When Sparks Fly (The Fallout Duet #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sutton

T he quiet of the still dark morning is broken when I push the front door open to The Big House. Together with the unmistakable sizzle of bacon frying in a pan, the aroma of strong coffee and baked goods beckon from down the hall. The door has barely closed behind me when Mama’s head pokes into the hallway from the kitchen. She’s made breakfast for our family and our small ranch staff every day of my life.

Except for when my sister, Sammi, was in the hospital.

The ranch hands have a separate bunkhouse, but The Big House is always open for breakfast. Not all ranches do it our way, but it fits us.

“Hi, honey.” Mama’s welcoming smile and matching tone are always so full of love, never tired of seeing the same faces or completing the same tasks.

“Is Dad in here?” My dirty boots thud against the wood floor as I head up the hall, stopping to kiss Mama on her head.

“He’s in his office.” She flips the bacon and I nod at two of our three staff, seated in the dining room adjacent to the kitchen on my right. I make my way through the cozy living room on the left and into the back hallway. Dad’s office is the first door I come to. It’s ajar and he sits behind the mahogany desk, in his leather chair. I double-tap the trim with a knuckle as I enter, drawing his eyes up.

“Mornin’.” He’s a quiet man, not often annoyed by interruptions. We’ve spent a great deal of time discussing the ranch in this space. Lost animals, sales, purchases, increasing prices, tack, the list goes on and on.

I take up my usual spot, sitting on the leather couch across from his desk, and throw one ankle onto the opposite knee. He gives me a knowing smile.

“How do the numbers look?” His reference to weighing and categorizing cattle last week is right on time. The last few weeks have been all about assessing our two herds. We weigh and examine each animal, and consider their overall health, productivity, and potential. Determining which cows to keep to maintain the integrity of the herd, along with which animals to sell for beef, and which to keep to continue cattle production is all based on these considerations. I dive into what our groupings looked like.

Occasionally we trade with other ranches, but this year has been good to us on bulls, so we won’t need to.

“So it sounds like between the two herds, we have five solid bulls.” Dad seems pleased with his confirmation.

He’s equally happy with hitting our numbers for our clients in town expecting beef. With repeat, steady commercial and private customers, meeting that goal is our bread and butter. Thankfully, through the year we’ve also built strong ties with butchers in town, which helps everyone involved.

Once he’s abreast of the details of the last few weeks, I continue. “I’ve been thinking. I have some ideas for the ranch.”

Dad kicks back in his chair, the bulk of it leaning far enough back on the swivel to tease at falling over. “What do you have in mind?”

“My thoughts are two-fold. Diversify what Strickland Ranch is known for and find ways to generate increased stable income. If we had more acreage, then expanding the herds or adding a third, and expanding our clients, would be an option. But with what we’ve got, I’m not sure that’s our best option. ”

He steeples his fingers in front of his chest as I continue. “If we break the resting pastures down differently we could offer one as a hunting lease. Maybe two. It would keep the land active with rotating crops and wildlife, without additional hardship on natural resources. Guided hunts and companion livestock could also be options to increase exposure and revenue.”

For a few beats, he says nothing as his head bobs in thought. “I like where your head’s at.”

“Thank you.” His praise catches me off guard.

“I already trust you to handle this place on your own. You did as much earlier this year when your sister was in the hospital. I know it’s a bit of a formality that I’m still running things.”

I squeeze my leg. This is not where I saw the conversation going. “I never considered it a formality. I assumed if and when you decided you were ready for things to change we would discuss it.”

“I think we need to start discussing it.”

My eyes widen and I make a point to tamp down my surprise.

“I’m not saying you need to take over tomorrow.” He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “But you’re right; we need to start looking to the future. The ranch needs that.”

“Yes, sir.” I hadn’t realized he’d considered any of this. “Alright. I’ll put together a more detailed plan and we can talk it over.”

“Sounds good.” His eyes twinkle. “One more thing. Have you picked a location to build on?”

A couple of months ago this came up, but the timing didn’t feel right. Unlike some legacy cattle ranchers, my role was never assumed.

Rather than attend Ag school, a common track for those who want a role similar to mine, I worked up from a stable boy mucking stalls and grooming horses, until I had learned as much as I could and felt honest in my position as Ranch Manager. I cared more about being on the ranch. Ag school was too far away and I didn’t just care about any business, any ranch, any livestock. I cared about the legacy of our family’s ranch. Strickland Ranch.

I’ve saved my growing salary over the years for when I would ultimately build a house. Even with a private entrance to my quarters, more separation would be appreciated. I certainly never anticipated being thirty and living in my parents’ house.

“Not quite. I’ll get on it.” I stand. “I’m headed into town. Need anything?”

He shakes his head.

On my way through the house, I stop in the kitchen to swipe a fresh muffin. The large baked good is still warm in my hand when I pluck it from a tray on the counter. Mama turns sharply, but her features are too soft to be scary.

“Those are for tomorrow.” Her tone is matter-of-fact as her hand finds her hip.

I grin. “This one’s for today.” She opens her mouth, but I don’t give her a chance before I bite into it, affixing a mischievous smirk to my face while I chew. Her jaw opens in a silent gasp.

“Banana nut,” I observe, after swallowing. “I’m heading into town. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

She presses her lips together to hide her amusement and shakes her head. “No. I’ll see you in a bit, son.”

I make my way out to my truck. Daisy saunters by the porch steps as I reach the bottom. She bonks her big, red head into my chest affectionately and I give her a pat.

Daisy is an anomaly on the ranch and it’s all Mama’s fault. Her mom died shortly after delivering. Orphaned calves are typically paired with another cow, but Mama wouldn’t hear of it. She bottle fed her in The Big House for entirely too long. When she finally gave in, Daisy’s mind was made up that she belongs up here. She’s a Houdini of cows, always escaping to say hi and wander around the area near the house.

