Calder.”
“Really, though, wouldn’t you be exchanging emails with Audie and her teacher?”
“Through Brooke. I tell you, Gran, that woman is up to no good.”
She pointed to the frowning Gunner in Audie’s drawing. “That’s just your grumpy side talking. She seemed very nice to me. Sweet, even. I give a lot of credit to a young widow like her making her way in the world.”
Gran’s talent for getting everyone’s life story out of them in twenty minutes or less could be a real annoyance. “Gran...”
“You should help her. You should let those children come see how the ranch works. I’ve heard you go on and on about conservation and preservation. Well, here’s a chance to share those ideas with the next generation. Show these young’uns why they need to care about bison and land and ranches. Show them firsthand, not on that silly Yube-Tube.”
“YouTube, Gran. And as for conservation and preservation, have you forgotten Brooke works for DelTex? The Ramble Acres company that wants to shave off the back of our property so they can build a shopping mall?”
“Since when can’t you be nice to people you disagree with? It’s what’s wrong with the world, I tell you. That woman has to make a living somewhere—it’s not her fault, nor is it Audie’s, that her employer happens to be DelTex.”
His grandmother’s face took on the legendary Buckton stubbornness, a narrow-eyed I will not back down set of features Gunner knew spelled his surrender.
“You’d better bake a lot of cookies.”
She smiled. “Actually, I was thinking brownies. And ice cream. A regular ice-cream social out on the lawn.”
Two dozen sticky, squirmy, sugared-up third graders tearing up his front lawn. The thought was enough to make him want to move to the city and take up accounting. Blue Thorn was taking a lot more than he was prepared to give these days.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Gran’s hand came up to cover his. “Your father would be proud of what you’ve done. Of what you’re doing.”
That struck a raw nerve. Gunner and his father hadn’t seen eye to eye on anything in the years before his death. Not that Gunner had been around much to test that. He’d put Blue Thorn in his rearview mirror shortly after college, sick of Dad looking down his nose at the wild life Gunner loved. Dad’s expectations had smothered Gunner, and even Gran’s compassionate spirit hadn’t been enough to keep him on the ranch. With his mom gone when he was seventeen, Gunner saw no point in staying where he wasn’t understood. One by one his siblings had followed suit, heading off the ranch and out from underneath Gunner Senior’s judgmental glare until the old man had died years later practically alone and nearly bankrupt.
Gran had written Gunner then, pleading for him to return to the ranch and save Blue Thorn. He’d come for Gran. Gunner had come to prove Dad wrong about the kind of man he was, and to overhaul Blue Thorn with his own stamp. He wasn’t sure Dad would ever be proud of what he was doing here, but the sentiment raised an unwanted lump in Gunner’s throat anyway.
“Click on that green arrow there,” he said, not looking her in the eye. “That’s how you forward an email. I’ll invite them to come out, and you can stuff them full of whatever goodies you want.”
He felt, rather than saw, her smile. “You’ll have such fun, you wait and see.”
There’s where you’re wrong, he thought to himself, regretting the whole thing already.
Brooke scanned the rolling pastures of Blue Thorn Ranch as she drove down the road leading to Ramble Acres for another meeting Thursday. She’d never paid much attention to the landscape before in her frequent trips out to the development. Now she found herself watching the land roll by, looking for signs of the bison herd.
And, if she was honest with herself, she was watching for Gunner Buckton. After his email the other day, she had nearly picked up the phone twice to talk to him. She knew better than to judge someone by their emails, but even someone who wasn’t a specialist in communications could see the man was a mix of annoyed, cornered and reluctant. But he was at least trying to be cordial—even though it seemed to physically pain him. At least it was a start. Perhaps she could really be the key to paving a useful resolution to the tensions between the Bucktons and DelTex. If she could foster some understanding that would make Gunner feel less under attack, as well as be a face of compassion for DelTex, then everyone would win. Including her—for Mr. Markham had gone out of his way to say that a victory here would boost her career.
They were crafting a relationship with the Bucktons, she and Audie—that much wasn’t manufactured. Brooke genuinely liked the Bucktons, especially Adele. She enjoyed Audie’s enthusiasm, how she’d come up with the idea for a thank-you drawing and how Audie talked to anyone who would listen about “Daisy the mama bison and how my mom got me to meet her.”
The honest truth was that she owed Gunner Buckton a personal thank-you, and it was a plus for everyone if that thank-you was delivered face-to-face.
On that impulse, Brooke pulled into the ranch gate and pressed the intercom button. She wasn’t meeting anyone at the Ramble Acres site—just taking photographs and picking up some preliminary floorpans—so this was an easy detour. Besides, hadn’t Mr. Markham told her to use any time and resources she needed to foster the relationship? A kindly thank-you would be a wise investment of half an hour, if that.
To Brooke’s surprise, Adele’s voice came over the intercom.
“It’s Brooke Calder, Mrs. Buckton. Audie’s mom from the other day?”
“Of course I know who you are, honey. Are you at the gate?”
“I wanted to come say thanks in person, if that’s okay.” Was this an imposition? Pushy? It wasn’t like Brooke to second-guess herself in situations like this.
Her fears proved unfounded. “How nice of you” came Mrs. Buckton’s pleased reply. “I’d love to have a visit. Do you remember how to come up to the main house?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, then. I’ll buzz you in. Come on up.”
Brooke felt as if she ought to ask, “Is Gunner home?”
“He’s out in the pens this morning helping with vaccines. And don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”
Brooke indulged in a chuckle as the long metal gate rolled on its gears and drove her car down the curving lane. Today the pastures were mostly empty, but far off to her left, Brooke could see groups of bison moving about. Under a clear blue sky and among the bright green spring grass, the animals looked right out of a Western landscape painting. They drew her eye in a way cattle herds had never done—it must have been the size of them, the slow way they moved. Majestic seemed a grandiose word, but it was the one that came to mind. At least they looked that way from a distance. Stubborn had been her first impression of Daisy, and for good reason.
She drove past the barns and pens, wondering if Gunner was looking up to mutter something inhospitable as he saw her little car drive by. “I’m being nice, I’m capitalizing on a prime opportunity and I’m keeping the lines of communication open,” she reminded herself as she parked on the gravel circle in front of the house’s wide porch.
Adele pushed open the front door and gave a big wave. She seemed genuinely happy to see Brooke. Maybe Mrs. Buckton didn’t get many visitors anymore and was glad for the company. It would be hard for such a people person as Adele Buckton to be isolated all the way out here. Brooke’s public-relations side even mused that Adele might be a perfect future resident for Ramble Acres, where she’d have friends and shopping and things to do right outside her door but would still be close to the ranch.
“I’m tickled you decided to stop by!”