This is no different.
I walk up the stairs, heart pounding a little. There’s no real front door, I realize. This is not a place for welcoming visitors.
I reach the top of the stairs and the porch, which is an expanse of polished pine as broad as the acreage behind me. You could host several hundred people on this deck, with room for caterers and servers and food stations. You could just about park the Queen Anne up here and have room left over. There are tables and chairs here and there with umbrellas shut and tied off, an outdoor kitchen off to one side complete with a pizza oven, built-in grills, full-size refrigerators, and dishwashers, all tastefully integrated so they are barely noticeable. A large seating area at one end has a sheltered flat-screen TV and a sectional large enough for twenty people.
I’m barely halfway across the football field-sized porch when a sliding door opens and young woman strides purposefully toward me. She’s about my age, with blonde hair in loose spirals around her slim shoulders; she wears tight blue jeans tucked into black snakeskin boots, and a bright red-and-white checkered short-sleeve button-down. Her expression is friendly enough as she approaches me, but I get the distinct impression unannounced visitors are neither common nor welcome.
“Hi there,” she says in a sprightly, bubbly voice that belies the intelligence and appraisal in her eyes. “Can I help you? If you’re looking for the highway, it’s back that way.”
“No, I’m not lost,” I say. “I’m looking for the Audens. Mr. Auden.”
She frowns. “Well, you found them. This is the Bar-A Ranch, owned and operated by the Audens since eighteen twenty-nine.” She smiles, but it’s tight. “We weren’t expecting visitors. How can I help you?”
“Well, I have a business proposition for Mr. Auden. Your…father?”
The sun comes out from behind a cloud, and she squints through her still-tight smile, her expression giving nothing away. “Well, that there is a little complicated. There’s Mr. Auden my father, who doesn’t take visitors, and certainly won’t be conducting any business. There’s Mr. Auden my oldest brother, but he doesn’t live here and doesn’t have anything to do with the ranch. And then there’s Mr. Auden, my next oldest brother, and I’m guessing he’s the one you want if it’s business you want to talk, but…” She shrugs. “You won’t get far with him. We’re not taking any new livestock orders at the moment, and all our stock is spoken for, unless you want a few culls.”
“I…” I blink. “Culls?”
She frowns. “Herd culls? You’re not here about horses, are you?”
“Not exactly, no.”
“Then I don’t think there’s much I can do to help you.” She shrugs. “Sorry.”
“I would like to speak to Mr. Auden—your brother, who you seem to think is the one to talk business with.”
Her voice hardens. “I don’tseem to think, lady. My brother, Will, is the executive operator of this ranch. He’s the final say-so for everything.”
“Then I’d like to speak—”
She sighs. “Lady. If you’re not interested in horses, you’re not getting anywhere with me or anyone else, and certainly not Will.”
“Would you at least hear out my proposition?”
“You want me to hear it?” She laughs. “I got a thousand things to do, and little enough pull with Willormy parents, but if you make it fast, sure, I’ll hear you out.”
I grip my clutch, lift my chin, and smile my most winning smile. This was not the kind of reception I had anticipated, but I need to forget that and pull things together. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.” I shake my head, put on a rueful expression, and extend my hand to her. “And good grief, where are my manners? I’m Brooklyn Bellanger, with Bellanger Real Estate Development.”
She shakes my hand, eying me. I’m not sure if she knows or cares about BRED. “Nice to meet you, Brooklyn. I’m Theo Auden.” She gestures at the house. “Why don’t you come in?”
I follow her through the sliding glass door into the interior—and it takes open concept to a whole new level. The A-frame is easily fifty feet over my head, held up with a row of tree trunks as exposed beams. The kitchen opens to a sunken living room, and kitty-corner between the kitchen and the living room is what I guess one would call a breakfast nook, but it is large enough to seat a dozen people. I see an open archway to a more formal dining room beside the kitchen and, on the other side is a walk-in pantry. The A-frame is built into the side of the hill, so the exposed rock of the hillside forms the back wall of the home; the rock face has been chiseled away at an angle until it curves in and under to form an overhang—under this overhang is a hallway leading, I imagine, to the bedrooms. Also visible in the huge space is a wet bar on one side of the hallway opening and on the other side, a staircase leading downstairs.
Theo leads me around the sunken living room to the kitchen island; a slab of granite that must be a hundred square feet, at least. A dozen stools are lined up under the lip of the island, and she pulls one out for herself and another for me.
“So. What are you proposing, Brooklyn?” she says, folding her hands and resting them on one knee.
I set my bag on the counter, knowing I won’t need any of the materials inside unless I can convince this woman to hear me out. “What I’m proposing is—”
She stands up. “Wait, hold on. Would you like something to drink? Iced tea?”
I nod, smile. “Sure, yes. Iced tea sounds lovely.”
She goes to a refrigerator built into one wall, withdraws a pitcher of iced tea, pulls two glasses from a nearby cabinet, fills the glasses with ice and then tea, and brings them to the island. Reseating herself, she sips, and then eyes me.
“Before you get started, let me just make one thing clear: There is no amount of money you or anyone could offer that would convince us to sell this ranch. So if that’s your angle, you may as well save your breath.”
I shake my head, and sip my iced tea. “No, no. Nothing like that. Goodness, I wouldn’t even begin to know what to do with a ranch like this. It’s incredible, and I get the feeling I only saw a fraction of it on the drive here.”
