by Kari August
“Ugh. Just the cheese, Dickie.”
“Fine. Ned, I already know what you want. And I see there is some bacon also.”
“I’ll take some of that, too,” Clarence added.
“Me, too,” Cody concurred.
“Me, three,” Charlie agreed.
“I’ll make a couple packages then of the boar meat.” Dickie grabbed a copper frying pan hanging from the ceiling. “Do you think we’ll be able to get some pizza for later, Cody?”
He shook his head. “Doubt it. At least not by delivery. This place is in the boonies.”
“We should all go out to eat later. We’re less than an hour from Jackson.” Charlena smiled.
“Well, what can I get for you fair ladies currently?”
“Dickie, I’ll take for my omelet any veggies you got,” Lindsey declared as she sat at the large kitchen table.
“Sounds good to me,” Bridget stated as she sat next to her.
Charlena started placing napkins, plates and utensils on the table for the women and at the island where the men had taken root. “Anything’s fine with me, Dickie. I’m not that hungry.”
Charlie watched as Mags stood next to Dickie, studying closely.
Dickie turned to her. “Find another skillet, Mags, and I’ll show you what to do.”
Mags pulled a large pot from the ceiling hanger.
Charlie chuckled as he reached for the appropriate pan. “Here, Duchess. He means this one.”
She took it from him begrudgingly. She then proceeded to awkwardly cut some of the vegetables as Dickie directed.
Ned turned to Clarence. “I was reading Wyoming law last night. If we want to try for some kind of state tax exemption, we have to turn this property into a beneficial enterprise for the public. Even then, it is up to the assessor whether he gives it to us.”
Clarence twirled a fork. “Well, cuz, wouldn’t trying to raise buffalo count?”
Ned shrugged. “I really don’t know. I guess, if we weren’t trying to sell them off for meat.”
Charlena looked horrified. “Oh, never.”
“If we couldn’t get the exemption, then perhaps we could make this into some kind of luxury resort. Those cabins where the cowboys currently reside could be decorated and refurbished by Char.” Clarence turned to her and smiled. “I mean the anglers would love it here. Also, hunters—”
“No way on the hunting,” Lindsey chimed in.
“I’d pay just to observe the beasties. That sales brochure said that grizzlies and wolves sometimes wander down here from the mountains.” Cody winked at Bridget. “We could go camping again in the backcountry.”
She smiled impishly before catching herself in front of Charlie. He decided to ignore the reference. He knew all about their “camping”—more like sex trips he surmised. That was how they had met. Well, at least his sis was married now. Charlie chose to comment, “I’d come just for a close view of buffalo.”
Mags turned around at that point and addressed him. “For your information, their correct name is bison. Buffalo only reside in Africa and Asia. Buffalo is some ignorant name Americans gave them.”
“Oh, give me a break,” Charlie scoffed. “Anyways, where would we get the buf—uh, bison? From auction?”
Mags huffed, then said in a snooty voice, “I would hope not.”
“And just why is that, Duchess?”
She put down her cutting knife and turned directly towards him again. “Because those bison at auction are not purebred. Ranchers over a hundred years ago mated bison to their cattle. Most bison in America are mixed. What you should be striving for are pure bison. Bison Bison. Genus bison. Species bison.”
He smirked at her before turning to Clarence. “So, I guess we could raise like ten thousand here—the land is so huge.”
Clarence nodded. “Yeah, it’s seventeen-thousand acres with seven deeded and the rest on long-term government lease—”
But Mags talked over Clarence and stated, “I don’t think so. That sounds foolish to me.”
“And why is that, Duchess?” Charlie couldn’t help asking.
“Because in my readings, some ranchers stated that while in your eastern United States forty cows per acre is doable, in Colorado, only about one cow per forty acres can be raised. And in Wyoming, with the even dryer conditions, you have typically only one cow per one hundred acres—at best. Of course, these were only rough guesses, but I think we should take heed.”
“No wonder the ranches are so large—”
But she wasn’t done with him. “Talking about the land size as being valuable is ignorant again of you.”
Charlie blew out a breath. “Oh, please go on, Duchess.”
“It’s the usable water on each property where the value lies. This place apparently has plenty, but there are a lot of Wyoming ranchers who are running out. Some place called Yellow . . . rock, is predicted to become like a desert because of climate change.”
“You mean Yellowstone?”
She thought a moment and finally admitted to him, “Yes.”
Clarence tried interrupting. “But the owner currently raises three thousand cattle—”
“For five months a year on thirty-five hundred acres. Probably because of the excellent water supply, but also note that he is irrigating three thousand acres for crops. I suspect it’s feed for the cattle. They must be getting winter fed also.”
Charlie wanted to take her on again. “So, we could grow more . . .” But he stopped as she started shaking her head, disgustedly at him. Oh, my God. Now what? He briefly glanced at the others. They appeared somewhat amused by the debate he seemed to be losing to this woman.
“Now that would be a shame. Why nobly try to raise purebred bison when you are going to fail the land.”
“Fail the land. What nonsense.”
