Page 70 of The Mountain Echoes

Earl returns, holding a cooler and two brown bags in his massive hands. “Vera packed too much again.”

“It’s never too much.” Tomas pats his belly. “I’m a growin’ boy.”

“Good,” I say. “I could eat a barn door.”

We sit in the grass and pass around sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, thick with roast beef and horseradish.

There’s a jar of pickled okra, a bag of kettle chips, and three Mason jars of sweet tea so cold the glass sweats.

“I don’t know how she does it,” Tomas mumbles around a bite. “This tastes like heaven.”

Earl shrugs. “Some women are born with it. Vera is. Nadine…is not .”

The cattle mill in the nearby pen, swishing tails and huffing, calmer now after the morning’s chaos.

Lunch is satisfying ‘cause it comes from working your body hard and knowing it counted.

After I finish eating, I lean back, hands locked behind my head, and my hat on my chest.

A hawk circles overhead, silhouetted against the bright sky.

For a moment, the ache in my shoulders and the dust in my eyes fade.

I know with absolutely clarity that this is where I’m supposed to be.

Not Napa. Not California’s glossy wine world with its curated gardens and seven-figure vineyards.

Here. With dirt under my nails and calluses on my hands. Watching the land breathe. Listening to the creak of leather and the lowing of cows.

This place is home.

“You think we’ll be ready in time for the auction?” Tomas asks as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve after finishing his iced tea.

“We have to be.” I straighten, let my hat fall onto my lap. “If we don’t take a clean group to Gunnison, wewon’t make enough to buy more feed, let alone cover the note.”

Earl grunts in agreement. “Got three dozen head that’ll bring a decent price if we keep ‘em healthy and bulked.”

“And the other forty?” I ask.

Earl shrugs. “They’re behind—still need time. We might hold those back for the fall sale or keep ’em as replacement stock. Maybe cut back on selling our own hay and use it to bump their ration quality.”

“Good idea.” I nod. “I’ll run the numbers. Maverick’s second-cut alfalfa is higher in protein. If I can get him to cut me a deal, we might finish ’em out just in time.”

Earl chews thoughtfully. “He’s a shark, that one.”

“I know,” I agree. “I can handle him.”

“No doubt about that.” Earl cackles.

Tomas watches me, then says quietly, “You’re not like I thought you’d be.”

“Why?”

“You…ah…you wear perfume but you’re not prissy.” He flushes at the words that just came out of his mouth. “I…I didn’t mean?—”

I laugh. “It’s fine, Tomas.”

“And”—he grins now—“you get shit done.”