“These men have been up and working for hours,” Trey says. “Breakfast always starts the day, but trust me, a lot of the work is already done by then.”
“I always have a few things set out for the boys who like to eat a little something before they get started,” BethAnn says. “Pastries and cereal and such. But most of them like to start with coffee.”
I nod as if I understand. But really, my knowledge of ranch work is fairly limited. And what I do know is entirely theoretical. Learned only from the bit of research I was able to do before getting on the plane, and embarrassingly, from movies.
I finish the last few bites of my breakfast. By the time I’ve refilled my coffee once—sadly, from the carafe labeled decaf—Trey and I are the only people left in the dining room. BethAnn is cleaning up, moving with speed and efficiency. I sit down next to Trey, suddenly feeling awkward again. It’s weird to sit next to somebody at the head a big table like this when there’s no one else around. I feel too close to him. Yet my hormones are insisting I get a little closer.
Not happening.
“When you’re done with your coffee, I’ll take you on a truck tour of the ranch. If you’d like,” Trey says, leaning back in his chair.
“That would be great, thank you,” I say. Driving around with Trey will be a fantastic distraction, too. I can focus on work, instead of the sexy rancher and his too-hot brothers, one of whom doesn’t even know how complicated his life will get. Plus, the faster I build my story, the faster I can get out of here. Of course, I have to talk to Clay before I leave, tell him about my pregnancy. There is no getting around that. But the quicker I get out of here, the less I can tortue myself drooling over Clay and his brothers.
“I didn’t see Joshua here for breakfast,” I say, the words slipping out of my mouth before I can think better of saying anything.
“He isn’t much for breakfast,” BethAnn says, having heard me during her latest trip to the table to pick up forgotten dishes and napkins. I feel like I should get up and help her, but I’m not sure if she’d be insulted. I push my chair back and pause, indecision making me hesitate.
“You ready?” Trey asks, standing up, saving me from the decision.
I nod, then suck down the rest of my coffee. God, how I wish it was caffeinated. My doctor told me I could drink some caffeine, but I’m doing my best to avoid it. Of course, it’s only day one on the Hollister ranch, and I can’t rule out the possibility of needing a little pick me up later in the week. But for now, I’m being strong.
And it sucks. Big time.
I follow Trey out to his truck—an older pickup, but thankfully for my recorder’s sake, not a diesel. Unlike most of the trucks parked around the ranch.
In the daylight I can make out more detail. There are two huge outbuildings that Trey identifies as the main barn and the bunkhouse. Smaller outbuildings and even what looks like a couple cabins dot the beautiful landscape as well.
“Going to be a warm one,” Trey says, opening my truck door.
I glance at Mr. Chivalrous and decide he isn’t going for a double entendre. “I covered a conference in Vegas last year. In July. Not that warm, right?”
“No, ma’am. We’ve got nothing on Vegas up here.” He shuts the door b
ehind me.
“So tell me about all of the environmentally friendly projects you are working on here,” I say clicking on my little digital recorder once we’re buckled in.
He gives my little recorder the side eye, but he doesn’t ask me to turn it off. “There are quite a few. As I’m sure you know, given what you do for a living, it’s not enough to do one or two things. Especially not on a ranch this size.”
“I’ll bet,” I say. I don’t add that even starting with a change or two is still progress in the right direction. The Hollisters have the means to make big, meaningful changes. I’m not going to discourage that. I focused on environmental journalism for a reason. While I don’t support environmental terrorism, I do support pushing for change.
“Most of our water here comes from an artesian well, which can give the illusion of your water supply being unlimited. In reality, a ranch this size still needs to be responsible in how that water is used. A chunk of our environmental projects focuses on saving water.” He grimaces. “Unfortunately, that’s led to some disgruntled members of our community. But water issues always do in the West.”
I let the recorder do most of the work and I do little except murmur something appropriate when he pauses, and watch his lips move. The man has some beautiful lips. Full and kissable. I catch some of what he’s saying, but a lot of it--okay, most of it--slips by. My brain just isn’t as interested in water conservation efforts as it should be at the moment. But I catch enough to know what they’re doing isn’t cheap, nor is it easy.
“Our power is almost all geothermal now. We are also experimenting with solar power and wind. The idea being, not to just get entirely off the grid, but to start selling power back to the electric company.”
“Interesting,” I say. “How long of a payback period are you expecting with some of these investments?”
A small smile plays at his lips. “Joshua can give you all those numbers. He’s really the number cruncher of the family. But a financial payoff isn’t primarily what we’re going for here.”
I nod, understanding. “I guess being environmentally sound doesn’t go hand-in-hand with making the most profitable decisions.”
He chuckles. “Generally, no. But that is something we take into account, anyway. We’re hoping to set an example—show that making a profit and choosing what’s right for the environment don’t have to be mutually exclusive decisions. We’re lucky. We have the financial ability to try a lot of different things and to absorb the impact for the ones that don’t work. Or the ones that don’t work as well as we’d hoped. But what we’re trying to do is find some viable, cost-effective methods that other ranchers and farmers can use someday, too. Pave the way, I guess you could say.”
“Not having to watch the bottom line too closely has to make some of these decisions easier.” I try to be careful with my words. I don’t want to offend him. Sure, it’s a heck of a lot easier to risk money when you have billions of dollars in the bank. But, that didn’t mean there wasn’t still a risk involved.
“We’re fortunate,” he concedes, amusement still sparkling in his eyes. “But it doesn’t do us or anyone else any good if we throw money around without a thought to the consequences, or plan behind it. Some of these projects are big enough to make a total screw-up really hurt.”