Page 137 of At the Heart of It
“That’s my guess.
“God bless failed birth control,” my sister says.
“It’ll keep these guys in beet pellets and hay when they’re not earning their keep on the Christmas circuit.”
Jade snips another mud ball as Harold tosses his massive antlers in dismay. “I’m impressed we’re already booking this many weddings.”
“I am kind of impressive, aren’t I?” My cheeky quip earns me a snort from my sister and a grunt from Harold. I give him a scratch behind one enormous antler. “I think the catering thing is going to be an issue.”
“How so?”
“No one’s doing the farm-to-table thing everyone wants. Not this time of year, anyway. Options are limited for gourmet snobs.”
“It’s winter in a high-desert mountain town,” she points out. “The only thing growing right now is juniper.”
“Juniper’s good for gin.”
“What else would anyone need for a wedding?” Jade snips another mud ball and looks thoughtful. “You know, Brandon’s cousin is a Michelin-starred chef.”
“The one doing the restaurant stuff at Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort?”
I give the words the proper socialite sneer, even though we’ve mostly stopped mocking the neighbors for plunking down a rich person’s resort in the middle of freakin’ farm country. The fact that my sister is boning a member of their family might have something to do with that.
“Sean’s a great cook,” Jade says. “Maybe he has time for a side job, since they’re not opening for another couple months.”
“Huh.” I like this idea. “Plus winter’s slow for everyone,” I add. “And it could be a good way for them to get their name out there before they open.” I rub my hands down the front of my jeans, eager to see if this could pan out. “I can give him a call and see what he says.”
“Why don’t you go in person,” she says. “There’s a turkey in the barn that I promised we’d deliver today.”
“Alive or frozen?”
“Neither. It’s that stuffed turkey grandpa shot when it attacked you in the driveway, remember?”
“The highlight of my toddlerhood.” I kick at a dirt clod that looks like a misshapen penis, then feel bad when it crumbles to bits. “Why am I taking a taxidermied turkey to our new neighbors?”
“Some kind of photo shoot,” Jade says. “Bree asked to borrow the turkey and one of Dad’s old crossbows. They’re thinking about offering turkey hunting trips for rich snobs who want to pretend they’re outdoorsmen.”
“Sounds like a good way for Percival to take an arrow through the hand.”
“Percival?”
“That seems like a rich person’s name, doesn’t it?”
Jade looks thoughtful. “It’s a good name for our next reindeer calf, actually.”
I roll my eyes and turn toward the barn. “You’re weird.”
“Don’t forget the turkey,” she calls after me. “And the crossbow.”
Words I never expected someone to yell at me when I graduated with honors from the U of O marketing department.
I trudge into the barn and locate the feathery beast, shuddering at the sight of it. I haven’t seen the damn thing since third grade when I brought it to show-and-tell dressed in my mother’s favorite bra and panty set. It was the first of several occasions my parents were asked to have a talk with me about the difference between appropriate and inappropriate public behavior.
I tuck the crossbow under my arm and spend a few moments figuring out the best way to carry the damn bird. The taxidermist posed it like it’s poised to take flight, spreading its massive four-foot wingspan for full effect.
I settle for bear hugging it to my chest like the world’s most awkward infant, and I heft it into the cab of the work truck for the five-minute drive to Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort.
For years, the place was the vanity ranch of an east coast billionaire who showed up a few times a year to play cowboy. It barely registered on my radar until the guy up and died, leaving the place to his adult kids, who’ve spent the last year quietly transforming it into a country-style luxury resort.
