Chapter Three
Blake’s mood mirrored the storm clouds building several miles to the west. From the ranch’s vantage point in the heart of the Flint Hills, he and his brothers could see storms long before they arrived. They’d have rain before nightfall. He stalked from the barn to the large front porch and grabbed a beer from the mini fridge plugged underneath the window.
His mother would roll in her grave to see the front porch looking like a bachelor pad, but the ability to grab a beer without removing one’s boots trumped propriety.
Another downpour would flood the south acreage completely, making it impossible for the bison to stay close. Not that calving couldn’t happen on the far acreage. It was just inconvenient. And costly.
It also made any controlled burn out of the question. Not
