A Father's Stake. Mary Wilson Anne

drive, she took several shots of the stables. Then she headed down the drive to photograph the stone pillars at the entry with the ranch name. The ground was rough, and she felt it through her sandals. Next time she’d wear running shoes.

      At the road, she touched the rough letters of the sign with her fingertips. Would they keep the same name? Or would they think up one all of their own. She kind of liked that idea. A sound caught her attention, a cry, no, it wasn’t a cry. It was the soft whinny of a horse. She turned but didn’t see anything at first. Then around a curve in the road, a rider appeared on a huge, butterscotch horse. The rider, a big man with a dark Stetson on, nudged the horse into a brisk pace when he saw her.

      She thought of heading back up the driveway until she realized she knew the man. Jack. He waved to her and called out, “Good morning!”

      She watched him dismount and take the reins in one easy motion. The horse was massive, all muscles, and towered over her. Nervously, she kept her distance. “Good morning,” she said to Jack.

      He took off the Stetson, and hooked it on the saddle horn before turning to her, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re up early.”

      She raised the camera. “Taking pictures of the place.”

      “I’m actually glad to meet up like this. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

      “Please, not the land,” she thought, but just nodded. “About what?”

      “Do you ride?” he asked.

      “Some.”

      “I was wondering if anyone was going to show you around the land, the boundaries, that sort of thing?”

      She hadn’t thought about doing anything other than walking. “Not yet.”

      He shrugged, the shoulders of his white shirt straining under the action. “I understand that this is your place now, and since I’ve lived on this land all my life, I thought I could take you around and answer the questions you must have.”

      His offer made a great deal of sense. She knew she’d never see it all if she went on foot. “I don’t want to take you away from your work,” she said.

      “No problem. It’s slow for me now, so I have time on my hands.”

      “Then, I would appreciate it, but I don’t have a horse.”

      “Okay, but do you have time now to take a short hike, just enough to get your bearings?”

      “Sure, that sounds fine.”

      He looked down at her feet. “Do you have anything more substantial than sandals?”

      “Of course,” she said. “Let me go and get changed.”

      They walked together up the driveway, the horse following docilely. As Parrish came out of the stables, Grace ran up to the house. She dug out her barely used white and purple running shoes and went back outside.

      Jack had tied his horse to the stone pillar, which was apparently a hitching post, and put a bucket of water in front of the animal. Parrish was nowhere in sight. Jack looked up as she came toward him, the Stetson back in place, shadowing his face. She motioned to her shoes. “How are these?”

      He eyed them. “They’ll do.” He looked toward the house. “Let’s go ’round back and head out that way? It’s not too rough.”

      She got his meaning. “I’m used to walking,” she said, “so don’t worry about it being too rough.”

      “Good to know,” he said, but she didn’t miss his slight suggestion of a smile.

      She fell in step with him, skipping a bit to keep up as they went around the house. “Is your horse okay back there?”

      “Gizmo? Sure, he’s a patient sort,” he said, giving her a look with his dark eyes.

      Grace almost missed her step, but managed to keep up with Jack as they headed toward the massive pines. As they got closer, she noticed a worn path that cut through the stand.

      Jack motioned to it. “This way,” he said.

      She hurried after him into the dim light of the woods, the silence broken only by the muffled sound of their feet stepping on the spongy layers of fallen pine needles. The scent of earth and pine was pleasant as they made their way without speaking. Then the light began to get brighter through the lacing branches, and they headed up a rise that Jack took easily. At the highest point, she realized they’d changed direction somewhere along the line. They were facing directly west, she thought, the sun behind them, and she got a good idea of the way the mountains almost circled the lowlands.

      She motioned to the rolling brown land slightly below them, the trees much more sparse here. “What is this?”

      “A small part of the...of your ranch and some of the best grazing land this area ever saw.”

      There was no trace of anything in the brown earth an animal could graze on. “But, it’s dead.”

      He exhaled harshly. “Looks that way.” She thought for a moment the cryptic comment was all he was going to say. “This was the way my grandfather found it when he came down from the Rez to make a home here,” Jack said at last. “Dead. Nothing growing. But he worked all this land, building it from nothing, until it was able to support sheep and cattle and his family, all seven kids. He was known for his breeding stock, and this grazing land was the best in the area.”

      His eyes never met hers, but stayed on the land sprawling out ahead of them. “What happened?” she asked.