LITMIR.BIZ

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West. Sturdy build. Western-cut sport coat. Old pair of jeans. Mustache, the same gray as his temples. He frowned and cleared his throat, considering his words.

      “Jack, come in,” said Karen Hatcher, the director of the Trust for the Southwest, and Kip’s counterpart from the environmental community. She waved him in. “We weren’t sure you’d make it.” A strand of blonde hair lay matted to her forehead. She looked fresh off a hike. “What’s wrong?” She eyed him closely. “You’re pale.”

      “Tired.”

      “You sure?”

      “Yeah.” Jack moved around the table to an open seat, nodding first at Helen Waite, the county commissioner, then the hotel proprietor, Mack Latham, representing the chamber of commerce, then Thomas, his friend and the representative from the pueblo, then Daniel Romero, another rancher. “Sorry I’m late. Having some sort of trouble?”

      “Ranchers are talking like all bets are off,” Dave said. “The drought’s bringing out their true colors. Cows are more important that protecting the river.” He glared across the table.

      “I didn’t say that,” Ginger responded. “I was saying . . .” She turned back to Kip.

      Again he cleared his throat.

      “Hold it,” Jack said. He took in a breath, and turned to Ginger. “I do not want you having to defend yourself.” He turned to Kip. “And not you either.” He looked across the table. “Karen, I would ask you. Do you mind?”

      She gave him a twisted smile. “Uh, sure.” She turned to Van Buren and looked him in the eye. “Dave, you’re jumping the gun, being unfair. Ginger’s a steward of the land. She’s proven that. Well before now, she and her husband took their cattle off the range, put ’em on pasture in Colorado and Nebraska. They put their money where their mouth is. It’ll cost them dearly. They’ll be lucky if they squeak by. The drought has her thinking about their future and she wonders if they can make it. Short-term. Long-term. Everything about their operation. Their BLM allotment is important to that operation. All she’s saying is, work with her, help her make sure the path we’re on doesn’t cripple her and other ranchers.” She looked at Ginger. “Is that fair?”

      “Yes. Very fair.”

      Dave shifted nervously in his seat. “All I’m saying is . . .”

      “Stop,” Jack said. “Turnabout’s fair play. I won’t let you defend yourself either. Kip, would you please?”

      Kip nodded and cleared this throat. “I believe Dave’s saying we can’t lose sight of the things we value. We all value the land, the river, water, our connection to all of it. Times like these are hard, but we still value those things. We want to come up with practical measures, but we can’t throw the baby out with the bath water. It’s tough all over. Other critters are suffering, too. We want to come through this. Ginger, if you can help protect those things, he’ll work to help ranchers in their plight.” He turned to Dave. “That fair?”

      “Yes, diplomatic. Something I’m not good at.” He looked across the table. “Sorry.”

      “Times are hard,” Ginger said.

      Faces turned to Jack.

      “Do we need to discuss this further?” He looked around the room. No response. “Good. Anyone else coming?” he asked, taking attention off Van Buren and Perrette.

      “Might just be us tonight,” Kip responded. “People are busy. They’ve read the report. I’ve gotten comments, but otherwise, they think it’s ready to go.”

      “Same for enviros,” Hatcher said. “Everyone feels good. They trust us to know what to do next.”

      “I’d like to talk about that.” Jack stood and poured a glass of water. “Been thinking. I worry about going to Congress. Who knows what we might end up with.”

      Kip laughed.

      “No, I’m serious. Maybe we should scale back on what the coalition initially asks the agencies to do. Do what we can, without additional authorizations. Wait till we get a Congress that’s less political.”

      “I’m sorry, son,” Kip said, laying large, weathered hands on the table, “but Congress is always gonna be political. Time won’t change that.”

      “Yeah, but this Congress turns everything into a fight. A political statement.”

      “Yes, but we have to think about holding the coalition together,” Hatcher said. “Think about the discussion we just had. If we don’t seek new authorities, we lose the ranchers. If we don’t protect the river, we lose the enviros. If we lose either group, if the battles start over, the business people freak out.” She looked across the table at Mack Latham. “Right?”

      Latham gave a nervous tug at his button-down collar. “Business people don’t like uncertainty.”

      “I know, it’s just . . . .” Jack paused, looking at eyes around the table.

      “What’s wrong?” Culberson asked.

      “Old ghosts. Nothing more than that.”

      “Let me worry about Congress. Karen and I can take that. In fact, I know just where we can start. Senator Baca.”

      Hatcher’s eyes lit up. “Think so?”

      “I do. He’s busy, but I think he’ll have an interest in making it happen. He’s respected. His staff can corner counterparts from the House, get bills coming through both chambers.”

      Karen turned to Jack. “Ever work with Baca?”

      “Only his staff, but I’ve worked with politicos I trusted and it didn’t help. We still got caught up in political games. Crucified. When the horse trading stopped, nothing was left.”

      “Relax,” Kip said. “But we need to keep moving. If we don’t, we risk impatience, and falling apart.”

      “I agree,” Hatcher said, tapping her dimpled chin. “I’ve spoken with national enviros and reps from stockman’s associations. I’m told this needs to happen now. The closer to the election, the greater the chance someone will politicize it. Then, it might be hard to support us.”

      “That’s what I’m hearing,” Kip said. He turned to Jack. “What’s it gonna take to wrap this up? Can we finish this week?”

      Jack sighed. “Got comments, let me have ’em. I’ll finish in the next day or two.”

      “Very good,” Kip said. He sat back, locking his fingers behind his head of salt and pepper hair. “I’ll make a few calls, make plans for Karen and I to pay a visit to Baca’s field office in Santa Fe.”

      —·—

      Jack turned off the highway, onto the road to his cabin.

      Rounding the bend, he saw a woman sitting on his porch. A beautiful woman, dark hair pulled back, brown Hispano eyes, piercing even from the end of the drive. She wore a cotton skirt and sleeveless blouse. Kelly Culberson stood as he brought his Jeep to a stop. He sat watching her, thinking how much easier hard times had become since encountering her at Caveras Creek three years before.

      He got out.

      “How was the meeting? How was the river? How’s Paul?”

      “That’s more questions than I can answer in my condition. My lunch washed away in a flood.”

      “Flood. Very funny.”

      He stooped, kissed her, then slipped past and unlocked the door. “Do I look like I’m joking?” Going straight to the kitchen, he picked an apple from a bowl on the counter. He came back and sat, bit off a chunk, chewed and swallowed. “Need calories.” He took another bite, then picked up the remote, turned on the television, and flipped through the channels.

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