Page 27 of The Mountain Echoes
“Modern infrastructure, better access, more visibility for your little slice of paradise,” the senator continues. “That’s what is needed here.”
Hislittle slice of paradisecomment grates, as does his thinking he knows what’s needed here, but I keep my expression polite.
“This place doesn’t need to become the next JacksonHole,” I say calmly. “It needs water rights, grazing leases, and clean groundwater. Maybe a better high school.”
Candace Jessup, his wife, sits between her husband and me.
In a red cashmere sweater dress with diamonds on her ears, wrists, and neck, and half a bottle of some very good Bordeaux inside her, she’s slurring compliments as she touches my forearm when she laughs, which is often.
Candace sleeps around. It’s well known. It’s almost like her husband is her pimp. It’s disgusting as fuck, and I wish I didn’t have to break bread with pricks like them, but you can’t own a ranch the size of mine and not work with the government.
Jessup chuckles as he cuts into a succulent piece of filet mignon. “Sure, sure. But a little polish wouldn’t kill the place.”
I nod like I agree because that’s what we’re doing—playing nice.
The real talk is about the Public Lands Leasing Reform Provision, buried in the latest federal budget reconciliation package. If it passes, it’ll squeeze out ranchers further and give the advantage to land developers like this moron’s kid.
“This is ranch country, Senator, we don’t need no polish,” I drawl, letting my best Texan accent out for a spin.
Candace laughs. “You sound just like John Wayne fromTrue Grit, Mav.”
My eyes land on Aria and Amos. He’s jovial andfriendly, while she’s aloof. She nods and smiles, but it’s not genuine; I can see it from all the way here.
If she’s meeting with an accountant, that means she’s going to get the 411 on everything that’s going on at Longhorn. That’s good news for me. Once she sees the debt the ranch carries, she’ll be more inclined to sell.
“You know, Mav,” Candace purrs, her painted nails on my forearm. “My friend is the editor ofTown & Country, and they’re doing a glossy feature on ranchers. I’d love for you to be part of it. Be on thecoverof the magazine.”
I try not to wince. “Mrs. Jessup, that’s?—”
“Candace, please…or Candy,” she protests huskily.
Her husband chuckles. He doesn’t seem to mind that every time she leans, she rubs her tits against me. If my wife did something like that, I’d divorce her so fast, her head would spin—and that would be after I killed the sumbitch who she touched.
“Tell him, Otis, how good it would be for Wildflower Canyon to have someone like Mav inTown & Country? It’ll give y’all a national profile.”
BeforeOtiscan try and convince me of something that has a snowball’s chance in hell of happening, I ask about the public land leasing reform in the latest bill that Congress passed and is now going to be debated on in the Senate.
“This is why it’s important to develop the land here, Mav,” he insists. “Y’all are too sentimental about the land. But we know sentiment doesn’t pay property taxes.”
Candace rises, unsteadily, and titters about going to the little girl’s room.
Christ!
Once it’s just the senator and me, I twist his arm. “Otis, I need you to get that provision out of the bill,” I say simply.
Enough pussyfooting.
The man wants me to donate to his campaign, which I will (and do), then he needs to be a little more accommodating of my needs.
The senator swirls his wine and squints at me over the rim of his glass. “Mav, you know this reform is much needed to?—”
“You need to get that provision removed before it makes it to the floor.” I smile and then drop the threat. “You’ve done it before.”
He doesn’t deny it. He can’t. I know where all the skeletons are buried. Granted, if I push him down, he can take me with him, which is why I buy him the steak and a four-hundred-dollar bottle of Pauillac.
“You want me to put my neck out for a handful of ranchers?”
He’s not happy about this, that’s clear enough, but I’m not here to make this son of a bitch happy. I’m here to protect Wildflower Canyon.
