Page 77 of The Mountain Echoes
The Pryor family runs one of the biggest feed businesses in Colorado, and Tate knows everyone worth knowing when it comes to cattle, horses, and ranching. If he says someone’s solid, I’d believe him.
“He workin’ out?”
She shrugs as she opens the passenger door of my truck. “He’s been here a couple of days. Earl hasn’t kicked his ass, so far, and Tomas says he pulls his weight, so…it’s lookin’ promising.”
We drive in silence for a while. I guess we’re both deep in thought. Well, I’m thinking abouther.
I like having her in my truck, and I’m hoping that it goes better this time than it did the last, when I was an asshole of the worst kind.
“It’s been years since I went to the Canyon Heritage Sale,” she says, almost dreamily as she looks out of the window. “Those days, we could sell our cattle there.”
Longhorn used to have a reputation as a destination for serious players who attend the Canyon Heritage Sale. The auctions here aren’t the kind with folding chairs and burnt coffee. This sale is one of Wildflower Canyon’s most anticipated events.
High-end. Legacy-level cattle only. No culls or second-rate stock here.
What will be paraded through the ring today are prime breeding bulls, foundation heifers, show steers, and even a few pairs—all with top-tier genetics, clean lines, calm eyes, and documentation thicker than most ranchers’ tax returns.
Ranchers in pressed Wranglers and branded ball caps will nod at each other across pens, and breeding bulls get evaluated like stallions.
People come here from four states over for a chance to improve their herds, or to sell to the kind of buyer whoknows a good animal when they see one, which is why the sale barn usually smells both of manureandmoney.
“Maybe someday I’ll be able to get us back to it.” There’s a touch of wistfulness and a whole lot of ambition in her voice.
I want to tell her that it may not happen.Most probably won’t!
She keeps talking about legacy, but I’ve seen ranchers lose their hats, regardless of how many of their ancestors walked the land.
I also don’t have confidence in her. She isn’t arealrancher. She hasn’t lived this life for a decade. This is hard fucking work and requires a mindset that is unique to those of us who live and breathe cattle and farm every day.
So, she managed a dainty little vineyard, that ain’t the same thing.
But I’ve already decided to help her lose this battle with as much grace as possible. Then I’ll take the ranch off her hands and make it bigger and better.
I think she’ll appreciate that.
At least I hope she will because it’s happening whether she likes it or not.
By the time we get to the venue, an open-air sale barn built up near the base of Grady Ridge, it’s early afternoon, and the sun is out, sharp and strong as it helps spring claw its way out of winter.
“The smell of livestock, hay, and kettle corn.” Aria smiles as she looks around. “It’s so familiar and yet…so foreign.”
For a woman who appears to be closed and has walls ten feet tall, she seems to blurt out some truths about how she feels to me. I wonder if it’s me that evokes this in her, or if she's like this with everyone.
Trailers, tents, and crowds welcome us.
There are tiered wooden bleachers flanking a well-swept dirt ring, with flags flying overhead and a small announcer’s booth that’s already barking out lot numbers over a crackling PA system.
The sale ring’s freshly chalked, and the handlers lead animals in one by one while spotters scan the crowd for bids.
I walk with Aria up to Duke and Elena. They’re showing three bulls and two bred heifers from Wilder Ranch—lineage going back to a National Western grand champion on one side and a proven calving-ease bull on the other.
“How you doin’, Wildflower?” I gently kiss Elena’s cheek.
Duke gives me a warning look, which I ignore. It’s a game we play. I show him how familiar I am with his wife, and he tells me to keep my hands and lips to myself.
Duke and Elena greet Aria—I can foresee these two women getting along. They’re similar in some ways and absolutely different in others.
Elena is salt of the earth and wouldn’t know a chardonnay from a sauvignon blanc. Elena is more skilled than Aria, since she’s been working on a ranch all her life.
