Return to Oak Valley

by Shirlee Busbee

  “Not a great deal, but I seem to remember that Josh mentioned something about leasing some remote parcels to him. It was, I think, shortly before Josh…ah, died.”

  Telling herself not to read anything in Mike's hesitation, she asked, “Do you know if it was recorded, or doesn't that make any difference?”

  “It would be best if it was recorded, but I have no specific knowledge if either one of the two parties involved did so. But to answer your question, if the lease has been executed properly, recorded or not, it's valid. Of course if you sold the land, and the lease wasn't recorded, then Scott would have to hope that the new owner would honor the lease, but he wouldn't have to.”

  “So you're saying that Milo Scott has a ten-year lease on several parcels of Granger land.”

  Sawyer cleared his throat. “Well, I haven't seen the document, but based on what you're telling me, yes, it would appear that he does.”

  “Can the lease be broken?”

  He chuckled. “Shelly, you're talking to a lawyer, remember? Of course the lease can be broken, but do you really want to do that? It'll cost more in attorney's fees and court fees than it would be worth—especially if Scott wants to fight you. Why not let the lease stand?”

  “Because I think that Scott intends to grow marijuana on those parcels. And if he were caught, wouldn't the land fall under the forfeiture laws?”

  There was a pause, then he said, “Hmm. That's a possibility. Or at least it might be tied up temporarily in some sort of legal action until you were cleared of any connection to any illegal action.”

  “Sounds to me like reason enough to break the lease,” Shelly said.

  “Er, yes.”

  “Then do it,” she said grimly, and hung up the phone.

  The phone rang just as soon as she put it down. She eyed it for a moment. Probably Sawyer. Damn lawyers, always wanting the last word. Snatching up the phone, she said, “I meant what I said. Break it. I'm not going to argue with you about it either. If you won't do it, I'll get a lawyer who will.”

  “Why don't you tell me what it is I'm supposed to do first?” drawled Jeb.

  “Oh, Jeb.” Shelly said with a laugh. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Obviously. You want to tell me what's going on?”

  Succinctly she did. When she stopped speaking, Jeb murmured, “Interesting. But it doesn't prove a damn thing—nor is the lease illegal.”

  Feeling deflated, she muttered, “But if Josh tried to back out of it, doesn't it provide Scott with a motive to, uh, you know…”

  “Could. If Josh tried to back out, and we don't know that and have no way of finding out. For now, it's just…interesting.”

  Shelly snorted. Interesting, my ass, she thought, hanging up. Irritated and annoyed that her big find was turning out to be a dud as far as anyone else was concerned, she wandered into the kitchen and helped herself to another cup of coffee. Maria smiled a greeting from her position in front of the stove, and Shelly returned it before walking over to the kitchen table.

  Nick was seated at the table finishing up what had been a big plate of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, ham, and biscuits. Taking the chair across from him, Shelly eyed his rapidly emptying plate, and said, “I know we're partners, but I didn't know feeding you was part of the deal.”

  Nick grinned at her, his eyes dancing as he broke a biscuit and buttered it. “Don't worry, I won't eat up our profits. At least not much.”

  “I didn't think you'd mind,” Maria began, an anxious expression on her face.

  Shelly waved her away. “I don't. I'm just grumpy this morning and wanted someone to pick on.”

  “Why grumpy?” Nick asked with a raised brow.

  She told him about the lease, but didn't mention any bearing, or not, it might have had on Josh's death.

  “Good thing you told Sawyer to break it. Those forfeiture laws are a bitch, and innocent people sometimes get caught up in them.”

  “Yes, well, I just don't like the idea of Scott or anyone else having a say in what's done on Granger land.”

  “Spoken like a true Granger. Why I could just close my eyes,” he drawled, “and hear your dear sainted brother saying those very same words. Everyone knows that Grangers hold Granger land sacrosanct for their exclusive use. Since Josh doesn't have a grave, bet your daddy would turn over in his grave if he knew that a shirttail relation like me was leasing some of his precious dirt. For pennies on the dollar, too.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Shelly said, but she was smiling. “And don't slander my daddy—you were, what two—three when he died? You can't remember anything about him.”

