Redneck Romeo
“So we didn’t do things your way, on your time frame, so you’re showing us how pissed off you are by leavin’ town? That’s pretty freakin’ childish, bro,” Tell said. “Plus, you are part of this ranch. It is your job to hay. Just because you ain’t happy with the work we’re doin’, or the way we’re doin’ it, don’t mean there ain’t work to be done.”
“My job, huh? When was the last time I helped either of you with chores?” Dalton asked, looking between them. “You don’t know, do you? I do. It’s been over a month. Five weeks and four days. The fact that neither of you noticed I wasn’t around at all during that time just proves you don’t need me around.”
Dumbfounded, Tell said, “Dalton, that ain’t—”
“Let me finish. Jessie helps out. Georgia helps out. Not because they have to; because they want to. That’s what both of you wanted in a wife—a partner who understands ranch life and is a daily part of it. Problem is, there’s nothin’ left for me to do.” Dalton’s jaw tightened. “I’m already known as the youngest McKay. I’m already known as the last single McKay. I sure as fuck won’t be known as the worthless McKay. Which is why I’m leavin’.”
“Tell?” Brandt prompted.
Jerked out of the memory, he opened his eyes and looked at his older brother. “Sorry. What?”
“We have to figure out a way to get Dalton to talk to us,” Brandt said softly. “It’s on us as much as it’s on him that this has gone on so long.”
“I know. Got any ideas on how to get him to open up?”
“Nope. He’s changed. So I don’t think the usual insult him until he fights back way we used to deal with him will work.”
Tell couldn’t even laugh at that. This situation with Dalton was no laughing matter.
Brandt sighed. “Dalton is right about one thing. Sitting here is a waste of time. Let’s go home.”
Rory’s office phone buzzed right before lunch. She checked the line and saw the call was coming from Director Tibke’s office. “This is Rory Wetzler.”
“Rory? Could I see you in my office, please?”
Her stomach did a slow, sick roll. She’d never been called into Director Tibke’s office before. Had she done something wrong? Was she about to get fired?
Relax. Alice in HR does the hiring and firing.
But that didn’t mean Alice couldn’t be lying in wait in Director Tibke’s office.
Answer the man. “Yes, Director Tibke. Right now?”
“Give me ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rory hung up and somehow stopped herself from hyperventilating. She focused on the projects she’d accomplished, her interpersonal relationships with other agents. She didn’t think she’d had negative evaluations, either from her boss or any of the constituents she’d helped.
They had to be letting her go.
And her ambivalent feeling about that scared her. She didn’t love this job—okay, she sort of hated it, but that didn’t change the fact she needed it.
Rory checked her appearance in the bathroom. She’d made extra effort today on the off chance she’d see Dalton. Sort of pathetic that she dolled herself for a man but not for her job.
Stop finding negativity in everything. You are a professional.
Not much of a pep talk, but she’d take it.
She paused outside of Director Tibke’s door and inhaled a deep breath before she knocked.
“Come in.”
Whew. No sign of Alice inside the room. “You asked to see me, sir?”
“Yes, I did. Thanks for making time for me. Have a seat.”
Rory wondered if the visitor’s chairs facing the desk were purposely uncomfortable so employees squirmed.
Director Tibke was in his early sixties and had been at the helm of this office since its inception in the 1990s. He’d dealt with a myriad of ecological issues that affected the Wyoming environment—coal mining, methane gas extraction, toxic waste cleanup “super sites” from WWII ammo and chemical dumps. Not to mention dealing with national wildlife endangerment groups who affected state policy as much as the Wyoming Stockgrower’s Association that strong-armed the state on Ag management policies. Rory respected Director Tibke because he’d always done what was best for the environment—no matter which group disapproved.
“Rory. Relax. You’re making me nervous in my own office.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“To put your mind at ease, I’m not about to fire you, lay you off or reprimand you.” He sighed. “But after you hear what I’ve got to say, you might wish I’d fired you.”
Startled, she said, “Excuse me?”