She raised her noggin imperially again. “America has lost a huge amount of its original prairie to agriculture. So has much of the world. What I think should be done is contact that foundation that is trying to bring back the prairies . . . get their advice as to how to quickly convert that crop land to—”
He smirked. “A bunch of flowers.”
“Wrong again.”
Oh, damn her. Now what?
“A couple things help make a proper American prairie. Bison and fire. The bison encourage the natural grass, tending to eliminate the flowers and shrubs.”
“Well, at least we got one thing in place already. All this fencing—”
When she declared, “Wrong again,” the others snickered. She continued. “It’s inadequate for bison. It’s only four feet tall. Bison require six feet with six lines of wire—they’re quite the jumpers apparently.”
“So, we would hire the cowboys to install—”
“I think it would be naïve to assume you’re going to keep these cowboys.”
Charlie heard Clarence snort and then break out in a chuckle. “What an ass kicking you’re getting, Charlie.”
Dickie turned around from his cooking. “I told you, Ned, what I have had to deal with all my life.”
She ignored the outburst. “A lot of cowboys prefer not to work with bison. The bison are real kickers and can run faster than horses. They’re more dangerous to manage than docile cattle. Rounding them up often requires helicopters or trucks. To quote one cowboy I read about, he said, ‘he could herd bison just fine as long as he was herding them where they wanted to go.’”
“But since we wouldn’t be selling the bison for meat, we wouldn’t have to round them up.” Charlie was proud to point out and smiled at the others.
“Wrong again.”
Clarence bent over laughing. “This is great.”
“They would require annual . . . herbs or something to prevent problems, and there is this wasting condition that has to be monitored. Cattle ranchers apparently worry about something being spread from bison to cattle, but there has been only one reported incident of this thing being spread to cattle, and that was from an elk, not
bison, and the whole cattle industry did not shut down as anticipated, but only one county was scrutinized. But that does not stop badly informed cattle ranchers from gunning down any bison that wander onto their land. It’s legal to do so in Montana and Wyoming.”
The other women gasped. Charlie was skeptical. “How could they when bison are an endangered species?”
“They made a comeback. Well, at least the mixed bison.”
“So where are we supposed to get these purebred bison bison?”
“Well, there are small pockets of them around the country. But one of the largest herds is in this Yellowstone. Apparently, a group escaped the hunters long ago and continued thriving once the area was proclaimed a national park. In fact, there are too many of them there. The park service guns down a portion of them each year—it’s their little secret. I’m thinking perhaps we could request some of them for this ranch. Also, there is a national park in South Dakota called Wind Cave that has purebred bison. To start their herd, they transported bison over a hundred years ago from a New York zoo back west and also added bulls from this Yellowstone. Now they have too many also. We could inquire about getting some from them, but it appears as if we will be competing with Native American reservations who want them also.”
Ned spoke up. “Sounds as if a person-to-person meeting would be best.”
Clarence nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think just a phone call or message of inquiry will do. They should see in person we’re not kooks or weirdos, but earnestly making the request. Also, it’s always more difficult to refuse someone standing in front of you than electronically.”
Dickie glanced at Mags as he started plating the omelets. “You’re a famous negotiator. You should go meet with them.”
“Me? But, how would I even get to these places?”
Bridget glanced over at Charlie then. Oh, no. Please don’t suggest it. Please don’t suggest it. But she didn’t get his look. She smiled. “Aren’t you going to Yellowstone next, Charlie? And couldn’t you swing by this Wind Cave on your way home? You could go with Mags.”
Oh, geez. Thanks, sis. His only consolation was that he saw Mags was horrified at the idea, also.
She quickly stated, “But I’m supposed to return with Lindsey and Ned to Denver. I have business to attend to there. And you haven’t even bought this place yet—”
“I’m sold on it even if no one else were to go in with me,” Clarence announced. “But I think you are all still interested.”
Everyone nodded eagerly.
“You seem to have the firmest grasp on the situation, Mags. It would be a big help if you tried to get some bison for us.” Clarence then snatched a piece of bacon.
“Oh, I really don’t think . . . I mean I should get to Denver as soon as possible,” she repeated.
It was the most peculiar thing, but somehow the fact that Charlie would be tormenting this woman further with his company made him want to now go on this trip with her. So, he found himself replying, “I can drop you off at a South Dakota airport once we have visited Wind Cave.”
For once the Duchess was speechless—just gaping like a trout out of water.
That reminded Charlie. “I’m going fishing in that stream out back. Anyone want to come?”
“Yeah, me,” Cody replied. “Got any extra gear?”
“In my car.” Charlie walked toward the front door, but before he opened it Mags hurried after him.
“Charlie, wait.”
He turned around. “Yes?”
“If you catch a cutthroat trout, toss it back. They’re being threatened by aggressive lake trout some rangers should not have introduced years ago.”
Charlie chuckled. “Don’t pass out or anything, Duchess, but I actually already knew that.” He opened the door and walked out. What the hell was wrong with him that he was bizarrely looking forward to spending more time with this woman?
Hours later Lindsey climbed into bed next to Ned. “She’ll be fine. Look how well she has managed thus far.”