“Mornin’ to you, too, Daisy.”

She heads down the drive as I climb into the truck.

My plans this afternoon could be handled electronically or through the mail, but meeting in person maintains our personal relationships with vendors and town residents.

Already a core value, our newly discussed transition makes this an even bigger priority for me. I’ve been the face of Strickland Ranch for a few years, so I’m optimistic it won’t feel like much of a change to everyone else.

My last stop is always a restaurant where we frequently sell beef so I can return a bit of patronage to them. The bar fills one of the two rooms, surrounded by dark leather booths, and is a good place to have a quiet drink.

A few lunch patrons stop in while I savor a whiskey at a stool on the far end, glad no one talks to me today. People are fine in moderation; I’m a friendly enough guy, but even though I’m working on tasks for the ranch, I enjoy a peaceful break from the chaos when possible.

Three TVs line the wall above the liquor selection, all set with the volume on low, and I study the one closest to me. A show about Texas Game Wardens is running. They don’t film in our area, and it’s a good thing or my best friend, Nick, would blow up on social media overnight .

Not that he’d take advantage. Nick is the type you trust with your sister: even-tempered, respectful, and loyal. I don’t have to worry about that since Sammi’s married and they never had a thing for each other, which I’m grateful for. Despite trusting him, my sister and my best friend dating would be awkward as shit.

Nick doesn’t need celebrity status. On the occasions when we’re out, he draws enough attention with his charismatic personality. Being handsome helps, according to Sammi.

I set the empty tumbler and some cash on the bar, and wave to the bartender as I head out the door. I’m eager to get back to the ranch. I plan to sit down this afternoon and work on a proposal of what growth could look like over the next two years.

Strickland Ranch has been my parents’ baby since they were first married. While Sammi showed no interest in the ranch—past horses—I’ve always wanted to carry on the business and lifestyle my parents built. As a teenager, I took on a bigger role to assist my dad, enabling my mom to step back. She can’t help but take care of everyone, but it’s given her more and more freedom over the years to explore other ways to be a part of the community.

My dad is different. He’s friendly, but he doesn’t necessarily care about socializing. I want him to be as involved as he wants for as long as he wants, but based on our conversation this morning, I suspect he may take a backseat sooner rather than later.

A handful of ranches dot the land on my drive home. Most are smaller than ours. These days, the area is predominantly single-family residential homes, hoping to maintain a bit of tranquil privacy away from the big city. Life in the hill country is such a mash-up. The same roads showcase custom homes on heavily treed properties, next to pasture land, next to rocky terrain full of shrubbery.

As I round the last bend to our property, a truck going the opposite way slows and I recognize our neighbor, Terrence, in the driver’s seat. He shoves an arm out the open window and waves urgently at me. I wave back as he whips the truck around and follows me to the drive where we pull over on the side of the road. He parks behind me, jumping out in a hurry.

Neighbor is a loose term. Terrence is closer to my dad’s age than mine and inherited the ranch next to us when his dad passed several years back. Our driveways are about two miles apart and we aren’t popping over for a cup of sugar when it’s out, but we have helped each other in a bind and our families have known each other all of my life.

“How are ya, sir?” I greet, exiting my truck.

“Good, good. How ya been?” Terrence has one of the strongest southern accents I’ve ever heard, and that’s saying something. He shakes my hand, his rich umber skin glistening in the heat, then adjusts his deep green ball cap which bears their ranch name.

“Doing well. What brings you over today?” Terrence is welcome at our ranch, always has been, but his sudden need to speak to me is unusual.

His dark eyes scan me and the truck casually. “I don’t wanna take up a bunch of your time. We can sit down and chat if we need to, but I wanted to tell ya about somethin’, in case it matters.”

Terrence’s property butts up against ours on the west side, so any problems he has can spill over onto our property with no effort. I’m not interested in handling illness in the cattle, or any other catastrophe, with everything else going on. I do my best not to tell him to get on with it.

“Well,” he pauses, peering into the uninterrupted horizon across the street from us, “I’m sellin’.”

My jaw slackens, but I manage not to let it fall open. Of its own will, my mind begins running through various scenarios. Ultimately, I know gaining the property Terrence has could be a massive expansion for us. At the moment, I have no idea how we could make it happen. It would be a huge endeavor, financially and logistically. A kernel of desire sparks in my chest anyway and I don’t extinguish it.

“Well, that’s certainly something.” I try to remain impassive.

He spits into the ditch. “I haven’t gotten with a broker, yet. Wanted to give ya a heads-up first.” He’s throwing me a bone and he knows it. My head bobs up and down in affirmation.

“If ya wanna discuss it, let’s set up a time to chat. I’m on my way into town, but thought I’d grab ya since I saw ya,” he says.

“Appreciate it, sir. I’ll let you know.” He shakes my hand one last time and then heads back to his truck.

This could be the move I need to get us where I think we need to be. I wave as Terrence pulls past me onto the road and turns around. He gives me a two-finger wave through the passenger window.

I drive through the front gate and over the cattle guard, veering left at the fork in the road toward the stables and the barn. The stables house all of our supplies and equipment, plus stalls for our horses. The barn serves to hold excess food, calves who need bottle feeding, and animals needing vet care.

Our permanent ranch hands, Jason, Kelly, and Cody, happen to be near the stables when I pull up. I motion toward the trailer for them to start unloading.

We hire seasonal help on occasion and sometimes get a dumb shit or two, but these three are the bulk of our team. As we grow, one of them will need to step up to fill a role similar to mine. If this new endeavor comes to fruition, this party will get a whole lot bigger. I look over the three of them, already speculating at who can move up.