Chapter 3 - Wade
I shouldn't have said I'd show her the rest.
Should have handed her off to Tucker or Mason, someone with more patience for outsiders who think they can waltz in and save the day with a checkbook. But Tucker asked me to do this, and despite everything, I can't bring myself to completely abandon the responsibility.
Even if every instinct I have is screaming that this woman is going to be the final nail in Promise Ranch's coffin.
Sierra follows me toward the equipment barn, her fancy boots already picking up dust. She's still taking notes on her phone, occasionally looking up to take in the surroundings. I notice she's not complaining about the walk, at least. Not yet.
"That's the equipment barn," I say, pointing to the large metal structure ahead. "Where we keep the tractors, the hay baler, tools, anything mechanical. Most of it's older than you are and runs on spite at this point."
"How old is the tractor you mentioned? The one that's on its last legs?"
"Nineteen eighty-seven."
Her eyebrows go up. "That's... wow. Okay. And you haven't been able to replace it because of cash flow issues?"
"Because a new tractor costs upward of a hundred thousand dollars, and we've been choosing between that and keeping the lights on." The words come out harsher than I intend, but I don't apologize. She wanted honesty. "Ranch equipment isn't cheap. Nothing about ranching is cheap."
"I'm getting that impression."
We reach the barn, and I pull open the door. The old tractor sits inside, along with the hay baler, various ATVs, and more tools than I can count. It's organized. I make sure of that, but everything shows its age.
Sierra walks slowly through the space, and I watch her face, waiting for the moment of realization. The moment she understands that this isn't some romantic notion of ranch life, but hard reality and harder choices.
"You maintain all this yourself?" she asks.
"Mason handles most of the mechanical work. He's got a knack for keeping things running past their expiration date." I lean against the workbench. "But yeah, we all pitch in. Have to. Can't afford a full-time mechanic."
She nods, still looking around, and I can see her brain working. Calculating. Maybe already figuring out how to tell us this isn't worth her investment.
Good. Better she realizes now before—
"What's that?" She points to a tarp-covered shape in the corner.
"Old truck. Hasn't run in five years. We keep meaning to either fix it or scrap it, but there's always something more urgent."
"Could it be fixed? Or is it too far gone?"
I shrug. "Mason thinks it's salvageable. Needs a new engine, transmission work, probably a thousand other things. It's a project for when we have time and money, which means never."
She walks over to the tarp and lifts a corner, peering at the rusted truck bed underneath. "My dad had an old truck he was always working on. Said it taught him patience." Her voice goes soft. "He never did finish restoring it."
The grief in those words is raw enough that I feel something uncomfortable bubble in my chest. I shove it down. I can't afford to sympathize with her. Can't afford to see her as anything other than a threat.
"We should keep moving," I say. "Lots more to see."
She drops the tarp and follows me back outside. The sun is climbing higher now, warming the April air. It's going to be a nice day. The kind that makes you remember why Montana's worth the brutal winters.
We're halfway to the cattle pens when I see Tucker coming from the main house, his daughter Emma bouncing beside him.
"Uncle Wade!" Emma shouts, breaking into a run. She barrels into me, and I catch her, swinging her up.
"Hey, troublemaker. Thought you weren't coming back until tonight."
"Grandma had to work, so Grandpa brought me home early." She grins at me, gap-toothed and fearless. "Can we go riding later?"
"Maybe. I've got some work to finish first." I set her down, very aware of Sierra watching this interaction. "Em, this is Miss Vaughn. She's visiting the ranch."
Emma turns those curious seven-year-old eyes on Sierra. "Are you Wade's girlfriend?"
"No!" The word comes out too fast, too sharp. "No, she's... she's here to look at the ranch. For business."
"Oh." Emma seems disappointed by this. "He needs a girlfriend. Daddy says Uncle Wade's too grumpy and a girlfriend would help."
My face heats. "Emma—"
"I think your Uncle Wade is just fine," Sierra says diplomatically, crouching down to Emma's level. "It's nice to meet you. I like your boots."
Emma looks down at her pink cowboy boots proudly. "Daddy got them for my birthday. They're real working boots, not just for show."
"I can tell. Those are serious boots."
Tucker catches up, slightly out of breath. "Sorry about that. Emma, what did we say about calling people Wade's girlfriend?"