“I’ll get right to the point. Last year the legislature approved a measure that will allow limited private elk farms to operate in our state. It isn’t really a pilot program, but rather a test program on whether a permanent change in governing laws might be applicable. As you know, this has been a hot topic in all the affected state agencies.”
“Yes, sir. I studied both sides of the issue extensively since my master’s thesis dealt with wildlife survival rates in natural habitats versus supplemental assistance either from private citizens or government agencies.”
He nodded. “I’m aware of that, which is why you’ve been selected for this special project.”
“Really?” Jesus. Had that high-pitched squeal of glee really come from her?
“Let me explain before you get too excited. The state has already decided on the criteria and I’ll be the first to admit that criteria is very loose, which leaves us in a helluva position in choosing qualified recipients.”
“How so?”
“Basically any landowner in our district can apply.”
Rory frowned. “But since we’re in the middle of cattle country, and most ranchers are dead set against any type of elk farm abutting their grazing land, wouldn’t that mean we’ll have fewer applicants because they’ll want the test program to fail?”
“I’d thought of that angle. But the truth is they’ll probably all apply for the permit to have some measure of control about the placement of the elk farms. If they’re awarded the permit, then they can sabotage it at will and the program will be deemed a failure, thereby getting the Wyoming Stockgrowers Association exactly what they want: no change in the status quo as far as wildlife management policies.”
“The application process is that lenient?”
The director laughed. “Of course, because the state requires a nonrefundable application fee. They want the money and they don’t have to do much work beyond kicking the applications to the WNRC. We’re tasked with choosing the recipients of the temporary permits. We—meaning you. This is your project if you choose to accept it.”
“Permission to speak honestly, sir?”
“Of course.”
Rory weighed her words before she spoke. “Can I ask if you chose me to run this special project because I’m part-time and you suspect I won’t complain about the extra hours without the extra financial compensation?”
“Very astute. I’ll admit I like coming in right at my budget every year, so that would’ve been my second consideration in assigning you. But the WNRC has been allocated money specifically for this project. As special project manager, you’d be upgraded to a fulltime employee for the three-month duration. At a pay rate higher than your current pay level.”
That was very good news, but Rory focused on what he hadn’t said. “Additional income is always welcome. If my part-time status is your second consideration in assigning me, what is your first consideration?”
“You don’t have a horse in this race.” He leaned forward. “Half the people who work in this office are dependent upon ranching in some way for their livelihood. You don’t have that conflict, and more importantly, neither does anyone in your immediate family. You’ve lived here your whole life and have a better insight about which ranching families would be feeding you a line of bullshit as far as the genuineness of their application.”
Very true. During her high school years she’d earned a reputation for her environmentalist bent. It’d been exaggerated; she’d been called everything from a tree-hugger to a PETA-loving tool. All because she’d tried to raise awareness that everyone involved in agriculture had a responsibility to keep a balance between long-term and short-term land sustainability. She believed in it so strongly she’d made it the focus of her college studies.
“Rory?”
She glanced up at him. “Sorry. Just trying to process this.”
“I imagine it’s a surprise. The other reason I’m asking you to fill this position is I read your thesis. You’ve delved into environmental impact studies and shown you’re impartial. I need someone running this project who doesn’t have an axe to grind with the ranchers but won’t choose the recipient because their ideologies are the same.”
“I understand.”
“So what do you say? Are you willing to take on this project?”
Rory didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. It would be an honor.”
He thrust his hand across the desk and grinned. “This is great. You are perfect for this job. Just a quick reminder that you’re not allowed to speak specifics about this special project to anyone outside the office—without my prior approval, at least until the permit application deadline has passed. So, if you have any questions just ask, as I will be your direct supervisor.”
No more answering to Horrific Hannah? Sweet. “When do I start?”
“Monday. You’ll need a couple days to read over the information.” He hefted two six-inch binders onto his desk.
“All of that?”
He shoved the binders across the desk. “You’ve been here six months. Reading between the lines in governmental doublespeak is second nature to you now.”