Page 11 of Cowboy in Colorado

She sighs and stares off into the distance for a while. “I mean, I guess. But I’m not sure how Will is going to feel about the idea. He’s…old school. Traditional, in the sense that you could pick him up, plop him down in the eighteen-fifties, and he’d feel right at home. Maybe more so than he does here and now.” She chews on her lower lip. “But, the town has lost some of its hustle in the past few years. For that matter, so has the ranch. Maybe some new eyes and some new business would be a good thing.”

“What is your primary product—at the Auden ranch, I mean?” I ask.

Her frown is one that indicates I’d just asked if water is wet, or if the sky is blue. “Um? Horses?”

I wave a hand. “I’m a New Yorker, born and bred. You’ll have to excuse my not knowing this, but…to whom do you sell them?”

Again, I have the basics of this information in that folder on my passenger seat, but it’s important I hear things from her perspective.

She shrugs. “All sorts of people. We breed primarily quarter horses, thoroughbreds, and paints, but our thoroughbreds are the biggest draws. The Bar-A Ranch has produced some of the highest quality racing thoroughbreds in the last hundred years. Horse racing outfits buy our stock regularly, ranches buy our stock for studs and broodmares as well as workhorses, and then there’s smaller, private buyers and breeders in the market for high-end stock…we get some buyers looking for dressage and show horses, but that’s not really our main clientele. Our paints are big in the barrel racing circuit, and we also sell a lot of mustangs to rodeos.”

I blink. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

She laughs. “You’re really, really city, aren’t you?”

I laugh, too. “The most city a person could be, as a matter of fact.”

“The point is, we breed very high-quality horses. These aren’t the kind of horses you find on internet horse-trading sites. If you know horses, and you can recognize quality, you know our horses. Will’s current project is a herd that’s mostly thoroughbred crossed with some select Percheron and Friesian—breeding for size, conformation, and temperament, destined for mounted police forces in New York, Houston, and London.”

I nod. “I see. So you don’t cater to the general public.”

She shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Hmmm. I can see why having a larger tourist influx could be worrisome, in that case.”

Theo sips her iced tea, musing as she traces patterns in the sweat on her glass. “It may be time for a change, though. Auden Town is…I don’t want to say dying, but…it could use some rejuvenation, and this could be a way of doing that. Getting Will to agree, though?” She makes a face and shakes her head. “That could be an impossible task.”

I frown. “You’ve made that point more than once already.”

She shrugs, sniffs a laugh. “Well, let’s just say he can be…opposed to change.”

“Even if it could mean making things better?”

“I think the next step would be for you to pitch your idea to Mom and Dad. If everyone else is on board, it may help convince Will. But you should be aware that even if my parents and I all think your plan is good, and that we should do it, Will is the last word, and I have serious doubts as to whether he’ll even hear you out.”

“Well, one step at a time. Let me present my idea to your parents.”

4

The meeting with the elder Audens takes place right away. I was surprised because the house seemed pretty quiet, but only a few minutes later Henry and Eileen Auden came into the kitchen. I could tell Theo was a little nervous, but she did a nice job of introducing me to her parents. Despite this, the meeting is nerve-racking.

The senior Mr. Auden, Henry, is a lean, hard-bodied, hard-eyed old man who seems to have been carved out of a column of flint. His wife, Eileen, is willowy and quiet, the kind of woman, it strikes me, who is calm and kind under most circumstances, but whom you don’t ever wish to see upset. A woman who could be the softness a man like Henry Auden needs. Together, they’re an imposing couple, sitting side by side at the counter, staring at me with scrutinizing, thoughtful eyes. Listening to my pitch with curiosity, if not interest.

I get the distinct impression that if they don’t like the idea, I won’t be having a meeting with Will, who is, apparently, the final word when it comes to the ranch. I’m not sure how that works with a patriarch like Henry, but this is not my world, after all.

When I’ve said my piece, silence reigns for several minutes. Henry and Eileen exchange a long, silent, meaningful look, and then Henry turns to me.

“We’ve done things a certain way, the same way, for nearly two centuries, Miss Bellanger.” His voice is as spare and hard as the rest of him. “Auden Town has been operated and taken care of by the Auden family since Andrew Jackson was president. It is a responsibility and privilege for this family to see to the well-being of Auden Town, and it is one that we do not take lightly at all.”

“What Dad isn’t saying,” Theo cuts in, “is that that responsibility and privilege falls, historically, upon the eldest daughter. Meaning me.”

“We pride ourselves,” Henry continues, “on the operation of Auden Town much as it has been operated since its foundation in eighteen twenty-nine, when it was just the general store, saloon, livery, and blacksmith.”

“It does have that feel,” I say. “And that’s exactly what we would hope to market and capitalize on.”

“We’re not interested in having a Starbucks or a McDonald’s,” Theo says.

“Nor am I.” I sense the resistance, and know that I have to sell it, here and now, or the deal is off before it can really start. “Please understand me, Mr. Auden, Mrs. Auden, Theo—I am in no way interested in cheapening your legacy. But there’s money to be made here, and I think that’s something we can all agree would be a good thing—provided we do it right, with a view to preserving the very legacy you’re so proud of, and rightly so.”