  “True. But you'll have to admit it sure did sound like something one of your, our, dearly departed ancestors would have said.”

  “Probably.” Looking around, she asked, “Where's Acey? And isn't it kind of late for you to be eating breakfast?”

  Nick hooted. “Breakfast? This is my midmorning snack—I ate breakfast hours ago. As for Acey, he ran into town for some groceries. Said he'd be back shortly.”

  “If he doesn't run into some of those gossipy old men he likes to hang out with,” Maria said darkly. “If he hooks up with them, we won't see him until noon.”

  “I don't think he'll waste any time this morning,” Shelly said. “The cattle are due to arrive sometime today, and he wouldn't want to miss it.”

  As if to give credence to her words, the back door slammed and, after depositing his hat and jacket in the mud-room, Acey ambled into the kitchen. “Nasty day out there, cold, gray, some drizzle coming down,” he said as he grabbed a mug and poured coffee. “Could have wished the girls were arriving in better weather.”

  “Hey, it's only California's liquid sunshine. They'll love it,” Nick teased.

  Watching the sleek black cows some five hours later as they slipped and scrambled out of the shipping trucks, Shelly couldn't tell whether they appreciated California liquid sunshine or not. It wasn't really raining, it was more of a heavy mist, and she was grateful that it wasn't blazing hot as it could have been. She'd checked each animal off as it had left the truck, able to identify it by the numbers printed on the big yellow tag in the right ear. Her heart swelled as the corral filled with bellowing, milling cows. It didn't matter that it was gray and cold or muddy—Granger Cattle Company was in business again.

  She glanced across at Nick and knew the smile on his face matched the one on hers. Acey looked as if he'd just won a bull-riding contest, his grin stretching from ear to ear. Yep, she thought, Granger Cattle Company is back.

  The truckers were paid and sent on their way. Maria had joined them at the corral, and the four of them, oblivious to the dampness, leaned against the stout boards and stared at the constantly shifting black mass of cattle. They were a stirring sight, all gleaming, coal black hides, big brown eyes, wide nostrils, wonderful straight backs, and long loins. They were taller and longer than the old-fashioned Angus, and, having been bred to meet a changing market, they produced leaner, less fatty meat these days than a couple of decades ago.

  “They are so beautiful,” breathed Maria as she leaned on the corral, her hands clasped under her chin. “Your father would be so proud of you. He loved the cattle.”

  “How many did you say were already bred?” asked Acey.

  “Hmm, just a second, let me look,” Shelly said, leafing through the sheaf of papers she still held in her hand. “Ten—the older ones. The other twenty are open, and a few are yearlings—I'd have to check their registration papers to know for sure.”

  “Fall calves?” Nick inquired, eyeing the bigger cows.

  “The ten? Yes. I have their breeding dates here someplace, but when Samuels and I made the deal, he said they had been bred to calve in late October, early November.”

  Acey nodded. “That's when most of the local cattlemen try to have their calf crop, some as early as September. Get those calves on the ground and up before bad weather hits; they nurse on their mamas all winter and about the time the s
pring grass comes along, they're ready to chow down on something besides Mama's milk.”

  Shelly frowned. “Everything is so ugly and yellow and dusty in the fall, and there isn't hardly any grazing at all—except on the valley floor. And this year, it's been so dry no one expects there to be much grass in the hills. I know that Dad and Josh always had fall calves, but is there any problem with having some spring calves?”

  “Nope. Just have to feed 'em more and longer, which can cut into your profits. But remember we've got those subirri-gated fields on the valley floor. Unlike a lot of the others, Grangers can breed whenever they want to—you've got the land and the pasture. But since we're not raising for the slaughter market, probably doesn't make much difference whether it's spring or fall,” Acey replied.

  “So, you gonna hold over the open ones and breed in January for fall calves next year?” Nick asked, glancing at Shelly. “If that's the plan, let me tell you it's a long time to feed a cow with no return,” he said.

