TITLE: Cervantes RanchAUTHORS: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
squidgiepdx and elderwitty
FANDOM: Stargate Atlantis
PAIRINGS: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, Evan Lorne/David Parrish
CHARACTERS: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex
RATING: PG
WORDS: 1,162 (this part)
WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: Welcome to Wyoming.NOTES: This is a snippet of the ranch fic we're working on for artemis_prime. It's in beta right now, but it appears that I'm slow as heck! But since it's HER BIRTHDAY TODAY, she gets a preview!!!! Happy Birthday, Kate!John dismounts and ties Eula to the porch rail, checking the water level in the trough with a glance. Despite his father’s misgivings about her utility as a working horse, he’s never regretted buying the palomino as a 30
th birthday present to himself. She’d felt so much like an old friend when he saw her at Lorne's Horse Farm that he bought her on the spot.
That same year, John's father gave him a Jeep. Unlike Eula (and the ‘68 Firebird he's had since he turned 18), it’s eminently practical. Where they were built for speed and flash, the Jeep has been used as a sturdy runabout, and looks it. The curling floor mats, ripped upholstery, and massive dent from an angry steer stand as evidence of John’s many hours pitching in on the ranch. Not that the property needs him to survive, as his father often points out. He runs nearly 9,000 head on 36,000 acres, and employs enough men to handle everything from feedings to a breech birth in an isolated pasture. According to his father, John's only concern should be ‘taking all this over when I die’.
John wipes the sweat off his nape and onto his well-worn jeans as he climbs the single step. Grabbing an apple from the weathered half-barrel in the corner, he flicks the stem into the yard before pulling his pocketknife to cut it roughly in half. He gives Eula the bigger piece and takes a bite of his own. Before he even finishes chewing it, she’s nudging his shoulder and whinnying. He chuckles and hands over the rest, admitting that she's had him wrapped around her hoof from the start.
Taking off his gloves, John rubs the long stretch of Eula's face, then scratches along her jawline. "Be back in a little bit, girl," he says, before grabbing a second apple. Eula is crunching happily as he opens the screen and pushes the door open.
"Dad?" There’s no answer. He’s probably installed at his massive oak desk in his study, working on something for the Wyoming Beef Council. He’s never held office in that organization, but he's definitely the power behind the throne. Every president for the past thirty years has sought the elder Sheppard's advice – and followed it to a tee if they wanted to keep their exalted position. It seems like everyone learned their lesson after Lee Cutler’s ouster following a ‘professional and philosophical disagreement’ with Patrick Sheppard over grazing rights.
John heads to the kitchen for a glass of water, and drinks it looking out the window facing the most remote section of the ranch. He'd ridden out there again this morning, knowing full well his father wouldn't approve. There's a huge steel-frame building that he's pretty sure is inside their property line, but he never recognizes any of the men coming and going. They don't look like ranch hands, in any case. The one time John brought it up, his father had cussed and demanded he mind his own business.
As he walks to the back of the house, John wonders what kind of mood his father is in. The only sound besides the air conditioning whirring through the vents comes from his well-worn cowboy boots striking the hardwood floor. He knocks, enters when commanded to, and nods at his father even though he's focusing on the monitor. John spots a paper with the heading 'Clayton County Mineral Report'. He raises an eyebrow, but schools his face to blandness when Patrick grabs it and shoves it in a drawer. "What do you want?" he snaps.
Not reacting (John's on Day Two of attempting to beat their record for avoiding altercations. Since he turned 30, the benchmark is five days), he aims a thumb over his shoulder. "Finished helping the hands, and did this week's inseminations. Figured I'd let you know I'm free, in case you wanted me for something. Otherwise I'll-"
"Actually," Patrick interrupts, reaching for a buff envelope and dumping the contents on the desk. "The Woolsey place that sold last month?" he says, sneering at the name. The two men had loathed each other, particularly Patrick after Woolsey refused to sell to him. "New owner supposed to be moving in today. And it's
a woman."
"A woman? Awesome." John expects she'll liven things up. Clayton County has been an old boys club for far too long.
"The
hell it's awesome," Patrick spits. "Ain't no way a woman can run a ranch. They belong in the kitchen, not out workin' the prairie. She'll probably do something cockamamie like raise sheep or hogs, too."
"Didn't old man Pemberton raise sheep back in the '70s?" John asks innocently. Wyoming grazing, while capable of supporting just about any herbivore, has traditionally been used for cattle. Patrick Sheppard and the Wyoming Beef Council decided long ago that this corner of the state was meant for beef, and only beef. Anyone who's thought different has been convinced of that fact one way or another.
Patrick scowls. "Asshole." John isn't sure if it's aimed at him or the long-dead rancher. "This here's beef country, boy. And always will be, while I've got breath in my body."
"Yes, sir," John responds, in the flat tone that never failed to infuriate his superior officers in the Air Force. Joining the military was yet another thing his father didn't approve of, but at least John had gotten to fly in return for putting up with those in command. The ranch has a couple of small planes for land surveys and other duties, but John rarely gets to go up in them.
John turns to leave. "Okay, well. I'm gonna-"
"You're
gonna head over to the Woolsey place and find out what that woman thinks she's doing. And then you're gonna tell her to get the hell out."
John resists rolling his eyes. If a woman bought the old Woolsey homestead, he has as much power to make her move as he does to stop a blizzard. But what he
can do is turn on the charm and dig up some information. John being gay - yet another source of strife between him and his father - doesn't enter into it. He's found that if he dresses in a certain way (black shirt, fitted jeans, and boots, topped off with leather chaps and a cowboy hat) and flashes his best smile, he can usually get damn near anything he wants. (A notable exception was the time he heard about a newcomer who was, like him, ex-Air Force and gay. John put on his best outfit to go say hello, and was nearly run off by a tall, lanky egghead who'd turned out to be Lorne's partner. Luckily, Dave was willing to let bygones go on by, and John's been a frequent visitor out at their place ever since.)
"So what's this woman's name?"
Patrick Sheppard scans the letter before snarling, "Meredith R. McKay."
"She sounds homely," John says.
(Feel free to bug me about why it's not done yet. Anything that helps overcome my native sloth is welcome.) ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
squidgiepdx and 
elderwitty
outsideth3box
