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Anna
Withadeepbreath,I hit the ‘send’ button. And just like that, I was no longer an employee.
Now that I had cut the final tie of my life in Chicago by sending my resignation email, I closed my laptop. Managing Harrington Ranch was a new chapter in my life, and I needed to be all in.
The transition from city life to ranch life was more jarring than I’d anticipated. The city’s sounds—honking cars, muffled conversations, distant sirens—had finally been replaced by the serenity of Marfa and the clip-clop of horse hooves. I’d also exchanged my stilettos for cowboy boots.
But the sense of urgency remained the same. I was determined to find a way to make Harrington Ranch flourish once more.
Soon enough, I dropped the rental car off in Dallas. Then I brought my truck and all my belongings in from Chicago.
Weeks seemed to blur together as I settled into the ranch life.
I did my best to uphold Grandpa’s legacy.
But it was harder than I thought. Every day seemed like a crash course in ‘Things Anna Knows Nothing About’. There were moments when I’d stand in the middle of the ranch, feeling entirely out of place and wishing for some magic handbook on ‘How to Run a Ranch’.
By the end of the day, I often stared out into the horizon. The warm colors of the setting sun washed over me, while I felt overwhelmed with all I had to do.
Beth, Ethan, and Jake—my trio of ranch workers—were amazing. Beth had her motherly attitude and encouraging spirit. Ethan came with a quiet strength. And Jake brought his much-needed youthful enthusiasm.
Each one brought their unique skill set. And they all worked their butts off.
But the truth was we were a team of rookies trying to fill very big boots. As hard as we tried, there was a gap in knowledge we couldn’t fill. And my heart ached because I could sense their frustration.
While sitting on the porch one evening, I watched Ethan struggling with a faulty irrigation system.
There and then, I remembered Max’s offer. My heart beat faster at the thought of him—his deep voice, the rough texture of his hands. As the cool breeze ruffled my hair, I recalled the glint in his eyes when he’d offered to help.
A battle waged within me.
On one side was God’s voice nudging me to accept help, reminding me of my purpose here. On the other was the temptation that threatened to consume me. The crazy, heart-racing, blush-inducing attraction I felt for Max was like adding a match to dry kindling.
I had told him no because I wasn’t sure I could handle being around him without my feelings going into overdrive. It seemed that if I accepted Max’s help, I would fall victim to the undeniable pull of attraction between us.
The nights were the hardest. Wrapped in my blanket, the cool air slipping through the window, memories of Max clouded my thoughts.
I should accept his help like God asked me to. He was the answer to my prayers. The expertise I desperately needed.
But could I trust myself around him?
I brushed away the desire to ask Max for help and focused on improving the ranch as much as I could. But then my inexperience wasn’t my only problem.
That developer, Richard Kane, couldn’t take no for an answer. He sent his letters regularly as if business was progressing between us.
Every time, I told myself, “This would be the last time. He’ll get the hint.”
Yet another cream envelope with his Houston return address arrived a few days later, making a cold feeling creep into me.
Richard’s words were always typed. Impersonal. Never friendly. Just like his relentless attempts to grab my ranch from under me.
First, he asked me to sell. When I told him no, he became more persistent. Then, he dangled the partnership carrot. The letter claimed I’d still retain ownership while we combined ranching with ‘modern development’.
His words painted rosy pictures. They weren’t the least bit tempting.
Mailing back another ‘no’, I expected a cessation. Instead, he proposed co-management. And he went on and on and on, each letter screaming desperation and greed.
My frustration grew with each new piece of mail. Anger welled up within me whenever I saw Richard’s letters. Didn’t he understand that this land was more than just property to me? It was a legacy. A piece of my family history that I was determined to preserve.
