Page 1 of When Sparks Fly

Chapter 1

Sutton

The quiet of the still dark morning is broken when I push the front door open to The Big House. Together with the unmistakable sizzle of bacon frying in a pan, the aroma of strong coffee and baked goods beckon from down the hall. The door has barely closed behind me when Mama’s head pokes into the hallway from the kitchen. She’s made breakfast for our family and our small ranch staff every day of my life.

Except for when my sister, Sammi, was in the hospital.

The ranch hands have a separate bunkhouse, but The Big House is always open for breakfast. Not all ranches do it our way, but it fits us.

“Hi, honey.” Mama’s welcoming smile and matching tone are always so full of love, never tired of seeing the same faces or completing the same tasks.

“Is Dad in here?” My dirty boots thud against the wood floor as I head up the hall, stopping to kiss Mama on her head.

“He’s in his office.” She flips the bacon and I nod at two of our three staff, seated in the dining room adjacent to the kitchen on my right. I make my way through the cozy living room on the left and into the back hallway. Dad’s office is the first door I come to. It’s ajar and he sits behind the mahogany desk, in his leather chair. I double-tap the trim with a knuckle as I enter, drawing his eyesup.

“Mornin’.” He’s a quiet man, not often annoyed by interruptions. We’ve spent a great deal of time discussing the ranch in this space. Lost animals, sales, purchases, increasing prices, tack, the list goes on and on.

I take up my usual spot, sitting on the leather couch across from his desk, and throw one ankle onto the opposite knee. He gives me a knowing smile.

“How do the numbers look?” His reference to weighing and categorizing cattle last week is right on time. The last few weeks have been all about assessing our two herds. We weigh and examine each animal, and consider their overall health, productivity, and potential. Determining which cows to keep to maintain the integrity of the herd, along with which animals to sell for beef, and which to keep to continue cattle production is all based on these considerations. I dive into what our groupings looked like.

Occasionally we trade with other ranches, but this year has been good to us on bulls, so we won’t need to.

“So it sounds like between the two herds, we have five solid bulls.” Dad seems pleased with his confirmation.

He’s equally happy with hitting our numbers for our clients in town expecting beef. With repeat, steady commercial and private customers, meeting that goal is our bread and butter. Thankfully, through the year we’ve also built strong ties with butchers in town, which helps everyone involved.

Once he’s abreast of the details of the last few weeks, I continue. “I’ve been thinking. I have some ideas for the ranch.”

Dad kicks back in his chair, the bulk of it leaning far enough back on the swivel to tease at falling over. “What do you have in mind?”

“My thoughts are two-fold. Diversify what Strickland Ranch is known for and find ways to generate increased stable income. If we had more acreage, then expanding the herds or adding a third, and expanding our clients, would be an option. But with what we’ve got, I’m not sure that’s our best option.”

He steeples his fingers in front of his chest as I continue. “If we break the resting pastures down differently we could offer one as a hunting lease. Maybe two. It would keep the land active with rotating crops and wildlife, without additional hardship on natural resources. Guided hunts and companion livestock could also be options to increase exposure and revenue.”

For a few beats, he says nothing as his head bobs in thought. “I like where your head’s at.”

“Thank you.” His praise catches me off guard.

“I already trust you to handle this place on your own. You did as much earlier this year when your sister was in the hospital. I know it’s a bit of a formality that I’m still running things.”

I squeeze my leg. This is not where I saw the conversation going. “I never considered it a formality. I assumed if and when you decided you were ready for things to change we would discuss it.”

“I think we need to start discussing it.”

My eyes widen and I make a point to tamp down my surprise.

“I’m not saying you need to take over tomorrow.” He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “But you’re right; we need to start looking to the future. The ranch needs that.”

“Yes, sir.” I hadn’t realized he’d considered any of this. “Alright. I’ll put together a more detailed plan and we can talk it over.”

“Sounds good.” His eyes twinkle. “One more thing. Have you picked a location to build on?”

A couple of months ago this came up, but the timing didn’t feel right. Unlike some legacy cattle ranchers, my role was never assumed.

Rather than attend Ag school, a common track for those who want a role similar to mine, I worked up from a stable boy mucking stalls and grooming horses, until I had learned as much as I could and felt honest in my positionas Ranch Manager. I cared more about being on the ranch. Ag school was too far away and I didn’t just care about any business, any ranch, any livestock. I cared about the legacy of our family’s ranch. Strickland Ranch.

I’ve saved my growing salary over the years for when I would ultimately build a house. Even with a private entrance to my quarters, more separation would be appreciated. I certainly never anticipated being thirty and living in my parents’ house.