"That I shouldn't because it makes him turn red and grumpy." Emma grins unrepentantly.
"Exactly." Tucker gives me an apologetic look. "Sierra, I see you've met our resident troublemaker. Emma, why don't you go help Boone with the horses? He said he could use an assistant."
"Okay!" Emma takes off running toward the stables.
"She's got energy to spare," Tucker says, watching her go. "How's the tour going?"
"Fine," I say at the same time Sierra says, "Educational."
Tucker looks between us, clearly reading the tension. "Well, don't let Wade scare you off. He's grumpier than he needs to be, but we keep him around anyway."
"I'm right here," I mutter.
"I know." Tucker claps my shoulder. "You two hungry?"
My stomach is, but I'm not ready to sit around a table making small talk with Sierra Vaughn. "We haven't finished the tour yet. Still need to check the cattle operation, the feed storage, the—"
"Wade." Tucker's voice carries that particular tone that means he's about to make a point I won't like. "It's noon. Take a break. Show Sierra the guest house, let her get settled if she wants. You can finish the tour this afternoon."
It's not really a suggestion. Tucker might be easy-going most of the time, but when he makes a decision as the leader of our group, we listen.
"Fine. Come on." I start toward the path that leads to the guest house, not waiting to see if Sierra follows.
She does, of course.
"Emma seems sweet," she offers.
"She is. Tucker's been raising her on his own since she was three. Her mom decided motherhood wasn't for her and took off."
"That's awful."
"Yeah, well. People leave. It's what they do." The bitterness in my voice is too obvious, too revealing. I clear my throat. "The guest house is this way."
We follow a worn path through a stand of trees.
Frank built the guest house about fifteen years ago, thinking he might want somewhere for visitors to stay.
But he rarely had visitors, and after he got sick, no one used it at all.
We've kept it maintained. Cleaned it out after he died, made sure the pipes didn't freeze last winter, but it's been empty for two years.
The small cabin comes into view, nestled among the pines. It's simple: one bedroom, one bathroom, a combined kitchen and living area. But it's solid, well-built like everything Frank touched.
I unlock the door and push it open. The air inside is stale but not musty. Someone, probably Mason, has been checking on it.
"It's not much," I say, stepping inside. "But it's got what you need. Electricity, running water, heat. Internet's sketchy out here, but it works sometimes."
Sierra moves past me, setting her bag down and looking around. The furniture is basic but comfortable—a couch, a kitchen table, a bed visible through the open bedroom door. Windows look out toward the mountains.
"It's perfect," she says, and she sounds like she means it. "Way better than a hotel."
"There's one in Blackwater Falls, about thirty minutes from here. If you'd rather—"
"No. This is good. If I'm going to learn how the ranch operates, I should be here." She turns to face me. "That is, if we move forward. I know you haven't all decided yet."
Right. The vote. The thing hanging over all of this.
"The others will vote yes," I say bluntly. "We need the money too badly. So, if you're waiting for consensus, you're not going to get it. It'll be five against one."
"But you're the one."
"I'm the one who made a promise to Frank that I'd protect this place." I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. "And I don't trust you not to hurt it, even if you mean well."
She flinches slightly but doesn't look away. "That's fair. I haven't given you any reason to trust me yet. All I can do is try to earn it."
"Trust isn't earned with money."
"I know. That's why I'm here instead of just wiring you a check.
" She walks to the window, looking out at the view.
"I could invest remotely. Send quarterly reports, show up for annual meetings, keep my distance.
But that's not what my father would have wanted.
He believed in being hands-on. In understanding what you're investing in from the ground up. "
"Ranching isn't something you learn from a distance," I admit grudgingly. "If you really want to understand this place, you'll have to work. Real work. Not the kind where you observe and take notes."
She turns, something determined in her eyes. "Then put me to work."
I wasn't expecting that. Was expecting her to nod along, maybe shadow one of us for a few hours, then retreat to crunch numbers on her laptop. Not... this.
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"So, show me." She crosses her arms, mirroring my posture. "You want to test whether I'm serious? Whether I'll bail when things get hard? Then don't coddle me. Put me to work like you would anyone else."
It's a challenge. One I should probably decline, because putting a city girl with no experience to work on an active ranch is asking for someone to get hurt.