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“Then maybe you ought to sit down.”

A few people laughed. Others groaned.

Willow’s face reddened. “You think because you run sheep out there, the land belongs to you.”

“No. I think because I run sheep out there, I know what the land can carry and what it can’t. Ranchers and herders are stewards of the land whether you and your bleeding-heart friends want to believe that or not.”

Willow’s hands balled into fists. “The horses were there before your sheep.”

“Doesn’t matter. They are not native and they’re destroying the land.”

That brought half the room to their feet at once.

Jodie couldn’t make out individual words anymore. Ranchers shouted over advocates, somebody behind her yelled something about public land, and Virgil stood in the middle of it all with his arms folded, looking like he’d been having the same argument for twenty years and was prepared to have it for twenty more, starting now.

A woman two rows over leaned toward Willow. “You can’t reason with assholes like him.”

“His name is Virgil,” Jodie said.

The woman turned.

Jodie didn’t particularly like Virgil, the way he called them bleeding hearts, or the way he talked about the horses, either. But she knew what happened when people stopped treating each other like individuals and took sides.

“He’s allowed to worry about his sheep,” Jodie said, her voice raised. “And we’re allowed to worry about the horses. Both things can be right.”

Virgil looked at her for the first time, his expression still hard.

Fine. She hadn’t said it for him, just to keep the crowd from getting uglier.

At the front table, Harold reached for the microphone. “Maybe we could bring this back to the actual gather plan before somebody starts throwing chairs.”

That earned a few reluctant laughs and lowered the temperature enough for people to start sitting again.

Virgil remained standing another moment, studying Jodie as though trying to decide what category she belonged in.

Then he sat down.

At the same time, she noticed Hank still glaring at Virgil.

“We’re going to have to do something about that,” she told Mac later that night, in bed in their hotel room. “The last thing we need is a fight.”

Mac was stretched out beside her, one arm behind his head and the other holding her close while she traced lazy circles on his chest. “You mean Hank and Virgil?”

“The whole thing. Ranchers against horse people. Horse people against the BLM. Half the room already convinced the other half is evil.”

“And you’re going to fix them all?”

Jodie turned her head on the pillow. “I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it pretty loudly.”

She gave him a look, but he was right. She’d already been mentally sorting through people, looking for where she might smooth things out before September.

Mac turned toward her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You did good tonight.”

“No, I lost my cool and I yelled at a table full of federal employees.”

“You provided accurate information to a table full of federal employees in a very loud voice.”