A moment of quiet. “Dalton. When did you do all that?” Brandt asked.
“Four years ago,” Gavin answered. “At the time Dalton was confident with the addition of Georgia and Jessie into the McKay workforce all the brush could be cleared and improvements made within six months.”
“Why didn’t we know any of this?” Ben asked.
“Because the contract was between me and Dalton, since technically he was the sole owner of the chunk of land that bordered mine.”
“Is that why you asked me if we had any plans for it?” Quinn asked.
“Yes. And you told me neither you nor Ben had the time nor the inclination to do what needed to be done to make that piece of land useable for your operation.” Gavin rubbed the skin between his eyes. “When a full year rolled around and no improvements had been made because Dalton couldn’t do it by himself and didn’t have the help he’d counted on, he approached me, requesting that we void the contract. He didn’t want me to be beholden to it and lose out on an opportunity to lease the land to someone else in case it came up.
“I’m sorry, that is not the action of a selfish man. Or a childish man. Or a vindictive man. Or a goddamned troublemaker. I don’t know who tossed out that accusation because that’s one thing Dalton isn’t. Maybe he was wild as a kid—I can’t say because I didn’t know him then. But I know him now, and in case you haven’t been paying attention, he’s not a kid anymore. He’s a man trying to make a living like all of you. Takes a lot of guts to show up here, after being gone from the family fold for a number of years, and share his plans. He didn’t have to. He did it out of courtesy and respect for all of you and you’ve shown him none in return. None.”
Maybe no one would notice if he dropped to the floor and crawled away.
“So if you’re truly asking me to pick a side?” His eyes met Ben’s and then Quinn’s. “I vote yes for the elk farm. I’d even re-up my lease agreement and give him a bigger acreage to work with because I know Dalton will make sure everything is done right.” Gavin set his hand on Dalton’s shoulder. Then he grabbed his coat and walked out.
To say the McKay family was stunned into silence was an understatement.
Before the arguing started again, Dalton snagged his coat and left.
Wasn’t until he was halfway home that he realized he’d left his poker winnings on the table.
Chapter Twenty
It was especially hard to go to work on Monday morning after her fun weekend in Deadwood.
When the stack of elk farm applications arrived from the Cheyenne office, Rory was tempted to crawl under her desk and hide. She hadn’t reached the land inspection part of her job yet—she was still mired in the permit process. But the cutoff date loomed. Hopefully she’d get out in the field soon.
No morning staff meeting meant Rory could dig right in and get to work. She’d cleared five applications—checking with the register of deeds that the applicant was the actual property owner, adding to her map which sections of land in which areas had applied and grouping the applicants by county.
Since it was almost lunchtime, she put everything aside and retrieved her sandwich and salad from the break room fridge. Most days she didn’t mind eating with her coworkers, but Hannah’s presence had Rory returning to her office. No need to end up with Hannah-induced indigestion.
Rory checked her phone. No missed calls or texts from Dalton. Very strange. He hadn’t contacted her last night after his McKay poker game. She’d fully expected to hear how he’d cleaned them out.
She and her mom were supposed to have an early supper since Gavin had also been at the poker game, but she’d called around five begging off. Left to her own devices, Rory snuggled up with her dog and watched a marathon of What Not To Wear.
After lunch she dug back in to work. No issues with the next two applications on the stack. But the third application? Rory had a big, big problem with it. Because the applicant’s name was Dalton McKay.
A thousand questions jumped into her head.
But the biggest question was why hadn’t Rory known Dalton intended to apply for an elk farm permit? Surely that would’ve come up in all the times they’d spent together. Then again, whenever she asked about his day, or what he’d been doing, he gave the same response: working on a few projects here and there. Which she’d always taken to assume meant remodeling projects.
That’s what she got for assuming.
First she checked the land deed. Dalton had owned that piece for four years. Then she looked at the proposed plat of land for the feeding grounds. It was wedged between the McKay Ranch on the left side, more McKay land on the right side and at the bottom, a small section owned by Gavin Daniels. Aka, the land her mother used to own; aka, the elk farm would be close not only to the house Gavin and Rielle owned, but to the cabin on the property where she lived.
She checked the application date. Dalton had applied the week after he’d returned to Wyoming.
The week she’d started the special project.
Well. Wasn’t that a coincidence?
Not.
Rory hadn’t talked specifics of her job with him, keeping the details of her special project under wraps. She’d mentioned she had paperwork to sort through before she got into the fieldwork portion of the assignment.
So how had Dalton found out vetting elk farm applications was her project?
Easy. The man sauntered into the office frequently. That dimpled smile worked wonders—even horrible Hannah hadn’t been immune to his sexy cowboy charm. Since he usually cooled his boots in the reception area, he could’ve overheard the project info from any number of sources. Or someone—a female someone—could’ve told him just to get an up close look at his amazing blue eyes.
Which begged the question: why had Dalton applied?
To screw with his family after they’d screwed with him?
Nah. He wasn’t that kind of guy.
Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe this application was a sleight of hand orchestrated by his family? The McKays were one of the most vocal opponents to the program. Had they figured since Rory was in charge of the project, if Dalton applied, she’d choose him? Then the McKays would let the project molder and die.
Rory pawed through the rest of the applications but didn’t see any with the last name McKay. Wasn’t a surprise that the ranchers with land bordering the McKays hadn’t applied for the temporary permit. No one wanted to tangle with the McKays. They’d chew you up and spit you out like an old wad of tobacco. Then they’d grind you into nothing beneath their boot heel as they walked away.