construction crews. There won’t be much peace and quiet around here.”
The projects he’d named were a sketchy outline of what he had planned. He’d be buying cattle, hiring a few ranch hands—an expense Jim had always avoided if he could—and bringing in trailers to house them, arranging for electrical hookups and digging at least one well, acquiring a truck or two and several horses, since the current barn population wasn’t good for much except pleasure riding. Figuring Jim would feel he ought to stay home and lend a hand if he knew exactly what bringing the ranch back up to speed would mean, to say nothing of fretting over the costs, Tripp wasn’t inclined to elaborate further.
“I always meant this ranch to be yours,” Jim said, very quietly. A faint flush appeared under his cheekbones. “I was never sure you’d want it, though, what with that high-falutin’ life you were living, flying jets and running with the big dogs.” He sighed. “I admit I had hopes you’d come to your senses one day. Hightail it back here, settle down with a good woman—like Hadleigh Stevens, for instance—and have a bunch of kids.” Another sigh, this one deeper than the one before. “I did expect things around here to be in better shape when I handed the place over to you, however.”
The backs of Tripp’s eyeballs burned something awful for a few moments, and his voice came out sounding croaky. As for the part about marrying Hadleigh and raising a family, well, he couldn’t even think about that just yet.“No matter where I went,” he said, “this ranch was always home, and I’m glad you trust me to keep it going. I just wish I’d come back sooner, that’s all.” The words chafed his throat raw, as if they were made of coarse-grit sandpaper. “Dad, you knew I had money. Why didn’t you tell me you needed help?”
“Because I have my pride, that’s why,” Jim almost growled. His brows were lowered and his eyes flashed. “But I’m tired, son—plumb wore out. I can’t run this ranch any longer. I don’t even want to think about keeping a few scruffy cattle alive through another hard-ass Wyoming winter, or the pump freezing up, or the furnace breaking down. Be that as it may, if you don’t want to be saddled with this sorry excuse for a spread, I’ll understand, and I won’t blame you one bit. You’re used to big cities and everything that goes with them.” He paused, and his voice softened to the point where Tripp could barely hear him. “If you’d rather be somewhere else, well, that’s fine—all I ask is that you haul off and say so straight-out. No beating around the bush. We’ll put the place on the market as it is, get the best price we can and go on from there.”
Tripp was quiet for a long time. The ranch was Jim’s; it had been in the Galloway family for over a hundred years, in fact. The old graveyard on the other side of the cottonwood grove a mile west of the house served as the final resting place for a lot of sturdy folks, most of them related to Jim by blood.
Ellie, Tripp’s mom, was buried there, too.
“I’ll maintain the place for you, Dad,” he said quietly. “You know I have the resources to do that. You don’t have to sign it over, though. It’s rightfully yours.”
“This ranch,” Jim said crisply, “has always been passed down from father to son. And you’re my son, in every way that counts. I’d like to think that someday these acres will belong to your son, and his son after him, but things have changed. I realize that. The old ways are gone for good, more’s the pity, but you can’t fault a man for hoping.”
“No,” Tripp managed to reply. “You can’t fault a man for hoping.”
“I loved your mother more than I ever thought it was possible for a man to love a woman,” Jim went on, pushing out the words as though he was determined to say them before his fierce pride stopped them altogether. “And when she came into my life, she brought a fine
The projects he’d named were a sketchy outline of what he had planned. He’d be buying cattle, hiring a few ranch hands—an expense Jim had always avoided if he could—and bringing in trailers to house them, arranging for electrical hookups and digging at least one well, acquiring a truck or two and several horses, since the current barn population wasn’t good for much except pleasure riding. Figuring Jim would feel he ought to stay home and lend a hand if he knew exactly what bringing the ranch back up to speed would mean, to say nothing of fretting over the costs, Tripp wasn’t inclined to elaborate further.
“I always meant this ranch to be yours,” Jim said, very quietly. A faint flush appeared under his cheekbones. “I was never sure you’d want it, though, what with that high-falutin’ life you were living, flying jets and running with the big dogs.” He sighed. “I admit I had hopes you’d come to your senses one day. Hightail it back here, settle down with a good woman—like Hadleigh Stevens, for instance—and have a bunch of kids.” Another sigh, this one deeper than the one before. “I did expect things around here to be in better shape when I handed the place over to you, however.”
The backs of Tripp’s eyeballs burned something awful for a few moments, and his voice came out sounding croaky. As for the part about marrying Hadleigh and raising a family, well, he couldn’t even think about that just yet.“No matter where I went,” he said, “this ranch was always home, and I’m glad you trust me to keep it going. I just wish I’d come back sooner, that’s all.” The words chafed his throat raw, as if they were made of coarse-grit sandpaper. “Dad, you knew I had money. Why didn’t you tell me you needed help?”
“Because I have my pride, that’s why,” Jim almost growled. His brows were lowered and his eyes flashed. “But I’m tired, son—plumb wore out. I can’t run this ranch any longer. I don’t even want to think about keeping a few scruffy cattle alive through another hard-ass Wyoming winter, or the pump freezing up, or the furnace breaking down. Be that as it may, if you don’t want to be saddled with this sorry excuse for a spread, I’ll understand, and I won’t blame you one bit. You’re used to big cities and everything that goes with them.” He paused, and his voice softened to the point where Tripp could barely hear him. “If you’d rather be somewhere else, well, that’s fine—all I ask is that you haul off and say so straight-out. No beating around the bush. We’ll put the place on the market as it is, get the best price we can and go on from there.”
Tripp was quiet for a long time. The ranch was Jim’s; it had been in the Galloway family for over a hundred years, in fact. The old graveyard on the other side of the cottonwood grove a mile west of the house served as the final resting place for a lot of sturdy folks, most of them related to Jim by blood.
Ellie, Tripp’s mom, was buried there, too.
“I’ll maintain the place for you, Dad,” he said quietly. “You know I have the resources to do that. You don’t have to sign it over, though. It’s rightfully yours.”
“This ranch,” Jim said crisply, “has always been passed down from father to son. And you’re my son, in every way that counts. I’d like to think that someday these acres will belong to your son, and his son after him, but things have changed. I realize that. The old ways are gone for good, more’s the pity, but you can’t fault a man for hoping.”
“No,” Tripp managed to reply. “You can’t fault a man for hoping.”
“I loved your mother more than I ever thought it was possible for a man to love a woman,” Jim went on, pushing out the words as though he was determined to say them before his fierce pride stopped them altogether. “And when she came into my life, she brought a fine
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