Page 68 of The Mountain Echoes
Hudson scoffs, arms folded, smug. “Yeah, and now it’s worth maybe half that. Debt’s chewing it alive, the market’s changed, and we’re bleeding cash. You think you can fix that with two ranch hands and a dream?”
“Three ranch hands,” I counter laconically. “I’m a ranch hand, too.”
“It’s still not enough, Aria.” He flings his arms up in exasperation. “Why the fuck are you so stubborn?”
Celine gives me a withering look. “Just like Papa. He should’ve sold it before he died.”
“I think I can rebuild what matters.” I rotate my neck. It was my first day working on the ranch, and I could feel every muscle in my body. “We need stability. Steady revenue from beef, apples, and hay. We’ve got water rights. We’ve got soil. We’ve got land people would kill for. I just need time.”
Hudson shakes his head. “You’re romanticizing this place. The math doesn’t lie. Sell now, and we split a decent payout. Hold on, and we both drown.”
My jaw tightens for an instant, and I force myself to relax. I won’t give these two the satisfaction of seeing me lose my temper. They’ll see it as a weakness, just like Papa did.
“I’m sure that if I fail, Maverick will be happy to buy the place.”
“Then why waste time?” Celine cries out.
“I saidifI fail, notwhen,” I murmur.
“Buy us out,” Hudson challenges. “You want to play rancher, fine. Buy us out.”
“I don’t have to,” I remind him. “The will is pretty clear. Consent is only needed from both of us to sell, not to keep the ranch operational.”
“Aria, we need the money sooner than later,” Hudson mellows, as if he’s talking to someone who’s having trouble grasping the basics.
I arch an eyebrow, my glare dripping with disdain. “Owe the wrong people money?”
Hudson shoots me a venomous stare.
“Isn’t that why we’re in this shithole to start with ‘cause Papa had to pay your bills so the men you owed money to wouldn’t break your kneecaps?”
“Leave the past where it belongs,” Hudson threatens, his eyes red-rimmed, more with anger, right now, than alcohol.
I rise and look down at them both. They’re sitting on a fucking white leather couch. This is a ranch, and we have dainty Goddamn furniture everywhere. When I have money, I’m going to go back to making this place functional.
“This isn’t just land. This is my legacy. This is generations. I won’t cash it out for a quick check, and if that means your kneecaps, Hudson, then so be it.”
I could hear them shouting at one another all the way from my room. I meant it when I said I didn’t care what happened to Hudson.
It looks like he didn’t learn his lesson after Papa all but stripped the ranch for him.
“Morning, boss,” Tomas calls from the chute, already elbow-deep in iodine and patience.
A young Hereford calf bawls, flanks trembling, head caught in the head gate as Earl prepares the vaccine.
“You beat me to it.” I slide on my work gloves.
“You’re late,” Earl grunts without looking up, and it’s not an accusation—it’s a welcome.
“Only by five minutes.” I had a crappy night.
“In ranch time, that’s fifteen,” he mutters. “Grab the clipboard, would ya?”
Damn! When I can afford it, we’re going to start doing this online and not on freaking paper. But I know that Earl would rather dance naked on an anthill than use technology, so maybe I’ll have to get used to the impractical clipboard.
The offensive object is hanging on a bent nail by the squeeze chute, covered in Earl’s almost legible scrawl.
I scan it.
