Page 130 of My Cowboy Trouble
"Why can't we do both?" Asher asks. "You're the one who said diversifying revenue streams was basic business strategy."
"I meant through additional services, not through comedy performances."
"Same difference."
The hammering stops, and a moment later, Trent appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag and looking like he's been wrestling with more than just cabinet hardware.
"Morning. How's the paperwork coming?"
"It's not. I'm too busy listening to your business partners describe their creative approach to customer service."
"What'd they do now?"
"Gavin promised wild mustangs, and Asher charged for valet service."
Trent looks between them with the expression of a man who's given up trying to control the chaos. "Did we make money?"
"Unfortunately, yes," I say with a scowl.
The guys are beaming. Of course.
Trent holds his hands up likeno big deal. "Then I don't care if they promised unicorns and charged for rainbow farts. As long as nobody dies and the insurance company doesn't drop us, we're good."
"See?" Gavin says. "Trent gets it."
"Trent's given up. There's a difference."
"Same result though."
I look around at the three men who've somehow turned my carefully planned business venture into a circus and realize that despite the chaos, despite the liability nightmares, despite the fact that we're apparently charging people for the privilege of being terrorized by livestock, this is working.
The ranch is profitable. The guests keep coming back and bringing friends. And somewhere between the wild mustang promises and the rooster attacks, we've created something that's uniquely ours.
Even if it's completely insane.
I'm just startingto make sense of supply orders when I hear the unmistakable sound of Clara Mae's truck rumbling up the driveway. Through the window, I can see her climbing out with a basket that probably contains enough eggs to feed our current batch of guests and half the county.
"Incoming," I call to the guys.
"Hide," Gavin suggests.
"Too late. She's already spotted me through the window."
Clara Mae appears at the office door moments later, beaming like she's personally responsible for our success. Which, considering she was the one who spread the word about our "authentic ranch experience" to half her book club, she kind of is.
"Morning, honey! Brought you some fresh eggs from my girls." She sets the basket on my desk, somehow managing not to disturb the carefully organized mess of invoices and reservation forms. "How's business?"
"Booming. Possibly too much."
"No such thing as too much success, dear. Though I heard about the incident with Sir Clucks-a-Lot and some poor man's luggage."
"It was an isolated incident."
"'Course it was. That rooster's got personality, and personality sells." She glances around the office, taking in the upgraded equipment and the whiteboard covered in guest schedules. "You've really made something special here."
"We've made something profitable. Whether it's special or just crazy remains to be seen."
"Oh, it's definitely crazy. But the best things usually are." She pats my arm with the fondness of someone who's watched the whole drama unfold from the beginning. "Your aunt Maybelle would be so proud."
