“Maybe we ought to take this inside,” the man had suggested. Miah had suggested he was perfectly happy with his feet planted right where they were.
How many ways did you need to tell a person you weren’t interested? In the end the scout had written a number down, all discreet and conspiring, like he was letting Miah in on the deal of the century. And in truth, the number had given him pause. More than Three C was worth—acreage and infrastructure and stock included—and the guy had claimed he worked for a hospitality outfit, interested in turning it into a dude ranch. They’d way overvalued the place, for their purposes. Miah didn’t doubt that such a venture could do well, once the casino had tourists paying attention to this quietest corner of the state, but even so. The number had been ludicrous, if all they intended to do was throw up some imitation-rustic luxury cabins and hire horseback-riding instructors. Granted, eighty percent of the land in Nevada was owned by the government, but they could still find a decent chunk of property elsewhere in Brush County and build it all from scratch for a fraction of that price.
Ludicrous or not, no number scrawled on a business card could ever change Miah’s answer, nor his dad’s, nor his mom’s. He didn’t even need to consult them. The answer was no, and always would be, no matter how long they stood on the porch.
“That’s a shame, Mr. Church. A real shame,” the man had said, frustration finally cutting through his cheery magnanimity, reddening his already pink cheeks. “But you hang on to that card. How about that? Maybe run it by your folks?”
“Our answer won’t change,” Miah had assured him, but tucked the card in his pocket all the same. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to get on with.”
“Of course, of course. But you talk it over with your parents—Donald and Christine, isn’t it? And if you decide maybe you’d like to hear more, well my number’s right on the card. Morning, noon, or—”
And Miah had stepped inside and closed the door. Not aggressively, but firmly. He half wondered if the guy wouldn’t stand there talking to the wood for another twenty minutes. It was no less pointless an endeavor than trying to win any of the Churches over.
The rest of the afternoon had gone to plan, at least. He was behind and much of the day’s tasks were physical, and by six he was exhausted and ready for a beer and a chance to put his feet up, except another wrench lobbed itself into the works.
One of the younger hands, Katrina, had found him in the stables. She was crying before he could even hang the coming week’s roster on the clipboard’s peg, and tears always stopped him in his tracks. Ranch workers weren’t soft people, and this girl had never been an exception.
“I have to go away for a while,” Kat had told him. “I’m going back to Layton to stay with my parents until somebody catches whoever’s been sneaking around at night. I mean, I hope you’d still want me back, after, but I can’t stay.”
He’d had to take Kat to the bunkhouse kitchen and sit her down with a cold drink and wait for her to calm—another fifteen minutes lost—but he’d gotten to the bottom of it. She’d been stalked by an ex when she was nineteen, and the entire situation with the camera flashes freaked her out, even if everyone thought it was a burglar. Miah couldn’t fault that. He made sure it sounded unlikely that this ex could possibly be the one who’d been coming around Three C, and promised her that of course her job would be waiting for her once everything was cleared up. He’d even carried her suitcases out to her car and made sure she had cash for a coffee and gas.