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But he’d read the contract wrong, and he’d agreed to longer terms, a greater loss of control and a smaller profit than he’d thought, and he’d reaped—no pun intended—what he’d sown for years after.
He’d been planning all that time, ready to jump into the beef industry and take control back, and in the last six years he’d done that and been successful. He’d started making up for the lost years, had made enough to send Camilla to college.
But there was more he could do, that much he knew.
She was talking about seasonality and the way to keep things rotating.
“Now,” she said, “I know you mostly do beef. Wagyu. I looked it up. Because, of course, in order to put this together I had to know as much about your operation as possible.”
He nodded. “Right.”
For all that she had done her research, she still somehow believed he lived down here. That this was the house. Of course. And she was making assumptions on his management, because if he had Wagyu, and he still wasn’t turning a very big profit...
“And you’re probably thinking, all the available fields would be best used for more grazing land.”
“I am?” he asked, keeping his tone blank.
“Yes,” she said. “Because that’s how cattle ranchers often think. But no. Not necessarily. It just depends on how quickly you want to increase the amount of cattle that you have. My money would be on diversification. Because every segment of the industry is volatile. So while you can certainly specialize, I think you might be better off growing a staple crop.”
“I’ve done that,” he said, keeping his expression flat.
Her face went red. “Oh. Right. Of course. I just...”
“You’re not looking as well researched as I was led to believe.”
“Well.” She started flipping pages madly. “Let’s get into your tax structure.”
He looked at the page, all full of tables and numbers, and he blinked hard and looked away. “Listen. You seem very smart. But smart isn’t the be-all and end-all. Not this kind of smart. Have you ever actually done work on a cattle ranch?”
“No. But I know about the particulars of running it as a business. The valuation, and the amount of work you have to go through to get different certifications, the USDA weigh stations...”
“Great. So, if you read about flying a plane, do you think you can actually get in the cockpit and pilot a plane?”
For the first time she looked a little bit uncertain.
“How about this?” she said, suddenly. “You take the binder and look it over.” She dumped it into his hands and he regarded it with as much trust as he might allocate to a live snake. “Tomorrow, I’ll come back to the ranch and I’ll put in a day’s work.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you want to see whether or not I have something to offer you, if you want me to prove myself, that’s just fine by me. I’ll come tomorrow and report for work, and you can see what you think of the information I’ve compiled into the binder. Then after that you’ll see I do have something to offer you and you’ll be more amenable to the easement.”
More amenable to the easement. She hadn’t really asked what he wanted or why at all. She was talking herself in circles like an overactive ferret chattering at her own tail.
And why not let her? She was smart, so very smart, and why not let her get hog-tied by her own brilliance?
“I start work at six o’clock sharp, Miss Sullivan.”
“I’ll be here. What sort of shoes should I wear?”
He looked back down at the cute little white sneakers and the cute little socks. “Not those.”
“Work boots. I assume,” she said.
“If you assumed, then why did you ask?”
“Because I know well enough to try and be prepared. I’m not an idiot.”
He felt strongly that this was up for debate.
