Page 10 of Road to a Cowboy

“Children,” Cal muttered under his breath and walked into the horse barn and out of the rain.

“Think they’ll kill each other while we aren’t looking?”

He snorted a laugh and turned to his boss. “We should be so lucky.”

Whitney Windsor-March smiled back at him as she stuffed a pair of work gloves into her back pocket. Windsor Ranch was her legacy. Hell, her great-grandfather had founded the town and built the ranch from the ground up. The Windsors weren’t exactly considered royalty, but they were held in high esteem. Not a surprise given that the ranch was the biggest economic provider in town, creating jobs, donating money and goods when needed, and supporting the tourism industry.

Whitney was built as sturdily as the land she was raised on. She wasn’t a boss in name only either; she worked as hard—if not harder—than any of the ranch hands, putting in just as much manual labor while her husband oversaw the marketing side of the business.

“Got a second?” she asked now, tucking a strand of gray-threaded dark hair back into her braid. “I wanted to chat about Las’s thesis project.”

Cal took off his hat and shook excess water off it. “Sure.”

“Did I hear my name?” Las—Lassiter Windsor-March—stepped out of his horse’s stall. He was as soaked and mud caked as every other worker, but Cal knew he loved it. Las had recently returned from a year at grad school in Laramie, studying agriculture and applied economics, and although he’d met lots of cool people and learned tons of great shit—his words—nothing beat being home. Also his words.

“Do you still need help with your thesis project?” Whitney asked her son. “Because I was thinking Cal might be able to help, and if not, he might know which employee might be your best bet.”

Las’s dark eyes lit up. “Yeah. I’ll take any help I can get.”

“I’m happy to help,” Cal said. “But I don’t know much about conservation grazing practices.”

Cal didn’t have a college degree. What he did have was self-taught knowledge and experience gained through years of doing and reading. And ever since Whitney and her husband had signed off on Las’s graduate thesis project, which would unfold in collaboration with the University of Wyoming and the United States Nature Conservancy, Cal had been reading up on case studies about conservation grazing practices.

But he was by no means an expert.

“I’m willing to learn though,” he added.

“Thank you.” Las nearly wilted in relief. “The idea behind my thesis project is that instead of being on a rotational grazing system, we’ll turn a pasture into several smaller cells. Each cell will see about three days of intense grazing, followed by a longer resting period than we normally get in rotational grazing. That way?—”

“We’ll potentially see a healthier herd,” Cal interrupted. “And because we’re moving the cattle more frequently, we’ll be better able to spot any health problems. I know, Las. I was there when you met with the USNC reps last summer, remember?”

“Right.” Las chuckled. “But you forgot the best part. Since we’ll be letting the grass rest and regrow?—”

“We’ll be providing habitat for other wildlife,” Whitney said.

Las’s smile turned rueful. “I guess I talk about this a lot, huh?”

Cal held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a bit. So what do you need my help with?”

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” Whitney pointed at Las as she walked away. “Family dinner tonight. Don’t be late.”

Las grunted his reply, then turned to Cal. “Okay, so thankfully, I got permission from my advisor to extend the project to two years with the option for three.”

“And that’s good because...?”

“This type of experiment we’re doing, it’s really more of a longitudinal study. I doubt we’ll see any real concrete results in only a year.”

“Are we doing an A/B study? Only converting some of the pasture and rotating some of the cattle on the cell grazing system? To later compare those results against the rotational grazing system?”

“Yes. Exactly. And?—”

Cal’s phone went off in his pocket. He pulled it out to make sure none of the workers needed him, grimaced at the notification, and went to put it back in his pocket.

Las stole it out of his hands and gaped at it. “Is that...? Are you on a dating app?”

Cal swiped the phone back. “Say it with a little more venom, why don’t you?”

“Sorry, just...” Frowning, Las shoved his hat slightly up his forehead. “Since when do you date?”

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