“Part of me is, but change scares me,” Miranda said.
“Nothing in life is ever guaranteed but change, sweetheart. Believing otherwise is only fooling yourself.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I still don’t like uncertainty. I just don’t know what I should do with my life.”
Jo-Jo laid a hand on hers. “Don’t fret. You’ll figure it all out. Just give it some time. Why don’t you tell me more about this film you’re working on?”
Miranda took a savoring sip of coffee. “It started out purely by chance when my roommate Lexi told me about a wild-horse roundup. A wild-horse activist group was trying to sue over it, so the court ordered a videographer to satisfy them that the livestock company was treating the horses humanely. As soon as I took the job, I realized there was an opportunity to do so much more with it, so I decided to make a documentary.”
“And now you think it’s worth risking your job over? After working all this time to put yourself through film school?” Jo-Jo set her coffee cup down with a resonating click.
“Yeah. I do,” Miranda said. “There is so much more to this story than meets the eye. I need to do this, Jo-Jo. I could never live with myself if I didn’t see it through.”
“That’s my girl! I don’t care what you do in this world as long as you believe in yourself and what you’re doing.”
“That’s the only problem with this project,” Miranda said. “I believe in what I’m doing but not in what they are doing.”
“Why’s that?” Jo-Jo frowned. “Are they mistreating the horses?”
“No. It’s not that. The livestock company really seems to care about the safety and welfare of the animals. It’s the program itself that’s all wrong. Did you know there are over fifty thousand horses in captivity?”
“I’ve heard a bit about this lately but had no idea there were so many,” Jo-Jo said. “Matter of fact, the BLM is looking to make deals with private ranchers. I’ve heard a lot of talk about that lately at the co-op and the stockyard. There’s an outfit about fifty miles south of here that’s preparing to take on a bunch of mustangs. Some of the neighbors are really pissed off about it.”
“But why?” Miranda asked.
“A lot of ranchers fear the horses will get out and run their young calves to death. Others are worried about the impact on the elk, but I don’t see the problem as long as they all maintain their fences. Horses respect them much better than cows do. Cows push through fences all the time.”
Stirring her coffee, Miranda gazed out the bay window that overlooked the back pastures, which showed large patches of green even in late autumn. It was still her favorite place in the whole world. She wondered what it would be like to make a home here.
“Are you lonely out here by yourself?” Miranda asked.
“Sometimes,” Jo-Jo answered. “I won’t lie about that, but I still have mixed feelings about selling. Bud’s granddad first homesteaded the place. It’s been in the family for generations. I raised my children here. I always thought your father would run it one day, or even Judith and Robert, but they won’t ever move here. Judith couldn’t leave Montana fast enough. I swear she intentionally picked the nursing program that would take her the farthest from home.
“It’s been a lot of work to keep the place up. I never minded when Bud and I were in it together—the ranch was our dream. But now that I’m alone, my heart just isn’t in it anymore. It’s all just…hard work.”
For the first time, Miranda noticed the purple shadows under her grandmother’s eyes. “Have you had any offers yet?”
“Not a single one, not worth considering anyway. One of the neighboring ranches inquired about leasing some of the pastureland though. I’m still thinking about it. It seems wasteful not to be putting it to any use. More coffee?” Jo-Jo filled her cup before she could reply, adding a generous amount of real cream and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar.
“Thanks.” Miranda took a sip while endeavoring to corral her wild thoughts. Her grandmother had just given her the perfect opening. Maybe her involvement with the horses wasn’t just about making a film. Maybe she was meant to do much more.
“Jo-Jo,” she asked, “how much grazing pasture do you have here?”
“After letting all the leases go back, I still own four whole sections—prime land with creek access on two sides.”
“How many acres is that?” Miranda asked, her pulse speeding.
“A little over twenty-five hundred. That’s equivalent to four square miles, with plenty of water. Water is a priceless commodity around these parts. That’s why I’m not dropping my price.”
“What if you could put the land to good use without it being a huge burden on you? Would you consider keeping the place?”
“I couldn’t afford to keep it unless I could generate some income.”