Page 10 of Balancing Act

Mason looked away, as if dreading this conversation. I knew he wouldn't have my back, but I hoped he'd be impartial. At least until Walker had his say. Which he was about to do.

“No fucking way.”

“Come on. Dad tried to buy old man Culver out for years. It was always part of the plan.”

“Yeah, well Dad's gone. And just because he wanted to do it, doesn't mean we should. Mason, what do you say?”

Mason shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes avoiding mine. “I think you have a point, Walker. It's a big investment and we don't really need the extra land right now. We have enough on our plate with running the current operations.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my frustration in check. Mason was often the voice of reason, but this time, it felt like he was holding me back. “It's not just about need, Mason. It's about expanding and securing the future of Red Downs. Dad always wanted that property for a reason.”

Walker scoffed and leaned forward in his chair, his blue eyes sparking with defiance. “And what if that reason doesn't align with our vision for the ranch? We can't keep living in Dad's shadow forever, Gray.”

I shot up from my chair, pacing back and forth across the room. The walls seemed to close in on me as frustration coursed through my veins. “This is an opportunity to expand our land right next door! We might never get this chance again.”

Walker leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, a stubborn glint in his eyes. I knew that look. I'd grown up rolling my eyes at that look. “You gotta be kidding me, Gray. We don't need more land. We've got enough of it, and farming doesn't make any sense. We don't have the man power for that. You want to spend a shit ton of money for a dilapidated old house and a couple hundred acres? To what? Sit around empty since we can't afford to do fuck all with it? Don't make any damn sense.”

Silence filled the room as he finished his diatribe and Mason tilted his head in agreement. I about threw my pen at him.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. There was another reason I refused to entertain Walker's ideas about opening the ranch to students and tourists. It was true I'd been concerned about my brother's follow-through, or lack thereof.

But a bigger reason was that I knew our resources couldn't handle it. The ranch was almost struggling as it was, and we needed to focus on what we already had. I couldn't shoot Walker down for that reason and then turn around and buy more land without a solid plan to use it.

Fuck. I hated when he was right. And I hated it even more when Mason and Walker were both right. I dropped back down in my chair, resting my hands on the desk in front of me.

“Alright. The Culver property is off the table,” I said with a finality I didn't feel. But there wasn't time to dwell, not with six thousand acres to keep up with. I turned the page of Mason's agenda. “What's next?”

* * *

The sun was setting fire to the horizon when I finally stepped out of that damned office. I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness that came from being hunched over papers all day. The leather of my boots creaked as I strode across the yard, each step kicking up a little cloud of dust in the fading light.

“Gray!” Mitch called out, his voice carrying clear across the open space. I turned to see him leaning against the training ring fence, an amused smile splitting his weathered face as he watched Walker work with a young stallion.

Mitch Nelson was an old timer at the ranch. One of the men who’d started back when my father took over the land. He was a good worker who knew the land like the back of his hand. But no matter how hard I worked, or how many days went by with me at the helm, I always felt like I was playing leader when Mitch was around.

“Damn, you look like you've been through the wringer,” he chuckled.

“Feel like it too,” I admitted, stopping beside him and resting my forearms on the rough wood. My white t-shirt clung to me, damp with the sweat of a hard day's work, and my jeans were stained with dirt from the morning work before I’d gotten distracted by finances.

“Those spreadsheets give you hell?”

“More than a wild stallion ever could.” I smirked, but the unease in my gut remained.

“Come on, Walk, show him who’s boss!” He called.

Walk laughed and waved a hand at us right before the stallion bucked up in his face. I cringed. Walker was a natural with horses, but sometimes it took a while to make progress, and this guy, a two-year-old Quarter Horse named Maelstrom, had been giving us a hard time for months.

“Ah damn,” Mitch said, “I really thought he was gettin’ somewhere with him.”

I studied my brother’s movements, his sure-footed steps that looked choreographed. The boy might get on my last nerve, but he was a damn natural with horses.

“He is. He will,” I said, nodding as if my word made it so. I felt Mitch looking at me, but didn’t turn to confirm it. Instead, I watched Walker mount Maelstrom again and take him to an easy trot along the far side of the ring.

“You’re doin’ a fine job, here, son.”

My chest tightened with an emotion I didn’t want to examine too closely. If I was honest with myself, Mitch’s words meant a lot. But I wasn’t ready to be honest. And I wasn’t ready to believe them.

“Everyone is,” I said instead, and nodded at the horse now perfectly responding to Walker’s commands. “Even Maelstrom.”

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