  “I know—before I made the deal, I factored in the cost of holding them over if I had to, against the cost of buying older heifers—it was a case of six of one, half a dozen of the other. So I compromised and bought some older heifers we can breed in June/July and then some yearlings we can breed in January. It was cheaper that way.” She hesitated, thinking of the money it would cost to hold the yearling heifers over until January. Hesitantly, she said, “I know some cattlemen breed their yearlings.”

  Acey shook his head. “Bad idea. Cow ought to be sixteen-eighteen months old at a minimum—less calving problems. By breeding young, over the life of the cow, you might get one more calf out of her, but you also might lose her and the calf first time out of the chute.”

  Shelly and Nick nodded. “Well, it's settled then,” Shelly said. “The yearlings wait until January. The others we'll be breeding to Beau in a few weeks.”

  Acey rubbed his chin. “Even with the poor grass this year, you've got enough land to feed this bunch or more for that matter without having to worry about putting up a lot of hay. You'll have a crop this fall from the ones that are already bred and come January, February, you can breed all the open ones and get ready for your spring crop. Sounds like a plan to me: fall calves and some spring ones—covers all the bases.”

  Shelly nodded slowly. “I knew I couldn't accomplish anything overnight, but it's just sort of dawned on me that it's going to take years to rebuild the Granger herds. When Dad ran the place, we had hundreds of cattle. This lot and Nick's are all we've got—and we'll be selling off a certain percentage of the crop each year, so that'll cut down on our increase.” She made a face. “And, of course, we can't count on a crop of just heifers either.”

  “Told you, it wasn't something you could just start and then drop. Takes commitment. Planning—long-range plan-ning—you've got to be thinking three, four years down the road. You'll be building up your herd one calf crop at a time. There'll be disappointments, and, if you've done your homework, there'll be successes, but it ain't something that happens overnight. It's gonna take a lot of luck and years of hard work.” Acey grinned and gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Sounds like job security to this old cowboy.”

  They all laughed.

  After seeing that the cattle had a salt lick, hay, and water, and were beginning to settle down, they walked to the house.

  “Are you going to have the ten preg tested?” Maria asked, as they reached the house.

  “Be a smart thing to do,” Nick said, holding open the back door for them. “The trip probably stressed them out, and it's not likely any of them aborted, but it'd be good to know.”

  “Smart idea,” Shelly said. “We'll give them a week or so to settle in, then we can do it.” She glanced at Acey. “Which vet would you recommend? The one here in the valley or one from Willits or Ukiah?”

  “Tracy'll do you a good job. She's mainly into horses, but Nick has used her for the past couple years”—he slanted her a sly glance—“and of course, everyone knows that Sloan thinks she's the cleverest thing since sliced bread. She does all the AI work on his fancy cutting paints.”

  “From my observation, Jeb also thinks rather well of her,” Shelly returned dryly, remembering Jeb's easy manner with the tall red-haired vet.

  “That's a fact,” Acey said. “Just about everyone likes Tracy. She's a good vet…for a woman.”

  Shelly snorted, and Maria sent him a look. He grinned. “Just kidding, ladies, just kidding. Tracy Kingsley is a great vet.”

  “She really is,” said Nick. “And while she specializes in horses and does some small animal stuff, she knows her way around a cow—or a bull for that matter.”

  “I'm sure she is particularly knowledgeable about bull,” Shelly said. “Working with Neanderthals like you, she'd have to be.”

  Acey snickered, and Nick just shrugged and smiled.

  Several days later, watching Tracy Kingsley's smooth action around a chute full of unhappy, bawling cows, Shelly had to agree that the woman did indeed know her way around cattle. So did Sloan, she thought sourly, staring as Sloan, astride a big black-and-white paint horse, urged several cows into the catch pen. He and Nick were both on horseback and while they could have done the work on foot, it was faster and safer on the back of a horse.

  Shelly had been looking forward to meeting Tracy Kingsley in person, but she had been taken aback when the vet had shown up at the barn forty-five minutes ago and she had caught sight of the big Suburban pulling up behind the vet's green pickup. Shelly noticed that behind Sloan's vehicle was a white two-horse trailer. The reason for the horse trailer became apparent when, with a polite nod in her direction, Sloan had exited the vehicle and walked around to the back and began unloading a pair of horses. The second horse, a leggy buckskin-and-white gelding, was for Nick, and her eyes narrowed when she saw the friendly way Sloan and Nick greeted each other. Well, well. Funny that Nick had never mentioned that he and Sloan were such good buddies.

