Free Convincing the Rancher by Claire McEwen

sending him staggering backward, broken stub in hand.
    Jack just stood there, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “Oh, man, if that’s not an omen for your future with Tess, I don’t know what is. I give you my condolences.”
    Slaid picked up the broken pieces and threw them in the truck. He grabbed another shovel out of the back. “You never know. Why don’t you hold off on those condolences for a few more weeks?”
    Jack had the pickax now, crouching down to loosen the soil under the rock. When he looked at Slaid, he was still grinning. “Will do. And good luck. You’ll surely need it if you’re going to try to get anywhere with Tess Cole.”
    * * *
    U SUALLY S LAID WAS restless during meetings. He was a big, active guy and sitting around talking didn’t suit him that well. But this evening he was so tired after setting posts with Jack all day that it actually felt good to be sedentary. At least, it felt good while the city council members brainstormed fund-raising ideas for new holiday decorations. This part was easy. It was the windmill discussion, next on the agenda, that could be tricky. Looking around at the weathered faces of the older ranchers and respected Benson citizens who made up the council, Slaid realized he had no idea what they’d think of Jack’s ideas. Most of these folks were fairly traditional. But regardless of how they felt about any kind of alternative energy, the future of power had showed up uninvited at their doorstep. They would have to deal with it.
    Gus Jackson, owner of the largest market in town, was chairing the meeting. “Next on the agenda is windmills,” he said. “Slaid, you want to talk about this?”
    Slaid cleared his throat and jumped in. “Some of you may have heard that there’s a company looking to put a wind farm on the grazing land I lease east of town.”
    About half the folks on his council nodded, while the other half looked stunned. Apparently the Benson gossip mill hadn’t had quite enough time to work its magic. “Now, I don’t know how you all feel about that, but I think we’ll have to come together and take a stand on it, one way or the other.”
    “I don’t want to look at them all day, that’s for sure,” Sue Emory said, tapping her pencil anxiously. She ran Jeep tours in the summer and snowshoe hikes in winter. “And the tourists won’t like it much, either.”
    “I don’t get it. A private company can just come out here and do that? How?” Gus asked.
    “They can get a lease from the Bureau of Land Management, just like we do for grazing,” Jack answered. And it’s easy for them to do it, because the federal government is all about developing domestic sources of energy right now,”
    “But here? It’s going to mess with this whole area,” Bob Allen said worriedly. “It’ll change everything.”
    “Well, I’m new at this,” Slaid told him. “But it seems to me that if the feds are allowing fracking all over BLM land, a wind-energy project must be a no-brainer for them. It’s a lot less invasive and damaging.”
    Jed Watkins leaned forward. “I just don’t get it. We’re a small town. We don’t need that much energy. Why us?”
    “We’ve got the wind,” Slaid answered. “And it’s a straight shot down Highway 395 to Southern California.”
    “We’re pretty sure they’ll just sell the extra power to LA,” Jack explained. “Or run it across the desert to Las Vegas or some other big city.”
    The quaver in Gus’s voice betrayed his distress, “What do we do? No way can we let this happen.”
    “Well, we’ve got to run a campaign.” Jack glanced around the table. “Try to get some outside support for our cause. Involve the media and environmental groups.”
    “Jack thinks we’ll get a lot of public sympathy on this,” Slaid added. “Especially if we remind people of the struggles folks in this area have endured since LA got its hands on our water.”
    “Sounds like a good idea overall,” Sue said.
    “Well,