Chapter 5
Lindsay
Three days in Manhattan feel like three months. My penthouse apartment, with its pristine surfaces and filtered air, seems more like a display case than a home. I keep catching myself staring out the windows at the concrete landscape and thinking about muddy boots and the smell of hay.
Stella finds me in the kitchen at six a.m., fully dressed in jeans and work boots.
“You’re going back to that ranch.” She sets down a cup of coffee I didn’t ask for but definitely need.
“Just for a few days.” I check my phone for the third time. “Maybe a week.”
“Did you pack for yourself?” She sounds startled.
I laugh. “I did. Imagine that. I’m just taking practical things.” I head toward the door before I can change my mind. “Stella, thank you for the coffee.”
Her knowing smile follows me out the door. “Get lucky.”
I pause. “You mean good luck?” It’s unlike her to mix up such things since she speaks nearly flawless English.
She winks. “That too.”
I grin and shake my head as I exit the apartment to go to the parking garage.
The two-hour drive upstate passes in a blur of anticipation.
When I pull into Josh’s gravel driveway close to eight a.m., he’s already outside with his crew, gesturing at a collection of pipes and equipment scattered across the yard.
He spots me and jogs over with an easy stride that makes my stomach flutter. “You came back.”
“I said I would.” I study the construction chaos. “What are we building?”
“Drainage system. It’s not glamorous, but it’ll prevent future flooding.”
“Show me.”
The next three hours teach me ranch work involves more physics than anyone mentions.
Water flows downhill, which sounds simple until you’re calculating grades and slopes with a shovel that weighs more than my laptop.
My donkey nature emerges around hour two when Andrew suggests using machinery instead of hand-digging trenches.
“This is the right way.” I wipe sweat from my forehead and keep digging. “If we’re going to do it, we should do it properly.”
Andrew exchanges a look with Miguel. “Lindsay, there’s a machine that could finish this in twenty minutes.”
“Then I wouldn’t understand how drainage actually works.” I attack the next section of trench with renewed determination. “If I’m learning this, I want to learn all of it.”
Josh appears beside me with his own shovel. “She’s right. Hand digging gives you better feel for soil composition.”
His support makes me warm in ways that have nothing to do with physical exertion.
By lunch, I’ve managed to dig three feet of trench. The machine would have completed the entire project in the time it took me to clear this pathetic section. My hands are blistered despite the gloves. My shirt clings to my back with sweat, and dirt has somehow penetrated every layer of clothing.
Josh sits beside me on an overturned bucket and shares his turkey sandwich. “You know, stubbornness isn’t always a virtue.”
“My father used to say the same thing.” I accept half his sandwich gratefully. “However, my mother would tell me I was stubborn as a donkey, just like her, and then remind me donkeys are more sure-footed than horses.”
He grins. “Smart woman.”
“She was.” I survey my laughably short section of trench compared to the crew’s impressive progress. “At least now I understand why drainage installation is expensive.”
The afternoon brings irrigation pipes that need connecting in precise configurations. I approach this task with methodical determination, which proves to be exactly the wrong strategy for wrangling unwieldy plastic pipes.
“The pipe slides into the fitting, not the other way around.” Miguel demonstrates the technique while I wrestle with a section like it personally offended me.
“I understand the concept.” I attempt to force the connection. “The execution is more challenging.”
“Sometimes, you convince the pipe instead of fighting it.” Eddie, Miguel’s teenage son, appears with a patient expression. “May I?”
I hand him the pipe and watch him manipulate it with casual expertise. “How did you make that look effortless?”
His grin reveals a sharp contrast between his tanned skin and white teeth. “Practice. Also, you were fighting it instead of working with it.” He hands me another section. “Pipes are like horses. Force them, and they get stubborn.”
“I can relate to stubborn.” I try his technique and feel satisfied when the pipe slides into place. “That actually worked.”
Eddie moves on to help someone else, and I spend the next hour connecting pipes with gradually improving success. During a water break, I overhear him talking to Miguel in rapid Spanish. My college classes are rusty, but I catch the important parts.
“She’s different, Papi. She actually wants to learn, not just watch Josh work. She makes him laugh, not just be polite. The ranch needs someone like that.”
