Page 5 of Unyielding
Ruth frowned. “The first fellow I had out here tried, but he was as nervous as a fly in a glue pot. Poor kid was terrified of the old ranchers. They could smell it on him, and boy, did they have fun. One time, I sent him out to Walter Briggs’s place. To this day, I have no idea what happened—he clammed up any time I asked—but when that boy came back, he stunk like a sewer. And that young lady I mentioned, well, she did okay with folks, but the girl was raised on concrete. Doesn’t matter how much you know about animals if you don’t understand our way of life. I’m sure she’d do well in a practice in Denver or Colorado Springs, but out in the country? No. At least, not here.”
I sat up straighter. “Well, I’m not scared of any of the ranchers around here. And I’ve got Poplar Springs running through my veins. I guess that puts me ahead of them already.”
Ruth hopped up to pour the coffee. “Sure, you’d think that…”
My stomach sank. “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
She bit back a smile as she placed a mug in front of me. “But your family is… how should I say it? Well, y’all are ranch adjacent. Frankly, you’re town adjacent too. You’rewithus but you’re notofus.”
I ran my thumb along the mug as I considered what she was implying. My parents were well known in Poplar Springs for being arty eccentrics, people who lived at the periphery of the meat and potatoes ranching world and never quite integrated themselves into the community. My father, Bill, often took off for weeks at a time to attend painting retreats on the East Coast, and my potter mother, Linda, never joined any of the wives’ groups in town, preferring to lock herself away in her work shedalone. Nothing else mattered to them but connecting with their muses, to the detriment of their connection to their neighbors. My sister, Dahlia, had inherited the same “isolated artist” gene, but to a lesser degree since she’d channeled her artistic passions into a steady job teaching art at Poplar Springs’s elementary school. To the outside world, the Morris family was a group of artistic misfits with no real ties to the town, despite the fact that we’d lived here for decades.
“How long has it been since you visited with Bob Lumley?” Ruth asked me.
I frowned as I thought about the town’s mayor, a wise elder that everyone respected. Much like Ruth, Bob was a fixture in town going back decades. I’d heard through Josh that the older man seemed to be dealing with some health issues, but whenever anyone questioned him, he’d declare that he was “healthy as a horse” and that no one needed to worry about him.
“Can’t remember the last time. But I just got back, Ruth. Folks have to know that.”
“Sure they do. But you know there’s a hierarchy around here, and it would do you well to acknowledge it. Starts with Bob Lumley, trickles down to the other Bobs—McCall and Jackson—then spreads out to the Cattlemen’s Association folks, and then down to everyone else. And if you want to get in good with Poplar Springs folks you’ve got to… what do they say?” She closed her eyes and moved her lips silently for a moment, then held up a finger in triumph. “‘Kiss the ring.’”
I sighed. “That’s a lot of politics. I’m here to work, not run for office.”
“No sir, there’s a lot more to it than just the physical work,” Ruth said sharply, causing Ford to glance up at her. “If you want to replace me, then you’re here to be the center of the wagon wheel. Everything in this town pivots around the vets—both my practice and Lett’s—and if you want to have any chance of succeeding here, you have to feel that in your bones. Sick animals impact bottom lines, it’s as simple as that.”
I thought back to the time when Shannon’s mom was dealing with strangles among her horses, and how it threw off the breeding schedule for weeks. As soon as they discovered it, they’d gotten the horses separated and Ruth had practically set up camp at Lost Valley to get her through the worst of it. A couple of the older mares had developed internal abscesses and Ruth had worked tirelessly to get them drained and keep the infection from getting worse.
“You’re right, I’m sorry for saying that.”
“Don’t be sorry, be better,” she quipped, softening her words with a quick pat on my arm. “I’m pulling for you, Declan, but I’m not about to hand you the reins just because I like you. There’s a lot resting on my practice, and I need to make sure my replacement understands that it’s more than just a job. This is alifestyle.”
I met her eyes with a determined stare. “I understand. And I’m going to spend the next two months proving to you that I’m worthy.”
Ruth gave me a curt nod, hiding a smile. “I expect nothing less.”
THREE
SHANNON
“Can I have your attention?”
The buzz of the crowd continued where we were tightly packed inside the town hall. After the community center burned down, there’d been some attempts at fundraisers to pay for the rebuild, but they’d all been pitifully small considering how much money was needed. While I hadn’t attended the carnival, we’d all gone to movie night since Eli had used it as an opportunity to apologize to my sister and declare his love for her. It’d been amazingly sweet. As happy as I was for my sister, I was also a bit jealous. Who knew Eli Carter could be so damn romantic?
“Folks?” Sheriff Brian Thorne was standing at the podium. Despite his polite attempts to bring the room to order, the attendees were slow to quiet down. I kept turning this way and that, looking to see who was here. A quiet whistle got my attention and I saw my brother and Zoe making their way down the row to take the seats I’d barely managed to save for them.
“Sorry we’re late. Anything happen yet?” Josh asked.
“No. Brian’s been trying to get everyone to shut up and— Oh, here comes Amy,” I said. Amy Thorne was the mayor’s assistant. Given the number of sick days Bob Lumley had taken recently, it seemed like she was taking a larger role in the mayor’s office. As far as I knew, no one had outright confronted him about what was wrong, but the older statesman had lost a lot of weight and he’d started turning a lot of his duties over to Amy. Not that the mayor or our small city council had much in the way of official duties. Those positions often felt more like a formality than anything else.
“Plug your ears,” Josh said. Before I could comply, an ear-splitting whistle sounded through the microphone. I looked up to see Brian grinning at Amy, who was taking her fingers out of her mouth. My brother rubbed his ears. “One of these days, she’s going to blow out someone’s eardrum.”
“Great. Now that we have your attention. If you folks would please find seats or stand along the walls so we can keep the center aisle clear, and we’ll get this meeting started,” Brian announced before adjusting the microphone height for Amy.
“Where’s the mayor?” someone called out.
“Yeah, where’s Bob Lumley?”
A few other questions were tossed out. Our sheriff held up his hand for quiet. Once everyone settled, Amy set her tablet down on the podium and tapped the mic.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming out here tonight. The meeting is being recorded and we’ll have a link up on the town website for anyone who couldn’t make it. As to Mayor Lumley, unfortunately, he had an emergency that he needed to attendto,” she said by way of apology, then waited while the grumbles died down.