He grimaced. “They hate each other.”
“Actually, Ned, I think there were sparks of romance bouncing off of them. Bridg and Char agree. That’s why Bridg suggested the trip together. She wants to see her brother happy.”
“Are you all crazy? You at least should know better. Nothing can come of it. Mags has to eventually return to heaven.”
“You think too much, Ned. Let’s get some rest.”
“You want to sleep?”
“Not really.”
Ned grinned mischievously.
The next morning, Charlie opened the door to his car for Mags with a playful smile and stated, “Just kick aside any trash on the floor and make yourself at home.”
Even though Mags had limited experience in this century, she knew his car was a heap of rubbish, and for some reason he was taking pleasure in making her ride in it. The outside was not properly painted and as she glanced around at the interior, not only were the seats ripped at the corners, but she could not even look out behind her. “What did you do, Charlie—lick a window?”
“Oh, good guess. But actually, it was my Grandma’s dog.”
She smirked. “Too much trouble to wipe it off?”
“Yep. I would lose the memories.”
She let the strange comment pass and sat down. “Oooh. What’s that stink?”
He closed her door, then walked around the car and took the driver’s seat. He pulled down some socks hanging from a fishing pole between them and stated, “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the perfume after a while, and if not? Keep your window down.”
She gave him a disgusted glance as she watched him turn a gnawed at? knob to lower his own. He chuckled back at her.
Yes, he was doing this on purpose. He obviously could have done something about the mess in his car—she shoved a couple cans beneath the seat—last night when he had realized she would be riding in it today, but had chosen not to. Well, she could play at this game, also. She would refuse to let it bother her any longer . . . but she found herself inquiring, “Just where did you get this thing?”
“I inherited it from my grandmother. I’ve been working on it since.” He grinned. “I think you’ll appreciate the new engine I put in.”
Mags looked away from him and quickly stared out the front. Annoyingly, she found his grin attractive—and didn’t want to—and not only his smile, but the whole look of him. He was handsome, solidly built, and tall. She felt almost petite next to him. And what was worse? Instead of being repulsed by his messy clothes and unruly locks—just what had happened to him since his kempt appearance at the party? —she was drawn to him in an animalistic, reckless sort of way. This surely had never happened to her before. She liked elegance, refinement, and clever wit—like Archie Leach. Not . . . this.
Mags sat quietly for a few minutes as they bounced along the dirt road, but it was against all her training to not be more convivial. “When should we arrive at our destination?”
He glanced at her. “Less than an hour. First we’ll see about our accommodations in Jackson for the night before we enter the park.”
“Separate I assume.”
“Absolutely—I wouldn’t want to tempt you by sharing a hotel room.”
She ignored his snorted chuckle. They turned onto the main road, and she no longer concerned herself with maintaining a conversation. The scenery was enthralling again. Last night, they had driven to a tavern in a small nearby town instead of travelling to Jackson for their dinner as planned—the group had decided they wanted to experience the local ambience. The views along this route Charlie was taking now were new to her.
At one particularly dramatic place where there was a sweeping vista of the tall mountains they were approaching, she glanced at Charlie and couldn’t help smiling.
He smiled back. “You like this, Duchess?”
“Oh, yes. Don’t you, Charlie?”
“Sure do. I’m going to stop at this station up ahead. Want me to get you any snack from
inside?”
“No, thanks.”
They pulled in, and she waited in the car. Perhaps this trip would not be so abhorrent after all. Charlie could be considerate if he tried.
But a few minutes later she changed her opinion again as he sat down in the car and opened a package of what he had bought inside. He looked over. “Want some?”
She got the ghastliest whiff as he held it out. “What is that?”
“Jerky.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Dried elk meat.”
“Oh, no. I know what dried meat is like. That is not dried meat.”
He read the package. “Sure, it is, but . . . seasoned with their special spices.”
She looked away. “Please close it before I retch.”
He chuckled, started the car and drove towards the exit before they both heard a whimpering.
She turned back to him. “What was that?”
He stopped, and she glanced around.
Charlie looked out his open window. “Well, hey there, little fella.”
She leaned over Charlie to see out his side. “What is it?”
Charlie opened his door. “A puppy! I bet he’s hungry.” Charlie lifted the pooch onto his seat. The dog proceeded to lick him eagerly.
“Oh, he’s so cute!” Mags stroked the dark-colored, wiggly pup, who looked no older than a few months.
“He doesn’t have a collar, but I bet he belongs to the station owner. I should get him inside before someone runs him over.” Charlie stepped out of the car, and Mags decided to follow.
Inside the store, they approached a slovenly appearing large man behind the counter.
Charlie smiled. “I think I found your pooch. Nice dog.”
The man smirked. “Not mine and I’m not taking him.”
“What?” Mags frowned.
“Look, lady. I’m tired of taking in these strays that no-accounts leave here. I got a business to run, and it doesn’t include running a mutt motel.”
“But you can’t just leave him outside.”
He shrugged. “You take him.”
“But . . . but, I can’t.”
“Typical do-gooder. Fine for someone else to handle the dirty work.”