Chapter 10
Josh
I’m standing in the feed/general store in town, staring at a somewhat dusty display of engagement rings that look like they belong in a museum instead of on Lindsay’s finger.
It’s clear this section doesn’t get much business, and it only holds a handful of choices.
The salesperson hovers nearby with the desperate enthusiasm of someone who rarely gets to discuss jewelry purchases with customers who usually buy horse supplements and fence posts.
“This one features a two-carat diamond with platinum setting,” she says, lifting a ring that could probably fund a small country’s agricultural budget.
It’s the only one that’s even close to what someone of Lindsay’s social standing and financial worth would deem acceptable, and it’s still woefully inadequate, not to mention gawdy to my untrained eye. “Very popular with discerning clients.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell the salesperson, backing away from the display like it might bite me. Maybe buying such an important piece from the feed/general store isn’t such a bright idea.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in my truck outside the feed store, calling the one person who might talk sense into me. “Miguel.”
“Josh? What’s wrong? You sound stressed.”
Understatement of the year perhaps. “I want to propose to Lindsay.”
There’s a pause. “This is bad news why?”
“Because I have no idea how to propose to someone who could buy her own diamond mine if she wanted one.” I rub my forehead, where a headache is building.
“Everything I think of either seems pathetic compared to what she’s used to, or so expensive it feels like I’m trying to compete with her family’s money. ”
He huffs. “Are you worried she’ll say no?”
I shake my head though he can’t see it. “I’m worried she’ll say yes out of politeness and then realize she’s engaged to someone who proposed with a ring from the feed store jewelry case.”
Miguel’s laugh carries over the phone. “Josh, Lindsay has been living at your ranch for a month. She drives two hours back to the city maybe once a week and only when she absolutely has to. You think she’s doing that because she’s being polite?”
“Maybe she’s just enjoying the novelty—”
He snickers. “Of mucking stalls and learning to rope cattle? Or is it the magic of getting up at dawn to help with chores and going to bed smelling like hay that’s captivating her?
” He snorts dismissively. “That woman rewrote her entire life to be with you. She’s not going anywhere unless you send the message you want her to leave. ”
He makes a good point that causes my shirt to feel too tight. I adjust my collar. “So I should propose so she knows I’m serious?”
His tone makes it clear he’s rolling his eyes. “You should propose because you love her and want to marry her, not because you’re afraid she might leave if you don’t ask soon enough.”
Miguel’s right, as usual. I do want to marry Lindsay—not because I’m worried about losing her but because I can’t imagine my future without her. The ring situation, however, remains a problem. “Any advice on the proposal itself?”
“Yeah. Don’t try to be someone you’re not. She fell in love with a rancher, not a city guy trying to impress her with expensive restaurants and fancy jewelry.”
After I hang up, I sit in the truck for another ten minutes, thinking about what Miguel said.
Lindsay did fall in love with a rancher.
She fell in love with someone who shows his feelings through actions rather than grand gestures, who values legitimacy over flash, and who believes the best things in life are built rather than bought.
Maybe that’s exactly how I should approach this.
That evening, I find Lindsay in the kitchen, frowning at her laptop while simultaneously talking on the phone with someone who’s apparently been explaining agricultural subsidy regulations for the past hour.
“No, that interpretation doesn’t match what the legislation actually says,” she tells whoever is on the other end. “The small operation exemption applies to any family farm under fifty head, regardless of acreage. Let me send you the relevant section.”
I settle into the chair across from her, content to watch her work.
Over the past month, Lindsay has transformed her relationship with Caldwell Industries from hands-on management to strategic consultation, focusing more on helping local operations navigate bureaucratic challenges than maximizing corporate profits.
The change suits her in ways that make me wonder if she ever really wanted to run a multi-billion-dollar empire or if she was doing it to make her dad happy and prove her worth to him.
