered bits of wood cascaded onto the mossy floor along with the plans for my life.