What she didn’t have was a herd.
Clayton watched her do the math.
The smile returned.
“Seven days.”
Maya looked at the machines.
“All nine?”
“All nine.”
“Functional, or merely running?”
Clayton’s smile faded a fraction.
“Running well enough to work.”
“No.”
He stared.
“No?”
“If I fix them, they function under load.”
Clayton glanced toward Logan.
Then back.
“Fine.”
“Safe?”
“Obviously.”
“Reasonable field test?”
“Fine.”
“Transferred cattle identified in advance.”
Clayton frowned.
“What?”
“Ear tag numbers.”
Logan laughed again.
“She thinks she’s winning.”
Maya took out her phone.
Clayton looked at it.
“Calling your army of mechanics?”
“No.”
She opened a blank document.
“Writing the agreement.”
The laughter stopped.
Maya typed.
Nine listed machines.
Seven consecutive days beginning immediately.
Each machine must start, idle, operate under working conditions, and complete a reasonable functional test.
If all nine passed by 5:00 p.m. on the seventh day, Clayton Reeves would transfer one hundred specified breeding cows from the north pasture to Maya Carter free and clear.
Maya added:
“No substitution of machines.”
Clayton scoffed.
“Fine.”
“No third-party interference with machines while they’re under repair.”
Logan’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Maya saw.
Clayton did not.
“Meaning?”
“If I’m responsible for results, no one touches them without telling me.”
Clayton looked toward Logan.
“He runs my shop.”
“Then he can tell me.”
Logan smiled without humor.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I met you four minutes ago.”
The older ranch hand coughed again.
Clayton took the phone.
Read the agreement.
“You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious when somebody offers me livestock.”
“Where would you even put a hundred cows?”
“I’ll figure that out after I own them.”
Clayton shook his head.
He signed with his finger.
Maya signed beneath him.
She emailed copies to both of them, then sent another to her own business account.
Clayton stared.
“You expect me not to keep my word?”
“No.”
“I expect everyone to remember exactly what the word was.”
Something flickered behind his eyes.
Respect?
Annoyance?
Probably both.
He handed the phone back.
“Seven days, Miss Carter.”
“Seven days.”
He extended his hand.
Maya shook it.
His grip was deliberately firm.
So was hers.
Then Clayton looked at the old toolbox again.
“You really think those museum pieces are going to fix nine machines four professionals couldn’t?”
Maya released his hand.
“They belonged to my father.”
Clayton’s face changed.
Only slightly.
He knew the name.
Everyone around there did.
“Daniel Carter.”
“Yes.”
“He ever teach you not to take stupid bets?”
“No.”
“He taught me to put them in writing.”
The older ranch hand laughed openly.
Clayton gave him a look.
“Luke, don’t you have cattle to move?”
Luke grinned.
“Yes, sir.”
As Clayton turned toward the office, he called over his shoulder:
“If you need a tow truck after day three, I know a guy.”
Maya did not answer.
She returned to the first tractor.