Chapter 9
Lindsay
Two weeks into my second stay, splitting my time between the ranch and Manhattan, I’m staring at my laptop screen in Josh’s kitchen.
I realize I’ve been avoiding returning to the city for three straight days.
The quarterly board meeting is tomorrow, which means I should be in my penthouse reviewing presentations and preparing for the corporate theater that passes for strategic planning at Caldwell Industries.
Instead, I’m sitting in jeans and a flannel shirt, managing my responsibilities to my father’s multi-billion-dollar agricultural empire via video calls and emails while listening to the morning sounds of ranch life through open windows.
It feels amazing, but I’m still riddled with guilt after reading my father’s latest email, asking when I’m returning to the office.
“You’re frowning at your computer again.” Josh appears with a cup of coffee and sets it beside my elbow. “Bad news from the corporate overlords?”
I smile but shake my head. “Not really. It’s just my father wondering why I’ve been working remotely so much lately.” I accept the coffee gratefully. “He’s getting suspicious about my sudden interest in ‘field research.’”
“Is that what you’re calling this?” He settles into the chair across from me, and I notice he’s favoring his left shoulder. He’s been spending hours each day with Midnight, and the physical therapy routine is wearing on both of them.
“It’s easier than explaining I’ve discovered I prefer actual fields to conference rooms.” I close the laptop and focus on him instead. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Stiff. Midnight’s getting stronger, which means he’s getting more opinionated about his physical therapy.” He rolls his shoulder experimentally. “Yesterday, he decided he was done with his exercises and tried to walk away mid-session.”
“Stubborn patient.”
He chuckles. “Stubborn everything. Horses, donkeys, ranchers, and businesswomen who work from my kitchen instead of their fancy offices.” Josh’s grin takes the sting out of his words. “We’re all pretty set in our ways around here.”
“I’m getting close to finding how I’m set here.
” I take a sip of the coffee. “Speaking of stubborn, you’re taking me to that Cattlemen’s Association thing tonight.
Right?” I’ve been dreading the annual gathering since Josh mentioned it last week.
Meeting his professional peers feels more intimidating than any board meeting I’ve ever attended, but he endured it for me with the conference, so I couldn’t say no.
I am curious to meet his colleagues and neighbors but nervous I won’t fit in.
“If you still want to go. It’s not exactly a sophisticated crowd.”
“Good. I’m tired of sophisticated crowds.
” I mean it, even though the thought of being evaluated by people whose respect Josh values makes my stomach clench.
“Besides, it’s time I properly met your community.
” If I’m going to stay remains unuttered, but the awareness of what I mean is there in his eyes.
Josh’s expression grows thoughtful. “Just remember, these people are protective of their own. They’ve seen outsiders come and go, making promises about understanding ranch life before disappearing when things get difficult.”
“Am I an outsider?”
“To them? Probably. To me?” Josh reaches across to cover my hand with his. “You’re home.”
The simple statement puts a lump in my throat. Home. When did a kitchen in rural New York start feeling more like home than the penthouse I’ve lived in for eight years? Whenever it happened, I barely noticed, and even now, I’m not sure I care.
That evening, I stand in front of Josh’s bedroom mirror trying to figure out what to wear to my first Cattlemen’s Association gathering.
The ranch-appropriate clothes I’ve accumulated over the past few weeks seem too casual for a community event, but my usual business attire would mark me as an outsider before I opened my mouth.
“You’re overthinking this.” He appears behind me in the mirror, wearing dark jeans, a white dress shirt, and a blazer that makes him look devastatingly handsome. “You look perfect.”
I’ve settled on dark jeans, boots, and a silk blouse that splits the difference between ranch casual and city polished. “I feel like I’m about to take an exam I didn’t study for, and I’ll be the only naked one in the entire class.”
He laughs. “You might’ve crossed your metaphors there but relax. You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”
My stomach wobbles. “Which version of myself? Corporate Lindsay who optimizes supply chains, or ranch Lindsay who can barely coil a rope without tripping over it?”
He turns me to face him, settling his hands on my shoulders.
