2. Chapter 2
Ty
The Caldwell acreage runs along the eastern edge of my property.
Four hundred acres of good grazing land with year-round water from Elk Creek and a natural windbreak along the north tree line. Without it, my summer rotation gets harder. My herd capacity drops. I can make the ranch work without those acres, but I don’t want to.
I’ve leased the land for nine years.
Walter Caldwell and I shake hands every September, and he charges me a fair rate because I keep the fences tight, the creek clean, and the cattle from tearing up ground they shouldn’t.
For nine years, that’s been enough. Now his daughter wants him to sell.
I’m standing in my kitchen at five thirty in the morning, drinking coffee and looking through the window toward the eastern fence line. The sun isn’t up yet, but I can make out the dark shapes of cattle near the creek.
My cattle. His land. A handshake between us holding the whole thing together.
The house is quiet behind me. It’s always quiet this early. Usually that suits me.
I built the place eleven years ago on the foundation of the original farmhouse my father left me. Four bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Big kitchen. Wide front porch. More house than one man needs.
At twenty-seven, it didn’t seem like too much. I figured eventually I’d fill it. A wife. Kids. Dogs underfoot. Somebody complaining about muddy boots by the door. Something.
Instead, I filled the barn. Then the equipment shed. Then the south pasture. The house stayed mostly the same.
I’ve dated. Had relationships long enough for women to leave shampoo in my shower and clothes in a drawer. None of them lasted.
The ranch always needed something. Calving. Fencing. Hay. Equipment. Weather. A sick cow at midnight. I got good at telling myself I’d make room for the rest of my life later. Later has a way of getting away from you.
I finish my coffee, pull on my jacket, and head outside.
By six thirty I’ve fed the horses, checked the west fence, and looked over a heifer I’ve been watching for two days because she’s getting close to calving.
At seven fifteen I’m in my truck headed toward town. Caldwell asked me to meet him at Wylde Beans. I know what the conversation is about.
I also know I’ve been thinking about a blonde woman with a clipboard since the Roundup, and that has nothing to do with Walter Caldwell.
That part is irritating. I saw Kayla for maybe a minute at the Roundup. One minute should not be enough time to remember the exact way her mouth moved when she said, “Worth a shot.” Apparently it is.
I asked Caroline about her after the event. That was a mistake.
Not because Caroline said anything surprising. Kayla works guest services at the lodge. Helps Caroline with events. Been there a little over a year.
Normal information.
The mistake was asking. Because I knew why I wanted to know.
I saw Kayla laughing across the yard after Caldwell walked away, and I wanted another reason to look at her. That’s not like me.
Wylde Beans is busy for seven thirty in the morning.
Half the tables are full. Ranchers. Smokejumpers. Lumberjacks. Two sheriff’s deputies near the window. A group of women in running clothes taking up the large table in back.
Caldwell is already in a booth when I walk in. He has coffee in front of him and the local paper folded beside it.
“Ty.”
“Walter.”
“Sit.”
I sit. A server comes by. I order coffee and eggs.
Caldwell doesn’t bother with small talk. “My daughter talked to the developer again.”
Here we go. “What’d she say?”
“She thinks I’m sentimental.”
“You are sentimental.”
He points at me. “Watch it.”
I take my coffee from the server when she sets it down.
Caldwell looks out the window. “The offer’s good,” he says. “Better than good.”
I know that. A developer out of Bozeman wants the land for high-end vacation homes. They’d pay more than the acreage is worth as ranch land and probably make it back ten times over once they cut roads through it.
“If you want the money, take it,” I say.
He gives me a look. “I didn’t ask what I should do.”
“No.”
“I asked you here because I’m deciding what I want to do.”
I wait.
He picks up his mug. “My father ran cattle on that land. His father before him. I don’t need it to stay in my family forever. I’m not that foolish. But I’d prefer not to watch somebody carve it into five-acre lots before I’m dead.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.”
“I’ve managed it for nine years.”
“I know that too.”
The server brings my eggs.
Caldwell waits until she walks away. “That’s why you’re still in the conversation.”
I pick up my fork. “Still?”
“My daughter thinks I’m crazy not to take the highest offer.”
“She has a point.”
“She has several. She also lives in Billings and thinks land is numbers on a spreadsheet.”
I cut into the eggs. “And you think it’s something else.”
“I know it is.”
He looks at me across the table. “You’re a good rancher, Ty.”
“Thank you.”
“You take care of what’s yours.”
“I try.”
