"The wash station," she says. "Remy's right about that. Four hours a week is conservative."
"It's on the list."
"The south cabin needs a new water heater."
I turn to a fresh page. "Tell me."
She leans forward in the chair across the desk, her elbows on her knees, her expression fully present and professional and something underneath that which is neither of those things.
She starts talking about the ranch the way she talks about it when she's not managing anything, openly, specifically, with the easy fluency of someone who knows every inch of a place.
Like she's been waiting for someone worth telling.
I write it all down.
Every word.
Weston Blackthorn shows up at noon.
I'm at the barn with Silas when his truck comes through the gate, clean as always, moving with the unhurried confidence of a man who has decided he's going to have a conversation whether or not the other party is expecting one.
He parks in his usual spot with his usual ease and climbs out with his hat on and his hands in his pockets and the expression of a man who has received a message he'd like to discuss in person.
Silas looks at the truck. Looks at me. Says nothing.
"Keep working," I tell him.
I walk across the yard to meet Weston before he gets to the barn.
We meet in the middle of the ranch yard, which is nobody's particular territory, which I suspect is why he aimed for the barn rather than the office. The barn is Laney's space, the office is mine, and the yard is neutral. Weston knows the geography of this ranch better than I'd like.
"Beckett," he says. Easy smile. Measured eyes.
"Weston." I stop at a comfortable distance. Not aggressive. Not accommodating. "I got the impression from Marcus that you had some questions about Silver Mesa."
"I heard you declined the inquiry."
"I did."
He nods slowly, looking around the property with the assessing eye he always brings here. "Place is looking good. You've put work into it."
"We have," I say. The plural is deliberate.
He catches it. His eyes come back to me. "I want you to know the inquiry was legitimate. No games. I think Silver Mesa is an exceptional property and if you ever consider a change of direction I'd want to be first in line."
"I appreciate that," I say. "It's not going to be relevant."
He looks at me for a moment. Reading something. "You're staying."
"I'm staying."
"And Laney." He says her name with the careful tone of a man who has filed a lot of information about a situation he's been observing for months. "She's part of that calculation."
I look at him directly.
"Laney Jenkins has built something at this ranch that I have enormous respect for. She runs this operation with a competence that I've never seen matched and she does it because she loves this place." I pause. "She's not a calculation.She's the reason this ranch became worth fighting for in the first place."
Weston is quiet for a moment.
