Page 5 of One Heated Summer

“Please tell the men I’d like them to come up to the house on Friday night for dinner. We can discuss any ideas you might have for making the ranch more prosperous.”

“Will do,” he agreed.

“Oh…I didn’t think. Do any of you have wives or kids?”

“Cash and Penn both have wives but their kids are all teenagers who are off at boarding school in Austin. There’s nothing here for youngsters so most people send them away to be educated once they’re twelve years old. Ward and I are very much single and have no plans to get hitched.”

“Please ask them to bring their ladies, I’ll look forward to meeting them.”

I walked Elijah out and went back to the kitchen where I poured another coffee. I really didn’t want to start sanding and making a mess. I decided to drive over to see Jensen, taking my car—a two year old Volkswagen Jetta, since I’d beenadvised Betsy was terminal. A fact that didn’t surprise me. The VW wasn’t suitable for Grantin’s dusty, pothole-filled roads but would have to do until I was able to purchase another pickup that was more suited to the lifestyle of ranching.

The sun was high in the sky as Jensen and I made our way across the arid pastures of his ranch. The heat was relentless, the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and dry earth. Our conversation was punctuated by the occasional bicker, each of us trying to assert our opinions on water conservation methods suited to the area.

Jensen stopped to examine a patch of soil, his brow furrowed with concentration. "You see, darlin', this soil here is parched beyond use because our access to creek water has been severely restricted by assholes in a city more than a hundred miles away. What these ranchers need is for someone to listen to their ideas about a sustainable way to manage their water resources without having to make costly changes or continue trucking in water."

I crouched beside him, my eyes scanning the land with a discerning gaze. "I understand what you’re saying, but the methods you've been using are outdated and more damaging than they are useful. We need to incorporate new technologies to ensure long-term sustainability."

He glanced at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "And you think city folk know better than those who have lived here for generations?"

I met his gaze, unwavering. "I think we need to combine traditional knowledge with modern science. It's the only way tomake real progress. As a ranch owner now it’s in my interest to help you find a solution."

We continued the debate, our voices rising above the sound of crickets and distant birdsong. Despite our disagreements, I couldn't help but be impressed by Jensen's deep understanding of the land and the intricate challenges faced by the ranchers. A challenge I now faced. Jensen’s passion for the environment was evident despite his opposition to some of the restrictions imposed and it resonated with my own commitment to doing some research.

As the afternoon wore on, we found ourselves at a small creek, its waters shimmering in the golden light. Jensen knelt by the edge, cupping his hands to scoop up the cool liquid. "Proper management of water sources like this is crucial, we know that, but this here is a lifeline for the ranchers and being told we can’t use the water at all…" Jensen shrugged.

I kneeled, joining him, my fingertips trailing through the water. "You're right. We need to protect these resources and ensure they're used wisely without threatening the livelihood of the community."

In that moment, amidst the sunbaked landscape and the gentle flow of the creek, we found common ground. Our arguments and debates faded into a shared understanding of the importance of finding answers. I felt a newfound respect for Jensen, and a recognition of the challenges Grantin and the ranchers faced in their quest for environmental conservation.

As we stood together by the creek, the sun dipping lower on the horizon, I realized any friendship with Jensen might be more complex than I’d initially thought. The Texas wild was unchartered territory for me and Jensen was proving to be an invaluable guide, but the attraction I felt for the man had alarmsblaring in my head that would have rivaled air raid warning sirens.

As the light began to fade, casting long shadows, we slowly made our way back toward Jensen’s ranch house. Our conversation, which had started as a heated debate earlier in the day had settled into a thoughtful exchange of ideas and experiences. Jensen's anecdotes about the ranchers' struggles and triumphs painted a vivid picture of the community's resilience and resourcefulness. I found myself absorbing every detail, my respect for the people of Grantin growing with each revelation.

Pausing at a ridge that overlooked Jensen’s pastures, he pointed out various features of the landscape—each with a story, a history tied to the land and its people. "This here," he said, indicating a cluster of hardy shrubs to his right, "is where the cattle find forage when the pastures dry up. It's not much, but it's enough to keep them going for a short time."

I nodded, understanding the delicate balance that needed to be maintained. "And the creek water," I said thoughtfully, "it's not just a resource, it's a lifeline for everything here."

Jensen's eyes softened. "Exactly. And while I agree with protecting our water sources, we can't just cut off the supply. There has to be a way to manage it without crippling the community."

Our steps slowed as we approached the ranch house, the scent of evening summer blooms mingling with the earthy aroma of the land. I realized how much I’d learned from Jensen in a short space of time. Not just about the ranch, but about the very essence of living in harmony with nature. His knowledgewas profound, and his passion for conservation matched my own.

Jensen’s single story ranch house stood as a testament to simplicity and rugged charm. Constructed from weathered wood, it blended seamlessly into the surrounding landscape, as if it had grown from the very earth that supported it. The front porch, adorned with wooden rocking chairs, invited anyone to sit and chew over their thoughts.

Jensen pushed open the unlocked door and motioned me inside before following and closing the door behind us.

The interior was blessedly cool after traipsing over Jensen’s ranch in the burning heat of the afternoon and his home was a blend of rustic and practical elegance. The living room, with its comfortable seating and well-worn furniture, exuded a homely warmth. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes on agriculture, history, and ecology, reflecting Jensen's deep connection to the land. A wooden coffee table bore the marks of years of use, each scratch and dent telling a story. Large windows framed views of the undulating hills and sprawling pastures, letting in ample natural light that warmed the interior with a golden hue. Stonework around the fireplace added to the earthy feel of the space. The kitchen, though modest, was equipped with essentials and had an old-world charm with its cast iron stove and wooden cabinets. Fresh herbs hung drying near the window, adding a touch of green to the space.

“Like to have a look around?” Jensen offered.

I hesitated but being curious, agreed. Jensen led me along a hallway, opening doors as we went so I was able to peek inside.

The bedrooms were simple but cozy, with what I suspected were handmade quilts covering sturdy wooden beds. Jensen's room held a few personal artifacts—a framed photograph of hisfamily, a worn lasso coiled neatly on a hook, and a pair of well-used sneakers were placed just inside the door.

An office reflected his personality, with papers and stock record books neatly stacked, and a laptop at the ready for notes.

The ranch house, in an excellent state of repair, unlike mine, while not luxurious, was a haven that offered shelter, warmth, and a sense of belonging. As I took in the details of the home, I felt a deeper connection to Jensen and the world he cherished. This house was not just a structure; it was a living, breathing part of the Triple C Ranch, embodying the resilience and spirit of the man who lived within its walls.

Returning to the living room, Jensen offered me a coffee which I accepted. After handing me a mug of steaming brew with a dash of milk, the way I preferred to drink it, we settled into comfortable chairs and continued our earlier discussion, delving deeper into the possibilities of merging traditional wisdom with modern technology. I knew the path ahead would be challenging, convincing ranchers to adopt new practices wouldn’t be easy, but with Jensen by my side, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.

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