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La Pradera is on the outskirts of one of the last remaining Indian reservations in Texas. The proximity to New Mexico and old Mexico has a heavy influence on the local fashion.
“Good morning. Thank you all for rising so early to come hear me give a boring old speech. As mayor of La Pradera, I’m always happy to see so many faces of the hardworking individuals who call Kowata County home. After all, I am only a humble servant to the people, chosen by you to keep our town a place of integrity, safe for your families to live.” His eyes skim over the crowd, a practiced smile on his thin lips. His gaze lands on mine, his smile faltering for a millisecond before he moves on.
“I’m sure you all have wondered what the next campaign will look like, but I can tell you now that I have no intention of wasting your time with empty promises. My new proposal for our great city is to not only increase funds to the schools for educating the next generation, but instead of raising the taxes on our good citizens, we’ll also be taxing the businesses and landowners who can actually afford it. Anyone who owns a business with an annual gross revenue of over one million dollars in specific sales will now see an increase in taxes. In addition, the local businesses that use cattle in events or shows will pay an additional tax to start finally paving the dirt roads that lead to the arenas—a project that is long overdue.”
The crowd roars with applause. I exhale a deep breath as my heart pounds loudly in my ears. Cash shifts in his seat next to me, forever the calm, quiet one.
The Dixon-Redford feud is an age-old bullshit story. It all started before I was born, when my mother ended up dating both Clay Dixon and my father, Wyatt Redford. She chose my father, ran off with him, and married him while pregnant with me.
Clay Dixon has hated every Redford descendant ever since.
I’m about ready to launch the cheap metal chair I’m sitting in at our good mayor’s head. To most people, his proposal sounds genuine. It appeals to a larger crowd of citizens who are not cattle ranchers and do not produce all the beef for hundreds of thousands of people. This new tax bill sounds like a promising idea to benefit the school system. Why shouldn’t the business owners pay it?
To a businessman who understands how it all really works, it will only hurt the layman and the consumer, and it will heavily pad the pockets of the local government. Increased taxes result in bigger personal bonuses for the politicians, which I’m positive is a detail that Dixon is leaving out.
Increasing taxes on my head of cattle forces ranchers like us to raise the price of it, which the consumer will pay. Just because Redford Ranch grosses over a million dollars a year does not mean we profit that much. We must first buy feed for the cattle, then pay our ranch hands, buy equipment like trailers and ATVs, build new barns to replace old ones, and the list goes on and on. Work on a ranch is never done. Just last year alone, we actually lost money by the end of the year, which means we all technically worked the entire year for free. We won’t be making that same mistake again.
“He sure knows how to convince a crowd he’s the second coming, doesn’t he?” Sterling mumbles under his breath.
11
ROSIE
“Ionly have thirty minutes for lunch. I have to go meet Dolly after.”
My father chews his chicken fried steak, studying me closely. He’s a big man with a rounded barrel chest and large hands. The gray in his mustache has become more prominent since the last time we sat down, just the two of us, to talk.
I avoided his calls and texts for as long as I could. Guilt had been gnawing at me, so I finally responded and agreed to Sunday lunch with him at his favorite steak house in town when he said he wanted to discuss the holidays. They sat us at his usual table during the busy hour.
“So, the maid work hasn’t lost its luster yet?”
I spear a dry cucumber slice on the edge of my salad bowl. “I’m not a maid. I’m a housekeeper and a cook.”
“I certainly would have never guessed that a daughter of mine would stoop to this degree. You have more of your mother in you each day.”
The barb doesn’t surprise me, as he’s always verbally torn down my mom with subtle passive-aggressive words. I sigh internally, glancing at my phone screen to see that I have thirteen minutes left to endure.
“Now that the man who murdered your own flesh and blood has been released from prison, I expect to have you back home, where it’s safe.”
“I like my job.” I don’t bother mentioning that the oldest Redford brother technically fired me over the weekend. “My best friend is sick and can’t keep up with all the housework and cooking alone. It’s not like I live there. I have my own apartment.” I pop my knuckles, frustrated that I’m even sitting here in this position, being forced to answer these questions.
I’m a grown adult woman. For some reason, cutting off my father despite his many shortcomings hasn’t been easy. So far, the only part that has been easy was letting go of the financial assistance. Even that has been difficult, considering my credit card debt grows almost daily.
I poke at the salad.
“If you’re going to be fraternizing with an ex-con, you could make it a point to listen in on any important conversations they might have. You heard any talk of The Riders?”
The skin on the back of my neck prickles. I swallow over a lump, reaching for a cold roll in the basket in the center of the table to butter it.
I shrug. “I don’t really hang out with the guys when they talk business. Dolly and I are always in the kitchen or around the house. Did you want to discuss Thanksgiving?” I mentally prepare myself to tell him I’ll be eating frozen pot pie on my couch, alone.
My father ignores my question. He leans forward, a dark smile curling on his thin lips. “Now, I know I didn’t have such a pretty daughter for nothing. You’re perfectly capable of getting one of them to spill something valuable to me. What about the one you ran around with during high school?”
I blanch at his words. He hated me for dating Duke. He hated it so much that he installed a spying app on my phone that would send him all of our text messages. He used to get the sheriff to pull Duke’s truck over anytime he saw it even if Duke wasn’t doing anything wrong. My father made our relationship so stressful, and to this day, I haven’t been able to forgive him for it even though Duke and I are way over.
I glance at my phone to note the time.
“I have to get going soon. I’m worried about Mom. Have you heard from her?” A subject change seems like the safest response at this point in the conversation.
