“Folk?”
He shrugs, taking a bite. “Trying it out.”
I shake my head, my expression deadpan, and he laughs.
“Did you see Emerson or Taylor?” he asks hopefully. He’s a huge softie when it comes to his grandbabies.
“Abby took them to the Children’s Museum.”
“Do you think I’m still the favorite?”
I take a bite and brush a piece of shredded lettuce from my lip. “I’m sure you are, Dad.” Emerson, the younger of the two, has a different ‘favorite person’ every week. Whoever it is, she lavishes with attention.
While we eat, he shows me aerial images of Hayden Ranch. Its sheer size is almost incomprehensible. “Biggest ranch in the state,” he tells me.
I want to ask him why he’s chosen me to lead the charge on this one, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. Maybe he pities the mess I got myself into with Barrett. Or maybe he really believes in me. Either way, I don’t want to hear it.
“Let’s head to the airport,” he says when we’ve finished. He gathers the paper trash from our lunch and stuffs it into the bag. On our way out of the conference room, I glance back at him.
“Hey, Dad? You have lipstick on your teeth.”
His hand goes to his mouth before it falters and he laughs. “Damn you, Sheila.”
4
Dakota
“Hon?” my dad calls through my hotel room door. “You ready for dinner?”
I look down at myself and consider a change of clothes, but when I remember the name of the restaurant in the lobby of our hotel, I think better of it. My jeans and boots will be just fine at a place called The Corral.
After the relatively short flight to Phoenix, we had an almost two-hour drive to Sierra Grande. We didn’t stop to eat, because my dad just wanted to get here. In short, I’m starving.
I answer the door and we walk down the stairs to the lobby. The Sierra is a nice hotel, cute and very western, with mahogany wood-planked walls and large framed pictures of famous cowboys and cowgirls.
“Two for dinner, please,” my dad says to the young hostess when we enter the restaurant. She shows us to our table and leaves two leather-backed menus plus a drink menu on the table. I take a seat and look around. The restaurant has continued the western theme. The chandeliers are made of wagon wheels, and the tables are covered in red and white tablecloths. A galvanized steel tray in the center of the tables holds ketchup, mustard, and hot sauce called Kick Yo’ Ass with a donkey on the label.
Our server approaches, a smiling girl who’s probably only a few years older than the hostess. Her pink-tipped long blonde hair is gathered into a ponytail that hangs over her shoulder. She wears large turquoise earrings and the friendliest grin I’ve ever seen, and in each hand is a large glass of water with a lemon wheel perched on the rim.
“Hiya,” she warbles, the word soft and pretty like a dove’s coo. She sets down the drinks.
“Hi… Josephine.” I read the little rectangle pinned to her maroon polo and return her grin.
“Welcome to The Corral. Have you two been here before?” Her head tips to the side and she taps a teal blue fingernail against the edge of the table.
We shake our heads. She bounces her shoulders in a half-shimmy, and says, “I had a feeling you weren’t from here.”
“Colorado Springs,” I answer.
“I’ve been there, it’s beautiful. What are you doing in Sierra Grande?” She looks between me and my dad, then her eyes widen, and she adds, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” my dad assures her. “We have a meeting with a rancher.”
“Ah.” She nods knowingly. “Beau Hayden.”
It’s not a question, and I find that amusing. He must be the only rancher in this area.
“Do you know him well?” I ask, leaning forward and tucking my hands between my knees. Any inside information we can glean about the man will help us in our meeting tomorrow morning.
“Not Beau, no. I don’t know any of them well. I went to school with the youngest of the three Hayden brothers.” A look passes through her eyes, like something has brought her internal happiness down to a simmer. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out it has something to do with the youngest brother.
“Anyway, enough chatting. I’m sure you’re hungry.” Josephine takes our order and doesn’t say much when she comes back to drop off my wine and my dad’s beer.
“Thanks, Josephine,” I say as she slides the wine across the table to me.
“You can call me Jo. Everyone does.” She smiles again, but it’s not as bright as it was when she first approached our table. Before the youngest Hayden brother was brought into the conversation, however briefly. Maybe it’s my imagination running wild, but whatever happened between them, it was enough to upset her.
Dad and I spend dinner strategizing about the meeting. Beau Hayden shoots from the hip (I hope not literally, but then again Rich Calloway learned that lesson the hard way), so we know not to show up at the ranch talking about anything fluffy. He needs numbers without fuss or preamble.
When Jo clears our plates, I sneak my hands under my flowy top and unbutton the top button of my jeans. I definitely overate.
My dad asks, “Jo, can you point me to a store where I can buy a few toiletries? I forgot a couple things.”
“The Merc is just around the corner.” She thumbs behind her shoulder. When she sees our confused expressions, she adds, “It’s short for mercantile. Sorry.” She laughs. “I already forgot you’re not from here. Dessert?”
“No, thank you,” I groan, and she laughs again.
We pay the check, and I feel this weird desire to hug Jo goodbye. She is sunny and warm, and I want a little of that feeling. I don’t though, because I’m not interested in frightening her, and instead give her a look I hope conveys how much I want to hug her. Like an eye-hug. Is that a thing?
Jo waves goodbye to us and we walk back through the small lobby to the staircase. It’s wide, with an ornate wooden rail, and I’m glad we opted to take the stairs instead of use the elevator. Out of three floors, our rooms are on the second, so it’s not like I’m burning off even a bite of steak, but I feel like I am and that’s what counts.
“‘Night, Dad.” I lean in and kiss his cheek at his door.
“‘Night, Junior.”
The pang hits me the way it always does, and I hide it just like I always do.
I go to my room, take a shower, and watch Netflix on my phone until I fall asleep.
“I don’t know what I was picturing, but this wasn’t it.” My shoulder presses against the window of our rental car as I strain to take in the landscape.
The town of Sierra Grande is in a valley, and it’s flat with scrubby large bushes. I was picturing the Hayden Ranch as a cabin-type home on the same landscape, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
We drove north out of Sierra Grande and the bushes gave way to pine trees and cottonwoods. I hadn’t been expecting the vegetation, or the purple, orange, and pink wildflowers dotting the landscape.