Convincing the Rancher. Claire McEwen
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“Or the son and grandson of previous mayors,” Jack added. He dug his shovel into the dusty soil. “I get that you’ve got a heavy legacy to carry around, but that doesn’t mean you have to be perfect every moment of your life. That’s impossible.”
Slaid’s laugh came out more like a humorless bark. “I’ve got a divorce to prove that I’m not perfect every moment.”
Jack grinned. “I’ve got one, too, so I guess that means we both have our flaws.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes, deepening the hole around the post. Slaid didn’t want to ask, but something inside him wouldn’t let the opportunity slide. “So since the cat’s out of the bag, what do you know about Tess?”
Jack scooped up a couple more shovelfuls before he answered, “I can understand why you had that night a couple years ago, but I hope for your sake you’re not interested in dating her.”
“I honestly don’t know what I’m interested in.” But the truth was, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she’d walked into his office.
Jack sighed. “Well, she’s pretty, obviously, and funny and smart and a great friend to my wife—loyal as anything. But you’d be half-crazy to get involved with her. She’s got a wall a mile thick between her and the world. Samantha’s known her since college and says she barely knows anything about her.”
Slaid paused. “Really? I just figured it was me she was skittish around.”
“Next time you’re with her, watch how she does it. The minute the conversation gets personal about her, she’ll ask about you. Or make a joke. Or find a new topic. Or leave. Anything but talk about herself.”
There was a clank as Jack’s shovel hit what must be a pretty big rock. Slaid dropped the ax and picked up his shovel, driving it into the hard soil with his boot, trying to get under it. “Maybe she just hasn’t met the right guy.” He got the shovel under the rock and started prying. The wooden handle snapped like a twig, sending him staggering backward, broken stub in hand.
Jack just stood there, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “Oh, man, if that’s not an omen for your future with Tess, I don’t know what is. I give you my condolences.”
Slaid picked up the broken pieces and threw them in the truck. He grabbed another shovel out of the back. “You never know. Why don’t you hold off on those condolences for a few more weeks?”
Jack had the pickax now, crouching down to loosen the soil under the rock. When he looked at Slaid, he was still grinning. “Will do. And good luck. You’ll surely need it if you’re going to try to get anywhere with Tess Cole.”
* * *
USUALLY SLAID WAS restless during meetings. He was a big, active guy and sitting around talking didn’t suit him that well. But this evening he was so tired after setting posts with Jack all day that it actually felt good to be sedentary. At least, it felt good while the city council members brainstormed fund-raising ideas for new holiday decorations. This part was easy. It was the windmill discussion, next on the agenda, that could be tricky. Looking around at the weathered faces of the older ranchers and respected Benson citizens who made up the council, Slaid realized he had no idea what they’d think of Jack’s ideas. Most of these folks were fairly traditional. But regardless of how they felt about any kind of alternative energy, the future of power had showed up uninvited at their doorstep. They would have to deal with it.
Gus Jackson, owner of the largest market in town, was chairing the meeting. “Next on the agenda is windmills,” he said. “Slaid, you want to talk about this?”
Slaid cleared his throat and jumped in. “Some of you may have heard that there’s a company looking to put a wind farm on the grazing land I lease east of town.”
About half the folks on his council nodded, while the other half looked stunned. Apparently the Benson gossip mill hadn’t had quite enough time to work its magic. “Now, I don’t know how you all feel about that, but I think we’ll have to come together and take a stand on it, one way or the other.”
“I don’t want to look at them all day, that’s for sure,” Sue Emory said, tapping her pencil anxiously. She ran Jeep tours in the summer and snowshoe hikes in winter. “And the tourists won’t like it much, either.”
“I don’t get it. A private company can just come out here and do that? How?” Gus asked.
“They can get a lease from the Bureau of Land Management, just like we do for grazing,” Jack answered. And it’s easy for them to do it, because the federal government is all about developing domestic sources of energy right now,”
“But here? It’s going to mess with this whole area,” Bob Allen said worriedly. “It’ll change everything.”
“Well, I’m new at this,” Slaid told him. “But it seems to me that if the feds are allowing fracking all over BLM land, a wind-energy project must be a no-brainer for them. It’s a lot less invasive and damaging.”
Jed Watkins leaned forward. “I just don’t get it. We’re a small town. We don’t need that much energy. Why us?”
“We’ve got the wind,” Slaid answered. “And it’s a straight shot down Highway 395 to Southern California.”
“We’re pretty sure they’ll just sell the extra power to LA,” Jack explained. “Or run it across the desert to Las Vegas or some other big city.”
The quaver in Gus’s voice betrayed his distress, “What do we do? No way can we let this happen.”
“Well, we’ve got to run a campaign.” Jack glanced around the table. “Try to get some outside support for our cause. Involve the media and environmental groups.”
“Jack thinks we’ll get a lot of public sympathy on this,” Slaid added. “Especially if we remind people of the struggles folks in this area have endured since LA got its hands on our water.”
“Sounds like a good idea overall,” Sue said.
“Well, there’s another part to this idea,” Slaid’s nervousness was gone now. So far not one person had protested, or extolled the economic benefits of windmills. “Jack and I were talking earlier.” Slaid nodded in his friend’s direction. “He had this idea about using solar energy to fight this thing. If we got solar panels installed all over town, we’d be making most of our own power. Then we can prove that we have no need for a wind farm.”
“But how will we afford all these solar panels?” Jed asked. “Those things are pricey.”
“Well, there are rebates from the federal government, and we’ll try to work with the state for a grant, too. Plus, I was thinking we could try to find a big solar installation company that might consider a group discount.”
The ideas started flying. One of the benefits of a small town was that the council knew every homeowner in it. They made a list of who would be on board, who might get on board with some convincing and the few people who probably never would. Then they made a list of people who might need a little financial assistance.
The council members got so fired up about the solar-power idea that they decided to forego the new holiday decorations this year, and instead use the income from the fund-raisers they’d just planned for “solar scholarships” to help people get their panels installed. Slaid felt a rush of pride. An issue that he’d feared might divide his town was actually going to bring its citizens closer than ever.
His worry about Tess nagged at him, though. If the town came together, they would hand her a big defeat on this thing. And even though he knew that this wasn’t her project, and it wasn’t her defeat, as the project spokesperson, this would be a blow to her career. It might even jeopardize her job.
He’d promised Jack he’d let Tess know their plans and give her a chance to come up with a counterstrategy.