Chapter 10 #2
Chesney studies me for a moment, his eyes softening. With sympathy, maybe. Understanding. I hate how much I appreciate it. “Truett told me about it,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
It catches me off guard because it sounds so genuine. Not polite or obligated like most people’s condolences are.
“Thanks. It’s been tough.”
Chesney nods slowly, like maybe he understands more than most. And I guess, technically, he does.
He might not live here anymore, but I know his mom’s death had to have been hard on him.
From what I hear, his dad’s not doing great either.
And then there’s Lyle. The first tragedy Chesney ever experienced—the one that molded him into who he is today.
Eventually, he glances back down at the folder and clears his throat. “What about your uncle?”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Pete? He never wanted anything to do with this place until my grandfather died. He wouldn’t know the first damn thing about running a ranch.”
He grins, and for a second, I catch a glimpse of the boy from the creek. “Still not a fan?” he asks.
“Yeah, you could say that.” I snort. “I swear, age has done nothing but make him meaner.”
“Oh.” I nearly laugh at the grimace on his face. “I haven’t spoken to either of my uncles since before I left town.”
“I figured.”
The office falls quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable like I thought it would be. Then Chesney taps the dude ranch folder.
“This.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I already said no.”
“Why are you so closed off to this idea?”
Sighing heavily, I say, “It’s not that simple.”
“It kind of is,” he retorts. I swallow thickly, staring at him but saying nothing. “The cabins already exist, right?”
“They need work. Plus, the dining hall needs to be finished, and an office where guests would check in would need to be built. They’re nowhere near ready for anything like that.”
“So let me fix them.” His confidence catches me off guard. A common theme today, I guess. “I can handle most of it myself. Electrical. Plumbing. Repairs. Whatever.”
My skepticism must show because he rolls his eyes and adds, “I literally work for an auto shop.”
“Not construction,” I say obtusely. I don’t like this suggestion, and I’m finding it hard to hear him out.
He huffs and shakes his head. “I know enough.”
I believe him. Unfortunately. But that doesn’t change my stance on this.
“I’ve got a guy back in Honey Creek too.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “What kind of guy?”
“Contractor,” he offers, then his expression brightens slightly. “My best friend’s buddy.”
I ignore the pang in my chest at the thought of Chesney having best friends. “And you think he’d come here?”
He nods. “He’d work for cheap. And probably even help with any other odd jobs we find. Especially if he gets to crash in one of the cabins.”
The more Chesney talks, the more excited he seems. More alive. More invested. I haven’t seen that look on him since he arrived. Hell, I haven’t seen that look on him in way too many years.
“This could work, Jasper.”
I clear my throat, ignoring the knot in my chest. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.” He nods once, then leans forward, energy radiating from him. “The cattle ranch doesn’t stop being the main business.” Pointing toward the projections, he says, “But this becomes a solid second stream of income.”
Chesney glances through the paperwork again, running through everything I’ve put into this dream—occupancy rates, seasonal projections, revenue estimate—and my pulse starts thundering despite myself.
“People spend thousands to vacation somewhere like this.”
He’s right. Sweet Briar is the perfect place for a getaway like this. We’ve got beautiful mountains, endless trails, fishing. We could add horseback riding and campfires. And there’s definitely a market for it. But I’m still not sold.
“Even if I agreed to this—a big if—how could this logically work long term?”
“The same way we’ve already agreed to,” he says simply. “You get to maintain your work on the ranch, and I could manage the business side of things, both cattle operations and the dude ranch.”
“But you’ve made it very clear that you’re only here until the end of the year.
Say we move forward with this plan, how the hell am I supposed to manage the cattle, the books, and a whole new business on my own?
Chesney, I’m barely making it as it is. The trail rides, horseback riding, and whatever other activities you think we could offer…
Who do you suppose is going to man all of that?
Not to mention, handling check-ins, making sure the guests are fed, and cleaning rooms. Sure as hell can’t be me. I’m already stretched too thin.”
“That’s what business loans are for, Jasper.
” He clenches his jaw, probably irritated that I’m not immediately jumping on board.
“And look at how much potential revenue this could bring in,” he says, pointing to the paperwork I’ve seen dozens of times.
“We would hire people. This wouldn’t be a huge operation right away. We wouldn’t need many.”
“And the books? Am I just supposed to hire and trust somebody to make sure I don’t run this ranch into the ground?” I snort. “That’s not happening.”
Chesney pauses for a moment. “If this is as successful as I know it could be, I could easily handle the finances from home.”
I stare at him, deadpan. “And how do you suppose that’d work? You think you should be entitled to half of all profits for the whole ranch without being here? Simply because you could manage a fucking QuickBooks from a few hours away? Give me a break.”
“I don’t fucking know, Jasper.” He throws his hands up. “I never said I had all the answers, but that doesn’t negate the fact that this could work. And it’s not like we don’t have time to speak with an attorney and figure out the long term.”
When I don’t say anything, the corner of his mouth lifts in a barely-there smile before he says, “Come on, Jasper. This is the opportunity. This could answer all your problems. Mine too. At least think about it.”
Heaving a sigh, I stare at the blueprints. At the cabins I abandoned when Dad died. The dream he never got to finish. The thought of doing something like this, especially with Chesney Jennings, terrifies me. I’m still not sold, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a solid suggestion.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally say.
“I’m telling you. This is it.”
I wish I felt as confident as he does.