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She snorted.
Then I decided to change tactics. Maybe if she understood how close Grandpa William and I were in his last days, she might reconsider.
“Anna, after you left, I spent a lot of time here with your grandpa.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Oh?”
“He took me under his wing, taught me about the cattle, the land, everything. And when he got sick, I was with him.”
I hesitated, recalling those hard days.
“His sickness was a slow-progressing kind of dementia. It started subtly, small forgetful moments, misplacing things. Then, it became more noticeable. He’d forget he had already asked the ranch hand if he fed the livestock.”
She looked away, taking a shaky breath.
I continued, my voice thickening.
“His last months weren’t easy. We had help, of course. But things were still difficult. He’d have good days where he remembered everything and then bad ones where he’d forget even his own name. But he always spoke of you, of how proud he was of his grandbaby, Anna.”
She stood abruptly, her face ashen. Her eyes glistened with tears.
“Stop.”
“I just thought you should know, and that you don’t have to do this alone.”
“Thanks for the trip down memory lane, Max. But I’ll manage,” she said in a hard voice.
I rose, heart racing. My frustration mixed with concern.
“At least consider my help, Anna. I promise I won’t let you down. I’m offering my experience and knowledge to you. I know the ins and outs of ranching and can help you navigate future challenges. We can restore parts of Harrington Ranch that have fallen into disrepair, replenish the cattle and livestock.”
Belatedly, I realized that my voice was earnest, pleading. I stopped talking.
Anna shook her head, her voice firm.
“No.”
I nodded.
“Bye, Anna.”
As I stepped outside, the cool ranch air filled my lungs. I’d expected Anna to run into my arms when I told her about Grandpa William, but she’d rejected my help. Mounting my horse, I rode back to my ranch, wondering what to do next to make her say yes to me.
As I approached, cattle mooed, and horses neighed in the distance. I guided my horse through the fields, the tall grasses swaying gently in the breeze. Easing down from my saddle, I leaned on the wooden fence.
Pete, my trusty foreman, guided a herd of cattle towards a watering hole, his face creased in concentration. Pete had a way with animals. He handled them with ease and was confident whenever he was around them. The cattle themselves were healthy and well-fed, unlike the cows at Harrington Ranch.
I looked at the other side of the pasture where our brand-new steel barn glistened in the setting sun. It housed some of the finest livestock breeds in the state.
Leaning into the fence, I reveled in the beauty of my thriving empire. The signs of a flourishing ranch were evident everywhere, in the shining modern equipment and meticulously maintained buildings. The fertile land was well cared for. The barns and fences were strong. There was a constant hum of activity as ranch hands went about their chores.
Besides my hard work and perseverance, every corner of this ranch bore testimony to the lessons I’d learned from Grandpa William. His guidance had been my roadmap. He’d shared his secrets of the soil and cattle-breeding nuances with me.
Grandpa William’s advice had served me well. With it, I’d avoided the pitfalls that many new ranch owners fell into, transforming the once dwindling enterprise into a beacon of success in the ranching community.
But as I stood there, soaking in the beauty of my accomplishments, a heavy weight settled in my chest. Grandpa William hadn’t only been generous with his knowledge. He’d also believed in me like no one else did.
