Chapter 4 - Sierra #2
"Better bulls for breeding," Boone says. "Our current genetics are good but not great. We could improve the herd quality significantly with an investment there."
"Marketing," Colt suggests. "Most ranches our size have given up trying to compete on commodity prices. They're branding their beef, selling directly to restaurants or farmers markets, building a story people want to buy."
"We've talked about that," Tucker says. "But it requires startup capital we haven't had. Setting up the processing relationships, building a brand, marketing materials. It all costs money upfront."
"But it could potentially increase your profit margins significantly," I say, my brain already working through the possibilities. "Commodity beef prices are volatile and trending down. But local, sustainable, family-ranch beef? People pay premium for that."
"Exactly." Rhett leans forward. "We've got a great story here. Six friends running a multigenerational ranch, maintaining traditional practices, treating our animals well. That's marketable. We're just not marketing it."
Wade makes a skeptical sound. "We're ranchers, not influencers."
"You don't have to be an influencer to have a brand," I counter. "You just need to communicate what makes you different. What makes Promise Ranch worth paying more for."
"And you know how to do that?" He sounds challenging.
"I know how to research it. How to analyze markets and identify opportunities. That's literally what my degree is in." I meet his eyes. "I don't know cattle. But I know business. Together, those two things might actually work."
Silence falls around the table. Emma has abandoned her coloring book and is watching us with wide, interested eyes.
"We should vote," Tucker finally says. "We've all had a chance to meet Sierra, see her commitment level, hear the proposal. Time to make a decision."
My heart kicks into a higher gear. This is it. The moment where they either give me a chance or send me back to Seattle with my tail between my legs.
"Standard voting rules," Tucker continues. "Majority decides. All in favor of accepting Sierra Vaughn's investment proposal as outlined. Two hundred thousand dollars for fifteen percent stake in ranch operations and profits, raise your hand."
Rhett's hand goes up immediately. Then Tucker's. Mason's. Boone's after a moment of consideration. Colt hesitates, looks at Wade, then raises his hand too.
Five votes.
Everyone turns to look at Wade, who sits with his arms crossed, jaw tight. The silence stretches. I hold my breath.
Then, slowly, Wade's hand rises.
"Six in favor," Tucker says, and I hear relief in his voice. "Motion carries unanimously."
I stare at Wade, shocked. He's glaring at the table like it personally offended him, but his hand is still raised.
"Wade?" Rhett sounds as surprised as I feel.
"She showed up," Wade says gruffly, lowering his hand.
"Put in the work this morning without complaining.
That counts for something." His brown eyes meet mine, hard and assessing.
"But don't mistake this for trust. You still have to prove you won't bail when things get harder than one morning of work.
You still have to prove you understand what this place means and that you won't destroy it chasing profit margins. "
"I won't," I say, finding my voice.
"We'll see." He stands, grabbing his plate. "I need to check the irrigation system in the south pasture this afternoon. You want to learn this business? Come with me. We'll see how committed you really are."
It's another test. Another chance for me to fail in his eyes.
"What time?" I ask.
"Two o'clock. Meet me at the equipment barn. And Vaughn?" He pauses at the kitchen sink. "Bring water and wear sunscreen. It's going to be a long afternoon."
Then he's gone, walking out the back door and leaving me with five men who look various degrees of amused and sympathetic.
"Well," Rhett says. "That went better than expected."
"He voted yes," I say, still processing. "I thought for sure—"
"Wade's fair," Tucker interrupts. "Stubborn as hell and protective to a fault, but fair. You earned his vote this morning. Now you just have to keep earning it."
"For how long?"
"However long it takes." Mason stands, collecting plates. "But for what it's worth, I think you'll manage. You've got spine. That matters out here."
Emma tugs on my sleeve. "Uncle Wade likes you. He wouldn't take you to check irrigation if he didn't."
"How do you figure?" I ask, charmed despite my nervousness.
"Because that's boring work, and he only brings people he wants to talk to. Otherwise he goes alone." She says it with such certainty that I almost believe her.
After lunch, I retreat to the guest house to clean up and prepare for the afternoon. My body is already protesting the morning's work, muscles I didn't know I had making themselves known. I take some ibuprofen, change into fresh clothes, grab a water bottle and the sunscreen I thankfully packed.
At exactly two o'clock, I'm at the equipment barn.
Wade's already there, loading tools into the back of a beat-up pickup truck that makes my rental car look pampered. He glances up when I approach.
"You're on time."
"You said two o'clock."
"Most people would take that as two-ish. Rancher time." He tosses me a pair of work gloves. "But I appreciate punctuality."
I pull on the gloves, which are too big for my hands. "Where exactly are we going?"
"South pasture. The irrigation system Frank installed fifteen years ago is falling apart. We've been patching it as best we can, but it needs a complete overhaul we can't afford. I want to show you why that matters." He climbs into the driver's seat. "Get in."
