Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,31
why my ranch is Global Animal Partnership certified.”
She grabbed his arm tighter. “Really? You’re kidding. Not that I know what that is.”
He said. “You could look it up. I bet you’re great at research.”
Jennifer wanted to tell him, Stop saying things like that. She’s already halfway infatuated with you. She wasn’t going to say “in love.” This wasn’t “in love.” This was, Oh, my god, he’s hot. I can’t believe this is happening. She knew, because she felt the same way.
She at least had an excuse. She was a little drunk. Dyma, though? Dyma was just being Dyma. Was there anything more dangerous to a mother’s peace of mind than a girl like this, with too much confidence in her brains and not nearly enough knowledge of what the world could do?
Dyma wasn’t checking for her mom’s reaction, no surprise. She was all about Owen. She asked, “Are you just telling me that? Messing with me?” Proving she had some caution, at least.
“No,” Owen said. “I’m not.”
Dyma said, “OK, first, I have absolutely no idea what it means, but I’m assuming it’s some kind of humane thing. Why? I mean, how did you decide to do it? And how can you be a rancher? You’re barely older than me. Oh, wait. You mean you work on a ranch, except you can’t, because you wouldn’t make much money doing that, and these rooms are three hundred bucks a night. Look around. We’re the youngest people here who aren’t somebody’s kids. Well, I’m somebody’s kid, but never mind. So is it that your family has a ranch?”
“No,” he said. “Or yes and no.” Fortunately, he was still looking amused. Although, unfortunately, he was also looking at Dyma like he wanted to pick her up and put her in his lap, and not in a what-a-cute-kid way. More in a this-girl-is-too-adorable-and-I-want-to-kiss-her-bad way. Jennifer was very familiar with that look. Dyma was right, that probably was one reason she’d stayed with Mark. If anything, Mark found Dyma a little annoying. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t all that great. Why had she settled for that?
(She checked Kris. No I-need-to-kiss-this-girl look. He wasn’t annoyed, either. He was just amused. Good.)
Dyma asked, “What does ‘yes and no’ mean? Also, does it work? I mean, is it profitable enough? I thought the whole reason for factory farming was that you can’t afford to do it the other way, especially if you’re not corporate and don’t have economies of scale.”
Owen asked, “What order do you want me to answer those in?”
“Any order,” she said. “Oh—do you have pictures?”
“Of what?”
“Of the ranch. Ranches always sound like they’d be amazing. ‘Ranch’ is a great word. Romantic. Argentina, cowboys on the pampas with the snow-capped Andes in the background, all that. But I doubt they’re actually like that. Have I ever been to a ranch?” She considered that, and Owen let her. “No, I have not. I’ve only seen them in the movies. I believe the houses have generally been made of logs, and there’s been a corral somewhere. Also a bunkhouse. So there you go.”
“Well,” Owen said, “the first answer is that my mom and dad and my brother and his wife work the ranch with me, but I own it, yeah.”
Jennifer’s eyes were narrowing. This sounded like such a line of—well, bull. A bit like, “Well, yeah, my mom and dad live in this house too, but it’s actually mine.”
She glanced at Kris, and he must have been able to tell what she was thinking, because he said, “He does own it.” Which still made no sense. If you inherited something, it would come from your parents. If it came from your grandparents, your parents would inherit it. So—no.
Maybe Owen had won the lottery. Had anybody in the history of ever, though, won the lottery and bought a cattle ranch? And actually worked it? No.
Next idea. Tech wunderkind. Nobody said they all had to be skinny and pale, right?
She surveyed Owen. Plaid flannel shirt. Jeans. Boots. Workingman’s hands. No-nonsense haircut and close-cut, non-hipster beard. The enormous size and obvious strength of him, and something in the way he sat that told you he didn’t sit a whole lot.
Not a tech wunderkind. Even with a standing desk. Just no.
“And the second answer is,” Owen said, “that you can sell humanely raised beef for a higher price, that’s how. Don’t get me wrong, though, there’s still not much glamour to it. You’re talking a lot of manure, and a whole