  A smile on her face, her hand outstretched, Tracy had said, “Hi, I'm Tracy Kingsley, and you must be Shelly Granger.” As the two women shook hands, Tracy added, “It's nice to meet you in person. Josh spoke of you often, and I enjoyed talking to you on the phone the other day when you set up the appointment.”

  There were a few minutes of polite conversation between the group of five; Nick, Sloan, Acey, Tracy, and Shelly. Despite Sloan's disturbing presence, Shelly found herself relaxing and liking the vet—and determined to ignore Sloan.

  Garbed in worn blue jeans, a green-checked shirt, and comfortable leather boots, her red hair caught back in a ponytail, Tracy had a friendly, competent air about her. She looked to be in her mid-to-late thirties, and while she wasn't a beauty, she was very attractive with her slim build, intelligent blue eyes, and smiling mouth. When the conversation turned to the cattle, it was obvious that while horses and small animals might be her specialty, she was very knowledgeable about cattle, too. The easy give-and-take among the others also told Shelly that they were no strangers to each other.

  “You been out to the Broken Spoke lately?” Nick asked Tracy with a grin. The Broken Spoke, Shelly knew, consisted of thousands of acres of wild and rough mountainous terrain that had been owned by the Bransford family for several generations. The ranch was remote—being about twenty-five miles out on the Tilda Road—and since the Tilda Road had all the curves of a snake's back and was graveled to boot, remote meant remote.

  Tracy grimaced and shook her head. “Nooo thank you. Once was enough.”

  Sloan laughed. “Don't tell me old Bransford had you out there to actually doctor something?”

  Even Shelly remembered that the Bransfords were known for their cut-and-dried attitude toward their animals. Sick or hurt, cow, horse, or dog, except for some basic tending, it got better, died, or was shipped to slaughter. “Got no truck with this wasting time and fussing over critters crap,” old Ted Bransford had been heard to exclaim on more than one occasion. “They're animals, for Christ's sak
e!”

  Tracy grimaced at Sloan's question. “Yes, he did—seems he had this expensive cow dog he'd bought last year and he wanted me to look at it.”

  Nick snickered, and Tracy's lips quirked. “He told me that the dog had just been lying there out back doing nothing for a couple of days, not eating or drinking, and he thought as how I might take a look at it, considering how much money he had paid for it. I suggested that he bring the dog into the clinic, but he informed me that he was a busy man and didn't have the time and wasn't about to take the time. I was a mobile vet, wasn't I? He had a point, and I was concerned about the dog, so I drove out all twenty-five miles of wretched road to his place.” She shook her head disgustedly. “When I got there, the dog was dead.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” Shelly said. “Too bad he hadn't called you earlier.”

  Nick burst out laughing and Tracy muttered, “He would have had to have called me a lot earlier. The dog hadn't just died, Shelly—it had been dead for three or four days. Good thing it was cold weather, or it would've been crawling with maggots.” At Shelly's look of incredulity, Tracy nodded, and added, “Yes, I mean dead. Dead. Dead. Stiff as a board and deader than a doornail. I told him as much, and he just looked down at the dog, and said, ‘Guess that explains why he wasn't moving around much.’”

  “Are you serious?” Shelly demanded, torn between shock and amusement.

  Tracy nodded. “Yes, indeedy. A real caring, observant soul is Mr. Bransford.”

  “Just be glad there aren't too many like him around,” Sloan said.

  Tracy snorted. “Yeah, right. There's too many for my liking—believe me, I could tell you some tales that would make even your hair stand up.”

  Pulling on his mustache, Acey said, “OK, that's enough jawing. We got work to do and I'd like to get it done today, if you all don't mind. This ain't no tea party.”

  Shelly and Tracy exchanged a grin. Her bright blue eyes dancing, Tracy said, “Well, don't get your shorts in a twist, Acey. We'll get your ladies all sorted out in no time.”