“How about just Lindsay? The woman who helped me through a crisis, learns new things because she wants to understand them, makes me excellent coffee in the morning with that fancy espresso machine you ordered that has the ranch hands circling the house like buzzards every couple hours for a refill, and argues with me about drainage systems.”
I grin, but it’s genuinely nice to hear how he sees me. “That Lindsay sounds pretty great.”
“She is.” Josh kisses my forehead gently. “Trust me, they’ll see what I see.”
The Cattlemen’s Association meeting is held in the community center of the nearest town, a building that’s seen decades of potluck dinners, school plays, and agricultural gatherings.
When we walk in, the sound of conversation and laughter fills the space along with the scent of mediocre coffee and homemade desserts.
Josh is immediately surrounded by people wanting to discuss everything from feed prices to weather patterns.
I watch him interact with his community and see a different side of him.
Here, he’s the respected neighbor, the knowledgeable professional, and the man whose opinion carries weight among people who’ve known him since childhood.
“You must be Lindsay.” A woman in her fifties approaches with a warm smile and curious eyes. “I’m Beth Garrison. My husband Andrew works with Josh.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I shake her hand, grateful for a friendly introduction.
“So, what do you think of our little corner of the world?” Beth’s tone is genuinely interested rather than probing.
“It’s beautiful. I’ve learned so much about sustainable agriculture just from spending time at Josh’s ranch.” The words come out more formal than I intended, and her expression shifts slightly.
“Sustainable agriculture.” She repeats the phrase like she’s testing it. “That’s a fancy way of putting it.”
“I mean, the way Josh manages his land and livestock to maintain long-term productivity while protecting environmental resources.” I realize I sound like I’m giving a presentation, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“The integration of rotational grazing with soil conservation practices creates a regenerative system that—”
“Lindsay works for an agricultural consulting firm.” Josh appears at my elbow, smoothly interrupting what was clearly becoming a lecture. “She’s been learning about ranch operations from the ground up.”
“A consultant.” Beth’s smile becomes more polite and less warm. “How interesting.”
As the evening progresses, I find myself struggling to connect with Josh’s community in ways that surprise me.
These are intelligent, knowledgeable people who’ve built successful operations through generations of hard work, but every time I try to contribute to conversations, I sound like I’m evaluating their methods for efficiency improvements rather than showing genuine interest in their experiences.
“The key to sustainable beef production is optimizing the relationship between stocking rates and carrying capacity,” I explain to a group of ranchers’ wives, warming to a topic I actually know something about.
“By implementing rotational grazing systems with appropriate rest periods, you can increase forage utilization while maintaining soil health and biodiversity.”
The women exchange glances I can’t quite interpret. Finally, one of them—Sarah, I think—speaks up.
“That’s a lot of fancy words for what my grandfather called ‘moving the cattle when the grass gets short.’”
Heat rises in my cheeks as I realize how condescending I must sound. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Of course you didn’t.” Sarah’s tone is kind but firm. “You consultants always mean well.”
The conversation moves on to other topics, and I end up standing slightly apart, watching Josh interact easily with people who seem to view me with polite suspicion.
I’m beginning to understand why he was initially resistant to my partnership proposal.
These people have probably seen plenty of outsiders arrive with theories about how to improve their operations.
I’ve just about hit my low point when I discover things can get worse. It starts when Nora Proctor, a woman in her sixties with steel-gray hair and sharp eyes, approaches me near the dessert table. “You’re the one staying out at Josh’s place.” It’s not a question.
I feel like I’m being assaulted and flinch. “I am.”
“Playing dress-up with someone else’s lifestyle for entertainment?” Nora’s voice carries just enough volume to attract attention from nearby conversations.
The room doesn’t exactly go quiet, but it’s obvious people are listening. Josh starts moving in our direction, but something in his expression tells me this is a test I need to handle myself.
“I’m learning about ranch life,” I say carefully.
“Learning.” Nora nods slowly. “What’re you gonna do when you get bored with the novelty? When the mud stops being charming and the early mornings lose their appeal? What happens to Josh then?”
The question brings more silence among the crowd, and I realize this isn’t really about me. This is about protecting Josh from another outsider who might break his heart when reality sets in.