Until that morning.
Beside him stood Roy Mercer, a tall rancher with a gray mustache, a faded denim shirt, and hands that trembled slightly whenever he looked toward his livestock trailer. Roy had inherited his father's cattle operation and spent most of his life believing that stubbornness could overcome bad weather. The youngest man was Travis Pike, thirty-five, lean and broad-shouldered, wearing a dusty plaid shirt and a dark cowboy hat. Of the three, Travis was the only one who had sometimes looked embarrassed when the others mocked Marlene.
Now none of them was laughing.
Wade watched her cut another cactus pad.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Marlene."
She didn't answer immediately.
Her pruning shears closed around the base of the pad. She lifted it carefully, checked the cut, and placed it beside the others before turning toward the fence.
"Morning, Wade."
He shifted his weight.
Roy looked down.
Travis stared toward the bright green hills stretching behind her.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Finally, Wade said, "We need to talk."
Marlene removed one glove and wiped her forehead.
"About what?"
Wade's jaw tightened.
He looked toward the cattle trailer.
Then toward the cactus.
"My herd hasn't eaten properly in five days."
Marlene's expression changed.
She looked toward Roy.
He nodded slowly.
"Mine's not much better."
Travis swallowed.
"I've got twenty-eight cows left, Marlene. The rest are already gone."
For a moment, the only sound was the dry wind moving through the cactus.
Marlene looked at the three men.
She remembered them standing at this same fence in March 2003, laughing as Wade kicked a crate of young cactus cuttings into the dirt. She remembered Roy telling her she'd never grow enough green feed to fill a wheelbarrow, and Travis asking whether she planned to turn the entire ranch into a garden for jackrabbits.
She also remembered her father's voice.
Not from that afternoon.
From the last conversation they ever had.
When the land tells you what it can grow, sweetheart, you'd better learn to listen.
Marlene looked toward the empty trailer again.
Then she asked quietly, "How many animals are you trying to save?"
Wade stared at her.
He had expected anger.
Perhaps humiliation.
Maybe a speech about how wrong he'd been.
But Marlene wasn't looking at his face anymore.
She was studying the trailer, calculating weight, feed requirements, transport capacity, and how much emergency forage her ranch could safely provide.
The same careful expression appeared on her face whenever she examined the figures in her father's old green notebook.