“But I’m deciding where that land goes after me. That’s different from deciding who leases it next September.”
There it is. I set my fork down. “What do you need from me?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
He leans back. “I need to decide whether I believe you’re building something permanent.”
I stare at him. “I’ve been ranching here fifteen years.”
“You’ve been operating a ranch for fifteen years. That’s not the same thing.”
I know where this is going. I don’t like it.
Caldwell studies me over the rim of his mug. “You got a big house.”
“Walter.”
“Four bedrooms.”
“You’ve been in it twice.”
“Quiet both times.”
I look at my coffee. He’s eighty-one. I’m not going to argue with him about the emotional atmosphere of my kitchen.
Probably.
“The girl from the Roundup,” he says.
I keep my face still. “Kayla.”
“You two serious?”
I should correct him. At the Roundup, I should have corrected him. Right now would also be a good time.
Instead, I picture Kayla standing in front of me with her clipboard, trying to order me around without technically being rude. I remember the way she smiled when I told her she added the “please” late.
Then I remember that she told me no when I asked her to help me with this exact problem. Clear no. No confusion. No invitation to revisit the subject.
“Getting there,” I say.
Caldwell nods like I’ve confirmed something he already knew. “Good.”
I hate myself a little.
He takes another drink. “She seems sharp.”
“She is.”
That comes out too fast. Caldwell notices. Of course he does.
A smile pulls at one side of his mouth. “Bring her by sometime.”
I pick up my fork again. “We’ll see.”
He lets me off the hook and changes the subject to hay prices. I listen. I answer. I finish breakfast. The whole time, one thought sits under everything else. I just lied to an eighty-one-year-old man who has known me since I was a kid about a woman who already told me no.
Not my finest work.
When we’re done, Caldwell leaves cash on the table and gets to his feet. “I’ll let you know before I make any decisions.”
“All right.”
He puts on his hat. “Bring the girl around.”
I don’t answer. He takes that as agreement anyway.
I stay long enough to pay my check. Then I head toward the door. I’m almost there when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“No, I understand.”
I stop. Kayla. She’s standing near the counter with her phone pressed to her ear. Blonde hair pulled back. Lodge jacket zipped halfway. She has a coffee in her free hand and looks irritated.
I should keep walking. I don’t.
“Okay,” she says into the phone. “Thanks anyway.” A pause. “Yeah. About three weeks.”
My hand is already on the door.
Three weeks.
She hangs up.
The woman behind the counter looks at her. “No luck?”
Kayla shakes her head. “Already rented.”
“Oof.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll keep an ear out.”
“Please. At this point I’m willing to consider anything that has heat and doesn’t require me to share a bathroom with six college students.”
The woman laughs. Kayla turns. She sees me. Her expression changes immediately. Surprised. Then suspicious.
“You.”
I let go of the door. “Morning.”
She looks past me toward the entrance, then back at me. “Are you following me?”
“No.”
“You keep appearing places.”
“I live here.”
Her mouth twitches.
I like that. More than I should. I nod toward her phone. “You need somewhere to live?”
The humor disappears. “Were you listening?”
“I heard three weeks and six college students.”
“That was not an invitation into the conversation.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She takes a sip of coffee. I should leave. I know that. I barely know this woman. She already turned me down once. I have no business getting involved in her housing problem.
But I have three empty bedrooms.
The thought arrives whole. No build-up. No logic. Just there. I reject it immediately.
Then Kayla sighs and rubs her forehead with two fingers.
“How bad?” I ask.
She looks at me. “The housing situation?”
“I assume you’re not searching for a new place recreationally.”
“My landlords are selling. I have three weeks.”
“Nothing available?”
“Not unless I want to drive forty-five minutes each way or live above somebody’s garage while they monitor my footsteps.”
I look at her. Three empty bedrooms. Again. Absolutely not.
Then I hear myself say, “I have a room.”
Kayla blinks. “What?”
“Three, actually.”
Her stare goes flat. I realize how that sounded. “Bedrooms.”
“I know what rooms are, Ty.”
“Right.”
“Are you suggesting I move into your house?”
“Yes.”
The word is out before I can make it less insane. Kayla just stares. I wait.
She sets her coffee on the counter. “You barely know me.”
“I know.”
“You already asked me to be your fake girlfriend.”
“I remember.”
“And now you want me to move into your house?”
“I didn’t say it was a good plan.”
She makes a sound that might be a laugh and might be disbelief. Probably both. “This is somehow worse than the first proposal.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Neither did I.”
She picks up her coffee again.“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”