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Jodie leaned against the fence beside him. Up close, she got a better look at the hat. It was old enough that the felt had faded unevenly, the brim worn soft at the edges.
“Nice hat.”
He absently touched the brim. “It’s an Akubra.”
“You’ve been to Australia?”
“Yep.”
“Vacation?” She grinned.
Virgil gave her a look that said You know better than that. “Worked sheep.”
“Really? How long?”
“Couple years, here and there. Yarra Valley. Drier places. Took what I learned and brought it to Colorado.”
“Oh, right, your label. High desert, saltbush-raised lamb.”
Now he turned and looked at her. “You know my label?”
“Of course I do.” She’d made a point of looking him up after the meeting. She’d wanted to understand why the man who could irritate Willow in under thirty seconds cared so much about forage and carrying capacity.
Virgil looked away again. “Saltbush gives a better taste.” His expression softened and relaxed as he spoke. “And it grows everywhere up here. Don’t have to worry about what you’re gonna feed them in a drought. I’ve been cultivating it. It’s a different strain than what they got in Australia. They use oldman saltbush. Mine’s shadscale and fourwing, native to the western US. Grows easy here. It feeds the sheep just the same as oldman and smooths out the flavor.”
“That’s brilliant, Virgil.”
Also the most she’d ever gotten out of the man.
He scoffed. “Nothing brilliant about it. I just know my land and my animals. I pay attention. I have to. I live out here, which means I gotta live with the consequences of my decisions. I can’t just pack up and go home to the city after a weekend of playing around, thinking I know what’s best for the environment.”
Jodie looked back toward the volunteers near the tables. “You don’t want any of this on your place, do you?”
“Nope.”
“Then why’d you agree?”
Virgil looked out past Hank’s pasture toward the open country beyond it. “Because refusing doesn’t stop the gather. It just moves it somewhere I can’t see it.”
Well. That complicates things.
Jodie glanced toward the pasture. “Third dry year.”
“Yep.”
“You probably lost sheep.”
“I did.”
“And the Bureau’s paying you well, aren’t they?”
His gaze came back to her. He swallowed. “They’re leasing a section of ground for the operation. It’s only fair I get compensated.”
“That wasn’t a judgment, Virgil.”
“Sounded like one.”
“Then you heard it wrong.”
