black hair had long since turned silver.
“I agree, it’s a problem,” he said.
“And it’s about to get worse.”
She thought she’d seen and done it all, but this latest onslaught of ranch companies and overgrazed ranges was something new. Three and four times the number of cattle than an acre could sustain had flooded the area in recent months. So far there had been no problems because of the record amount of rain in the past year, but sure as the day was long, another drought was around the corner. Less rain meant less vegetation, resulting in thinner cattle and lower market prices.
She narrowed her eyes. “If Mr. Hamshank has his way, the landwon’t be good for anything.” For two cents she would gladly tell the man what he could do with his cattle company.
“I believe his name is Mr. Hampshire,” Robert said.
“Hamshank, Hampshire, what difference does it make? The man’s an idiot.” Eleanor tried not to let her anger get the best of her, but how could she not?
It wasn’t just a ranch, it was her life—had been for more than forty years ever since her family’s wagon broke down on this very spot on the way to the California gold mines.
“Did I ever tell you about the Englishman?” she asked.
“The one your mother nursed back to health and who returned the favor with a heifer?”
She nodded. Her mother had considered that young cow her last chance to save her family from poverty’s door. From those humble beginnings grew one of the largest and most successful cattle ranches in all of Arizona Territory.
“That same Englishman also gave us a book of Shakespeare. I never met an Englishman who didn’t carry the bard with him, did you?”
Robert shrugged. “What a pity your mother didn’t start a library rather than a cattle ranch. It would have saved you a lot of heartache.”
She laughed. Only Robert would think books preferable to cattle. She grew serious again. “Something has to be done to stop Hampshire,” she said. The question was what?
“You can’t stop progress, Eleanor.”
“Progress? You call this progress? The railroad was progress.” Before the rails arrived, she had been forced to drive her cattle all the way to Kansas. “The telegram was progress. This . . . this is madness.”
“I told you what I think, Eleanor. I think you should sell.”
“You know I can’t do that, Robert.” If only her daughter had lived. It had been more than thirty years since little Rebecca died at the age of five, but the least memory of her still hurt. If anything, it hurt even more with each passing year. Not only had she buried a daughter but very possibly the future of her ranch and certainly her family’s legacy.
“I could get you a fair price. That is, if we act now,” Robert said. “I know someone who might be interested in the ranch house.”
“And for good reason,” she snapped. The ranch house was fairly new, built after the, ’87 earthquake and subsequent fire destroyed the old ranch house and most of the outbuildings.
“We can subdivide the rest of the land,” he added.
“I’m not selling and I’m certainly not dividing the land.”
Robert was too much of a gentleman to show impatience or exasperation, but she sensed his disapproval. “You said it yourself,” he reminded her. “Something must be done. I’m offering you the most practical solutions.”
“You’re offering no solutions at all.” What she needed was fresh blood and new ideas to meet the challenges the ranch now faced. She had good men working for her, but day-to-day chores consumed their time and energy. What she lacked was someone with vision and foresight, someone who could help her take the ranch into the twentieth century. So far none of the women who’d answered her advertisement had worked out and it was too soon to know if Molly would.
“So what do you plan to do?” he asked.
“Fight them,” she said. “I asked my lawyer to arrange a meeting with Mr. Hampshire. I hope
“I agree, it’s a problem,” he said.
“And it’s about to get worse.”
She thought she’d seen and done it all, but this latest onslaught of ranch companies and overgrazed ranges was something new. Three and four times the number of cattle than an acre could sustain had flooded the area in recent months. So far there had been no problems because of the record amount of rain in the past year, but sure as the day was long, another drought was around the corner. Less rain meant less vegetation, resulting in thinner cattle and lower market prices.
She narrowed her eyes. “If Mr. Hamshank has his way, the landwon’t be good for anything.” For two cents she would gladly tell the man what he could do with his cattle company.
“I believe his name is Mr. Hampshire,” Robert said.
“Hamshank, Hampshire, what difference does it make? The man’s an idiot.” Eleanor tried not to let her anger get the best of her, but how could she not?
It wasn’t just a ranch, it was her life—had been for more than forty years ever since her family’s wagon broke down on this very spot on the way to the California gold mines.
“Did I ever tell you about the Englishman?” she asked.
“The one your mother nursed back to health and who returned the favor with a heifer?”
She nodded. Her mother had considered that young cow her last chance to save her family from poverty’s door. From those humble beginnings grew one of the largest and most successful cattle ranches in all of Arizona Territory.
“That same Englishman also gave us a book of Shakespeare. I never met an Englishman who didn’t carry the bard with him, did you?”
Robert shrugged. “What a pity your mother didn’t start a library rather than a cattle ranch. It would have saved you a lot of heartache.”
She laughed. Only Robert would think books preferable to cattle. She grew serious again. “Something has to be done to stop Hampshire,” she said. The question was what?
“You can’t stop progress, Eleanor.”
“Progress? You call this progress? The railroad was progress.” Before the rails arrived, she had been forced to drive her cattle all the way to Kansas. “The telegram was progress. This . . . this is madness.”
“I told you what I think, Eleanor. I think you should sell.”
“You know I can’t do that, Robert.” If only her daughter had lived. It had been more than thirty years since little Rebecca died at the age of five, but the least memory of her still hurt. If anything, it hurt even more with each passing year. Not only had she buried a daughter but very possibly the future of her ranch and certainly her family’s legacy.
“I could get you a fair price. That is, if we act now,” Robert said. “I know someone who might be interested in the ranch house.”
“And for good reason,” she snapped. The ranch house was fairly new, built after the, ’87 earthquake and subsequent fire destroyed the old ranch house and most of the outbuildings.
“We can subdivide the rest of the land,” he added.
“I’m not selling and I’m certainly not dividing the land.”
Robert was too much of a gentleman to show impatience or exasperation, but she sensed his disapproval. “You said it yourself,” he reminded her. “Something must be done. I’m offering you the most practical solutions.”
“You’re offering no solutions at all.” What she needed was fresh blood and new ideas to meet the challenges the ranch now faced. She had good men working for her, but day-to-day chores consumed their time and energy. What she lacked was someone with vision and foresight, someone who could help her take the ranch into the twentieth century. So far none of the women who’d answered her advertisement had worked out and it was too soon to know if Molly would.
“So what do you plan to do?” he asked.
“Fight them,” she said. “I asked my lawyer to arrange a meeting with Mr. Hampshire. I hope
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