The Rancher

“Everybody’s praying for it.” He cocked his head. “I know a Cheyenne medicine man. Been friends for a couple of years. They say he can make rain.”

“Well!” She hesitated. “What does he charge?”

“He doesn’t. He says he has these abilities that God gave him, and if he ever takes money for it, he’ll lose it. Seems to believe it, and I hear he’s made rain at least twice in the area. If things go from bad to worse, maybe we should talk to him.”

She grinned. “Let’s talk to him.”

He chuckled. “I’ll give him a call later.”

Her eyebrows arched. “He has a telephone?”

“Miss Maddie,” he scoffed, “do you think Native American people still live in teepees and wear headdresses?”

She flushed. “Of course not,” she lied.

“He lives in a house just like ours, he wears jeans and T-shirts mostly and he’s got a degree in anthropology. When he’s not fossicking, they say he goes overseas with a group of mercs from Texas for top secret operations.”

She was fascinated. “Really!”

“He’s something of a local celebrity on the rez. He lives there.”

“Could you call him and ask him to come over when he has time?”

He laughed. “I’ll do that tonight.”

“Even if he can’t make rain, I’d love to meet him,” she said. “He sounds very interesting.”

“Take my word for it, he is. Doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s worth hearing. Well, I’ll get back to work.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

He smiled. “My pleasure. And don’t let that developer bully you,” he said firmly. “Maybe you need to talk to Cort’s dad and tell him what’s going on. He’s not going to like that, about the development. It’s too close to his barns. In these hard times, even the Brannts couldn’t afford to build new ones with all that high tech they use.”

“Got a point. I’ll talk to him.”

Maddie went back to the house. She put the feed basket absently on the kitchen counter, mentally reviewing all the things she had planned for the week. She missed Cort already. But at least it meant the rooster was likely to stay at home. He only went over to the Brannt ranch when Cort was in residence, to attack him.

“Better wash those eggs and put them in the refrigerator,” Great-Aunt Sadie advised. “They’re the ones for the restaurant, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Old Mr. Bailey said his customers have been raving about the taste of his egg omelets lately.” She laughed. “I’ll have to give my girls a treat for that.”

Great-Aunt Sadie was frowning. “Maddie, did you ever look up the law about selling raw products?”

Maddie shook her head. “I meant to. But I’m sure it’s not illegal to sell eggs. My mother did it for years before she died....”

“That was a long time ago, honey. Don’t you remember that raid a few years ago on those poor farmers who were selling raw milk?” She made a face. “What sort of country do we live in? Sending an armed raid team after helpless farmers for selling milk!”

Maddie felt uneasy. “I’d forgotten that.”

“I hadn’t. In my day we had homemade butter and we could drink all the raw milk we wanted—didn’t have all this fancy stuff a hundred years ago and it seems to me people were a whole lot healthier.”

“You weren’t here a hundred years ago,” Maddie pointed out with a grin. “Anyway, the government’s not going to come out here and attack me for selling a few eggs!”

She did look on the internet for the law pertaining to egg production and found that she was in compliance. In fact, there were even places in the country licensed to sell raw milk. She’d have to tell Great-Aunt Sadie about that, she mused. Apparently armed teams weren’t raiding farms out west.

* * *

Meanwhile, a day later, she did call King Brannt. She was hesitant about it. Not only was he Cort’s father, he had a reputation in the county for being one tough customer, and difficult to get along with. He had a fiery temper that he wasn’t shy about using. But the developer’s determination to get the Lane ranch could have repercussions. A lot of them.

She picked up the phone and dialed the ranch.

The housekeeper answered.

“Could I speak to King Brannt, please?” she asked. “It’s Maddie Lane.”

There was a skirl of laughter. “Yes, you’ve got a rooster named Pumpkin.”

Maddie laughed. “Is he famous?”

“He is around here,” the woman said. “Cort isn’t laughing, but the rest of us are. Imagine having a personal devil in the form of a little red rooster! We’ve been teasing Cort that he must have done something terrible that we don’t know about.”

Maddie sighed. “I’m afraid Pumpkin has it in for Cort. See, he picked him up by the feet and showed him to my girls, my hens, I mean, and hurt his pride. That was when he started looking for Cort.”

“Oh, I see. It’s vengeance.” She laughed again. “Nice talking to you, I’ll go get Mr. Brannt. Take just a minute...”

Maddie held on. Her gaze fell on one of her little fairy statues. It was delicate and beautiful; the tiny face perfect, lovely, with sculpted long blond hair, sitting on a stone with a butterfly in its hand. It was a new piece, one she’d just finished with the plastic sculpture mix that was the best on the market. Her egg money paid for the materials. She loved the little things and could never bear to sell one. But she did wonder if there was a market for such a specialized piece.

“Brannt,” a deep voice said curtly.

She almost jumped. “Mr. Brannt? It’s... I mean I’m Maddie Lane. I live on the little ranch next door to yours,” she faltered.

“Hi, Maddie,” he said, and his voice lost its curt edge and was pleasant. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got sort of a situation over here. I wanted to tell you about it.”

“What’s wrong? Can we help?”

“That’s so nice of you.” She didn’t add that she’d been told some very scary things about his temper. “It’s this developer. He’s from Las Vegas...”

“Yes. Archie Lawson. I had him investigated.”

“He’s trying to get me to sell my ranch to him. I don’t want to. This ranch has been in my family for generations. But he’s very pushy and he made some threats.”

“He’s carried them out in the past,” King said, very curtly. “But you can be sure I’m not going to let him hurt you or your cattle herd. I’ll put on extra patrols on the land boundary we share, and station men at the cabin out there. We use it for roundup, but it’s been vacant for a week or so. I’ll make sure someone’s there at all times, and we’ll hook up cameras around your cattle herd and monitor them constantly.”

“You’d do that for me?” she faltered. “Cameras. It’s so expensive.” She knew, because in desperation she’d looked at them and been shocked at the prices for even a cheap system.

“I’d do that for you,” he replied. “You have one of the finest breeding herds I know of, which is why we buy so many of your young bulls.”