Page 25 of Even After This
“Meredith.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her arm pointing. I sit up straight and follow her lead until I find the target.
“Do you have an open mind?” she asks again.
Past the spot where we pulled over, a dirt road leads to a wide metal-framed entrance. High above sits a sign.
Twelve Bluebells Ranch.
I almost snicker out loud. It’s a full working ranch. What is she thinking? I am City Girl with a capitalC.
She maneuvers the car to a narrow strip of gravel, heading to the open gate. “This property has unofficially been on the market a while.”
“What does that mean?” As I squint down the lane, a darting animal catches my eye. Was that a cat?
“Around here, the locals try to keep the land within the community family. But the current owners, the Carsons, are shaking things up a bit.”
“That’s nice.” I place my purse on the floorboard and lean toward the windshield.
The home in front of me demands my attention. The main building, so grand and inviting, is a gorgeous combination oflogs and stone. Off to the side is a more utilitarian addition made only of logs.
“It’s nice until they become stingy about buyers. This ranch is a bargaining chip between a few neighboring families. The price goes up or down depending on who is interested.” She clucks her tongue twice. “But now Twelve Bluebells is represented by a professional, and they don’t have the freedom for under-the-table talks. Because you’re an outsider, selling becomes a little more interesting. You’re either viewed as safe because you have no stake in the ongoing feuds, or you’re a threat because you’re an unknown.”
Pulling my gaze from rockers on the front porch, I turn to face Prissy. “Why would I want to be in the middle of all that tension?”
She answers me with a knowing smile. What she knows, I have no idea. But she’s the expert.
As I step out of the car, my phone alerts me to a new voicemail. I peek at the screen and find I missed two calls from Stanley. Wonder what that’s about.
Glancing up to the house, I freeze. “Prissy?” I speak out of the side of my mouth. “A cow is approaching the vehicle.” I wonder if my poorly chosen tennis shoes can outrun this heifer.
Not even glancing at the beast, she glides toward the house, dirt crunching under her designer boots. “Just ignore Isabel. She won’t hurt you.”
I believe her. Prissy would take down a massive bovine with her bare hands if it threatened a possible real estate deal.
The cow must know this.
As we tour the primary residence, there’s something intangible I’m drawn to. This doesn’t make sense. Why would I move all the way out to the countryside? What would I do with all this space?
Exposed logs and stone fill the walls of the house. Old hardwood covers the floors throughout, and the countertops switch between butcher blocks and stained concrete. The deep colors and materials give a rustic vibe, but everything is updated in modest decor.
Staring at the giant deer head mounted above the fireplace, I debate the buck’s exact level of creepiness. He continues to stare at me. “Prissy, what am I going to do with a working ranch? The last time I rode a horse was two decades ago at summer camp.”
The clack of her high-heel boots announces her approach behind me. “It’s not up to me to discern what you could do with the property.”
I twist my torso, scrunching up my nose in disapproval.
“There are several options to consider,” she says. “You could retain the hired ranch hands to run the place. They’ve worked the land for years. If that doesn’t pan out well, you can always keep the house and a few acres but sell the surrounding estate. Your neighbors would want first crack at the land, and it would be a quick sell. Little hassle.”
I suck in my lip and catch it between my teeth. “I guess you’ve given me something to think about.”
A proud smile crosses Prissy’s face but is quickly masked. However, her eyes still sparkle a bit.
Annoying. Annoying woman with her fabulous clothes and bizarre wisdom.
“Let’s go see the boardinghouse. Twelve rooms, four giant bathrooms, and a full functioning kitchen.”
I want to ask her what I need a lodge for, but I fear she’ll give me a frustratingly Zen answer. However, I think there’s value to this stranger’s perspective. Her view of me isn’t distorted by my complicated backstory, and in an odd turn of events, I trust her as more than just a fierce real estate negotiator.