The truck's interior smells like dirt, oil, and hard work. I climb into the passenger seat, and Wade starts the engine. It coughs twice before catching, and he mutters something under his breath that might be a prayer or a curse.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, following a dirt road that cuts through the ranch property. The landscape is beautiful: grassland rolling toward mountains, sky impossibly blue and huge overhead.
"Frank bought this land in pieces," Wade finally says, breaking the silence. "Started with two hundred acres and a dream. Spent thirty years building it into what it is now. Every fence post, every building, every system… He planned it, worked it, made it happen through sheer determination."
"That must have been incredible to watch."
"It was. He took me in when I was angry at the world and taught me that hard work and integrity matter more than anything else.
That a man's worth isn't measured by where he comes from, but by what he builds.
" Wade's hands tighten on the steering wheel.
"He trusted us. All six of us with his legacy.
And I'm watching it crumble because the world doesn't care about hard work anymore.
Just profit margins and efficiency and maximizing returns. "
There's so much pain in his voice that I don't know how to respond.
We drive further into the property, and I start to see what he means about the irrigation system.
Pipes run through the pasture, many of them visibly cracked or leaking.
The grass is patchy. Green in some areas, brown and struggling in others.
Wade parks the truck and gets out. I follow, and he starts walking the fence line, pointing out problems.
"See this section? Should be lush this time of year.
But the irrigation line broke last month, and we've been hand-watering as best we can.
It's not enough." He crouches down, running his hand through the dry grass.
"We lose about thirty percent of our hay yield from this pasture every year.
That's thirty percent less income, or thirty percent more we have to buy to feed the herd through winter. "
"And a new system would fix that?"
"A new system would cost forty thousand dollars we don't have.
So, we patch and pray and watch this pasture slowly die.
" He stands, and the frustration radiating off him is palpable.
"This is what you're investing in. Not some romantic idea of ranch life, but broken equipment and failing systems and constant crisis management. "
I walk along the irrigation line, examining the damage. "The two hundred thousand would cover this, though. The new system. That's part of the strategic improvements budget."
"If we allocate it that way. If there's not some other crisis that demands the money first. If—" He stops himself. "There are always too many ifs in ranching."
"That's true in any business," I say. "There are always variables you can't control. The key is managing them strategically instead of reactively."
"This isn't a business school case study, Vaughn."
"I know that. But it is a business, whether you want to admit it or not." I turn to face him. "And businesses need strategy. They need planning and market analysis and financial projections. Those aren't dirty words. They're tools. Tools that could help you save this place."
"Save it by turning it into something Frank wouldn't recognize?" His voice rises. "By branding it and marketing it and making it perform for customers instead of just doing the work?"
"By making it sustainable!" I shoot back. "By ensuring it survives instead of stubbornly clinging to 'the way things have always been done' while it slowly goes bankrupt!"
We're both breathing hard, facing off across the broken irrigation line like it's a battle line.
"You've been here one day," Wade says, his voice tight with anger. "One day, and you think you understand what this place needs?"
"I understand what the numbers say. I understand that hard work isn't enough if you can't pay your bills. And I understand that sometimes caring about something means being willing to change it so it can survive."
"Change it into what? A tourist attraction? A boutique beef brand for wealthy people who want to feel good about their consumption? That's not what Frank built."
"Frank built something he loved," I counter.
"But Frank's dead, and you're alive, and you get to choose whether his legacy dies with him or evolves into something that can last." My voice cracks slightly.
"My father left me money to honor his memory by building something meaningful.
You think I want to disrespect what Frank created?
I'm trying to save it. The same way I'm trying to prove my father was right to believe in me. "
Wade stares at me, and something in his expression changes. The anger is still there, but underneath it I see something else. Pain, maybe. Or understanding.
"Your father," he says quietly. "You really were close to him."
"He was the only person who ever saw me as more than..." I swallow hard. "More than my mother's chubby daughter or my sisters' less-successful sibling. He saw potential when everyone else just saw problems."
"Frank saw that in me too." Wade's voice is rough. "Saw something worth saving in an angry sixteen-year-old with a chip on his shoulder and no prospects. He gave me everything. And I'm terrified of letting him down."
This is the real Wade Turner. Not the defensive, hostile cowboy, but the man underneath who's carrying crushing weight.
"We're both trying to honor someone we lost," I say softly. "Maybe we could try doing that together instead of fighting each other."
He looks at me for a long moment, and I can't read his expression. Then he nods once, sharp and decisive.
"Come on. I'll show you the rest of the system."
Before I can respond, he's walking away, and I'm left standing in the fading sunlight, exhausted and sore and more determined than ever to prove myself.
Not just to Wade Turner, though that's definitely part of it.
But to myself. To my father's memory. To everyone who ever doubted I could do something hard and meaningful and real.