Chapter 13 #2
I sit back, my fork untouched, staring at these polished men and women with their big-city dreams. They don’t smell of cattle, don’t know the weight of a branding iron or the feel of dirt under their nails.
And they sure as hell don’t understand what it means to carry a ranch that’s been in the Mercer name for generations.
“I hear you, Senator, but I’m just a cowboy. I like muckin’ stalls more than sittin’ in boardrooms, if you catch my drift.” I layer my tone with just enough polite bullshit to pass for civility.
Celeste’s smile flickers. Reed tries to cover with a nervous titter, and Jessup sips his wine like he’s confident that I’ll come around, eventually.
But I won’t. Not for Landon. Not for Violet. Not for Jessup or his polished developer friends. I’d rather die on Blue Rock dirt in my work boots than sell one acre of it to these vultures.
Before dessert is served, I excuse myself and step out into the garden, needing air.
The damn place looks like a glossy magazine spread. Slate paths, perfect hedges, and a water feature bubbling away like a creek that’s too clean to ever be real. It grates on me. It’s all show, no soul…prettied up, yes, but hollow as a tin can.
I’m there not five minutes when I hear Violet behind me.
“I was looking for you.”
I let out a noncommittal hum.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” She gestures at the garden, at the house glowing warm behind me. “You could live like this, too, Cade. Blue Rock’s worth a fortune. Sell it, and you’ll never have to break your back again.”
I roll my eyes and arch an eyebrow. “I don’t break my back, Violet. I work it. There’s a difference.”
She sighs like I’m a stubborn child. “You’re wasting your life, Cade. Ranching’s dying. You think Evie’s gonna want to shovel manure when she’s older? Landon could be a senator if only you could finally stop living like some relic.”
I take a step closer and smirk. “You think this is living? Glass houses and fake creeks? I’ll take real dirt, real sweat, and a herd that keeps food on people’s plates over this any damn day.”
She sneers, sharpness creeping in. “You’re throwing away the future because you can’t let go of the past.”
I give her a measured look. “You talk like the past is a four-letter word. It ain’t.”
“It’s not going to build a future, Cade,” she flings, exasperated.
“It’s going to build a future that I want—just not one you do,” I correct her. “Let it go, Violet. As long as I’m breathing, Blue Rock will remain a cattle ranch.”
I don’t wait for her reply. I push back through the French doors, ignoring the polished laughter in the dining room. I catch Landon as he’s on his way to or from somewhere.
“Ah, I was looking for you.”
“Yeah? Your wife said the same thing not a minute ago. You lookin’ for me for the same reason she did?”
He grimaces. “We need to talk.”
No shit, Sherlock.
He leads us into his office. Being here makes my skin crawl.
It’s so fucking pretentious—designed to look a little like the Oval Office you see on television shows.
There’s a dark mahogany desk big enough to land a plane on, polished until I can see my own mug reflected in it. An American flag is in one corner, the Colorado state flag in the other, both on gold-tipped poles like he’s about to give a press conference.
Leather chairs that probably cost more than my entire tack room, arranged just so, with some glossy coffee-table books about leadership and Lincoln that no one has ever or will ever read.
The walls are lined with framed photos: Landon shaking hands with half the state legislature, attending ribbon cuttings, and delivering speeches at podiums. Every picture has the same smile, the one that I know he practices in the mirror.
And then there’s the damn rug. Thick as prairie grass in spring, cream with some gold embroidery that screams ostentation. A water feature burbles in the corner, like the man needs some fake serenity.
I shut the door behind me. “I’m not selling.”
Landon sits down on his plush leather office chair. “Cade—”
“No.” I slam my palm on his desk. “We’re not selling Blue Rock. Not one acre. You start carving it up for rich boys to build ski chalets, our legacy is gone. And it won’t come back.”
Landon leans back, calm and cool as ever. Mr. Politician.
“Ranching’s dying, Cade. You can’t fight that. Money’s in development. You could be set for life.”
I snort and wave a dismissive hand. “I ain’t interested in sittin’ pretty ‘til the grave, watching other men do the work my grandfather taught me how to do. I ain’t interested in watching imported beef fill grocery stores while our pastures sit empty.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ll never make real money ranching. Not compared to what this land is worth.”
I lean in, get into his face, close enough he can’t mistake my meaning. “Dollars don’t weigh what dirt does.”
For a second, his mask cracks. I see how angry he is, how annoyed he is with me.
Then he shrugs like I’m just being na?ve.
“Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re broke.”
He says it like it’s a fait accompli, like my failure’s already carved in stone.
It hurts that he expects Blue Rock to go under, especially since he knows damn well how hard I work.
I straighten, every muscle tight, burning with the strain. “Better broke than selling my birthright to the highest bidder.”