Miguel’s response carries skepticism, something about city women not lasting or understanding ranch reality. I can’t translate word for word but get enough of the gist to be annoyed.
Eddie’s voice holds conviction. “She’s staying for the week and came back after the first time, when she was covered in mud and thrown right into work. Senora Lindsay hasn’t quit yet. That’s more than the others ever did.”
I return to my pipe connections with renewed energy, Eddie’s defense buoying me as I work.
I’m earning acceptance here, even when I feel like I’m failing at everything else.
By day’s end, we’ve completed the first drainage phase.
My section isn’t as neat as the crew’s work, but it’s functional and properly connected.
More importantly, I understand how water will move through the system, and why each component matters.
“Not bad for a beginner.” Josh surveys my work with approval. “You have good instincts for this.”
“I had excellent teachers.” I gesture toward the crew cleaning their tools. “Eddie especially. He explained everything without making me feel incompetent.”
He nods and smiles. “Eddie has natural teaching ability. His father thinks he should study engineering.”
“He should. He understands system integration, and he knows how to relay his knowledge, which is almost as important.” I watch Eddie help load equipment onto the truck. “Will he stay on the ranch?”
“I hope so, but I won’t hold him back if he wants something different.” Josh’s expression turns thoughtful. “Everyone deserves to choose their own path.”
Something in his tone suggests he’s not just talking about Eddie.
The next morning arrives with perfect weather for outdoor work. Josh finds me in the kitchen at six thirty, drinking coffee.
“You’re up early.”
“I like the quiet before everyone else starts moving.” He pours a coffee and joins me at the table. “What are you working on?”
“Feed costs increased because corn futures went up again.” He shows me the supply invoices spread across the table. “This is good for farmers but less good for ranchers, who buy more feed than we grow.”
“Have you considered crop diversification? You have suitable land.”
He nods. “That would require different expertise. Livestock and row crops use completely different skill sets.” He looks up at me. “You really are interested in the business aspects.”
“I find it fascinating how everything connects.” I set down my coffee and focus on him. “I’m starting to understand why you love this place.”
“What do you understand?”
I consider the question for a moment before answering. “It’s not just work or animals or land. You’re building something that feeds people, provides jobs, and contributes to something larger than yourself.”
He nods in approval. “That’s exactly right.”
“In the city, I sometimes feel like I’m just moving money around without creating anything tangible. Here, everything you do has visible results.”
“Your consulting work creates results too.”
I laugh without humor. “My ‘consulting work’ often involves attending meetings where my father makes decisions while I pretend to have input.” The admission comes out more bitter than intended.
Josh’s expression shifts to something more serious. “You want more responsibility.”
“I want to prove I can handle even more responsibility.” I stand and refill my coffee, needing movement.
“I’m the only child and heir to Caldwell Industries.
I have an MBA from Wharton, I manage several major client accounts, and I’ve been groomed for corporate leadership since childhood.
I know the business inside and out, but my father still hesitates to give me full authority over major decisions despite me being the heir apparent. ”
He looks troubled. “What kind of decisions?”
“Strategic partnerships, acquisition approvals, or basically anything that could significantly impact our bottom line.” I return to the table with fresh coffee.
“He says he’s protecting me from making costly mistakes, but I think he’s worried that my personality is too strong for the boardroom, and I’ll drive away potential partners or intimidate clients, just like I do in my personal life. ”
His eyebrows draw together to form a deep V as he sips his coffee before asking, “Has that happened?”
I consider the question honestly. “Sometimes. Some men don’t know how to handle a woman who disagrees with them or challenges their assumptions. My father thinks I should be more...diplomatic.”
“What do you think?”
“I think the world needs fewer diplomatic people and more honest ones.” I shrug. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what everyone else wants me to be, and I’m tired of it.”
He slowly nods.
“Family businesses complicate everything, especially when you’re the heir apparent to a multi-billion-dollar corporation.”
“Caldwell Industries, huh?” Josh’s expression is gentle, not accusatory. “The way you talk about sustainable farming initiatives and supply chain partnerships, the scope of what you’re describing... It’s not small-scale consulting, and your father is holding you back.”