“Sorry about that,” she says after ending the call. “The Hendersons are trying to qualify for drought assistance, but the county office keeps giving them wrong information about eligibility requirements.”
“Did you straighten it out?”
“I sent them the forms they actually need instead of the ones they’ve been told to fill out.” She closes her laptop and stretches. “Sometimes, I think bureaucrats deliberately make these programs impossible to navigate.”
I nod in agreement, having had that experience a few times myself. “Probably keeps the costs down.”
“At the expense of the people who actually need help.” Lindsay’s voice carries frustration that’s been familiar over the past few weeks as she’s become more aware of how family farmers and ranchers live.
“These families have been farming for generations. They know their operations better than any government official, but they’re supposed to prove their expertise using forms designed by people who’ve never set foot on a working ranch. ”
“That sums it up. Question is, do you want to spend your time helping people navigate bureaucratic nonsense?”
“It’s not nonsense when it’s the difference between a family keeping their operation or selling to corporate agriculture.
” Her expression grows thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about starting a consulting firm focused specifically on helping small agricultural operations access resources and navigate regulatory requirements. ”
I nod again, thinking she would excel at such an undertaking, but I don’t want to unduly influence her.
It’s obvious if she goes this route, she’ll be sticking around, which is what I want, but it has to be her choice.
I let myself focus on her skills rather than trying to persuade her.
“That sounds like something you’d be good at. ”
She looks wistful. “I think I would be. I understand both the business systems and the actual farming challenges.” She reaches across to take my hand. “What do you think?”
“I think you should do whatever makes you happy.” I mean it, even though the practical part of my brain is already calculating how often she’d need to travel for that kind of work. Most likely, she’d be here at home more often than not. “Would it require you to be in the city more?”
She seems to be thinking about it for a moment before answering. “It would naturally include some travel, but I could base the operation here and work with clients locally or remotely most of the time…if that would be okay with you.”
“More than okay. I love having you here.”
“Good, because I love being here.” Her smile is soft and genuine. “This place has become home in a way nowhere else ever was.”
Lindsay has made this ranch her home, and I’ve started thinking of my future exclusively in terms that include her. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You’ve mentioned your family’s history a few times, but I realize I don’t know much about where you come from. I mean, before Caldwell Industries became what it is now.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How your family got started and how they built the business.” I lean forward, genuinely curious. “I’ve told you about my family’s history with this land, but I don’t know yours.”
Her expression grows thoughtful. “It’s not as romantic as your homesteading ancestors.
My great-grandfather started with a small grain operation in Pennsylvania, just him and his wife trying to make a living on forty acres.
They struggled for years before figuring out they could make more money helping other farmers than farming themselves. ”
“How so?”
“With equipment sharing, bulk purchasing, and marketing cooperatives. He realized individual farms were too small to negotiate good prices for supplies or products, but together, they had leverage.” Lindsay’s voice carries pride I don’t usually hear when she talks about family business.
“Within a generation, they’d built a network of family farms that could compete with larger operations. ”
“When did it become corporate?”
“My grandfather’s generation. They started buying land when families couldn’t make payments and then leasing it back to the original owners as managers.” Her expression clouds slightly. “The idea was to keep family farms operating even when they couldn’t afford to own the land anymore.”
“That sounds like it could go either way.”
“It did. Some families thrived with the security of guaranteed land access and shared resources. Others felt like they’d become employees of their own heritage.
” She sighs. “My grandfather expanded the model nationwide, and my father turned it into the corporate entity it is today, losing even more of the original intent.”
“Do you think your great-grandfather would approve of what it has become?”
“I used to think so. Now I’m not sure.” She seems troubled. “I never met him, but from what I’ve learned about him, he wanted to help family farms survive. I think he’d be horrified by how corporate agriculture has decimated rural communities.”
“Is that why you’re thinking about the consulting firm? To get back to the original mission?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I can’t fix everything that’s wrong with modern agriculture, but I can help individual families navigate the system instead of being crushed by it.”