Chapter 7 #2
"Good thing I’m not looking for a man," I shake my head and shrug my shoulders, pushing aside an uninvited image of Wyatt Halloway from my mind. “But I wouldn’t mind two-stepping with a cowboy every now and again.”
Hailey opens a drawer, pulls out a long wooden spoon, and then bumps it closed with her hip. "We’ll make a little time.” She stirs the drink as I take a seat beside Brook.
“Now that you’re here we can breathe easier about the environmental designation.” Brook lifts her glass to me and takes a sip.
I blink. "I'm sorry, what?" Sarah didn’t say anything about an environmental designation.
Brook's eyebrows shoot up. "The fire hazard rezoning.”
I pull the phone from my pocket to add some notes, suddenly feeling behind. "Rezoning?" I balk.
Brook and Hailey exchange a look. “I’m sure Mom is planning to fill you in this afternoon.” Brook clears her throat. “I can tell you what I know.”
“That would be great.” I feel like there’s a live wire humming under my skin. Lobbying is one thing, reversing legislation is another.
Brook fills me in on the situation while Hailey listens with the kind of quiet attention that says she's heard this story before.
With each word my heart rate picks up speed.
"What deadline did they give you?" I barely whisper and then clear my throat.
The Halloways have 20,000 head of cattle.
Gathering and moving a herd that large would take months—not to mention, feeding them without grazing land will cost a fortune.
"We have ninety days to remove all cattle and fencing." Brook cringes. “I guess we’re down to seventy now.”
My fingers freeze. I took ten of those days to get here. No wonder Sarah seemed anxious to get me here. "Seventy days? That's impossible."
"Exactly." Brook's voice carries the bitter satisfaction at being understood. "We filed an appeal. But it was dismissed."
I nod to keep her going as I take notes. "What complications? Who's involved in this locally?"
Brook draws in a deep breath and then lets it burst from her lungs. "We’re guessing Gritstone Ranch—though we're not exactly sure how. Our families have been clawing at each other since Gritstone was founded."
Oh crap. My dad works for Gritstone Ranch. Before I can wrap my head around all this, Brook continues. "Over a century of land disputes, water rights, political maneuvering—grudges that run so deep they've become part of the landscape. Eleanor Whitmore has turned it into an art form."
I lift an eyebrow and keep typing.
"Eleanor's not like the old-school ranchers who'd settle things with fists," Brook continues. "She's patient. Calculating. She'll smile at you in church on Sunday and file a lawsuit against you on Monday."
"What's her endgame?" I ask.
"She wants our land." The words come out flat.
The pieces click together in my mind. "And you think this fire hazard zone designation is her doing?"
"Can't prove it," Brook says carefully. "But Eleanor has connections in Denver and Washington. She's on half a dozen environmental boards, donates to all the right conservation groups. The kind of woman who could make a phone call and suddenly our grazing permits are under 'review.'"
"And if Eleanor sounds bad," Hailey shudders, "you should meet her nephew, Maxwell. He's got snake eyes and a loaded pistol on his hip."
"The timing's just too convenient," Brook continues, and I can hear the protective anger building in her voice. "Right when beef prices are finally good, when we're positioned for our strongest year in a decade, suddenly we can't graze half our land? It's not a coincidence."
My mind is already spinning strategies. "Okay so we know they're in this, but we don't know how." That's not exactly helpful but it is a lead I can work with. I have several contacts I can call and drop the name and see what kind of a reaction I get.
"We've survived drought, illness, and market crashes. We're holding our ground." Brook says, and her voice carries quiet fire as her phone chimes.
I look up. "Good. Because if—.”
Brook glances down at her phone, swipes and grunts. “I’m going to kill my brother.” She sighs as her shoulders drop.
“What? Why?” Hailey walks around the counter to get a look at Brook’s screen and Brook swipes back to the first image. She holds up the phone so both Hailey and I see the image.
My stomach knots as I look at the picture of Wyatt and the blonde woman I’ll nickname: Velcro, pressed against every part of him she can reach. They’re standing in the sponsorship tent in Cheyenne. “Oh my gosh, I was there. I saw that girl.”
“You were there?” Brook asks as I read the caption below the picture: @RodeoBrittney#MyFavoriteBullrider
“Yeah. My friend Jess wanted to enter the date with a cowboy contest.” I double check the name, “Brittney was fangirling hard.”
Brook drops her head to the table. “I swear.”
“What’s the big deal?” Hailey scoffs, “He has tons of women following him.”
Brook lifts her head and swipes to the next photo. “This is the big deal.”
Hailey and I lean in to get a good look. I jerk back, wishing I could erase the image from my mind of Brittney laying on Wyatt’s bare chest, his shoulder’s taped and he’s sleeping.
Sometimes I don’t love being right about people.
“I swear, I don’t know how such a good guy can make so many stupid choices.” Brook huffs as she puts the phone on the counter. “We are so going to have words over this.”
Good guy? I’m not sure which one of us is the more naive—me or his sister. Although she’s his sister and I’m…well…I’m certainly not a fan of his. I haven’t spent any time on his socials this week—any time worth mentioning that is.
Hailey stands up. “There’s always two sides to a story. I’m sure there’s an explanation for this.”
Brook sips her tea. “There’d better be.”
I don’t comment. I’m not the type who badmouths a guy to his family and Brook seems to think Wyatt’s actually a good guy. I wish I could believe her, but the evidence suggests he’s every bit the player I thought he was.
Although, my brain argues, a sister’s word should weigh heavier than a buckle bunnie’s social media post.
I give myself a good, hard, shake. I’m not here to figure out Wyatt and as long as he stays far away from Gritstone, I’ll be fine.
Just fine.