Latta closed on the rancher and the two shook hands and exchanged greetings, and Latta leaned forward and whispered something into Templeton’s ear. Templeton had no reaction to whatever Latta had said, but eased Latta aside and stepped forward to meet Joe.
“I’m Wolfgang Templeton,” he said, grasping Joe’s hand in a huge dry grip. “I own most of this country around here.” He had a flat, authoritative voice.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Joe said after introducing himself. “It’s nice country.”
“It’s more complicated than it looks, that’s for sure,” Templeton said, turning his head toward the hills.
Joe got the impression there was more to Templeton’s statement than the obvious.
But before he could find out, Latta intervened, literally stepping between the two.
“Mr. Templeton, remember we talked a while back about establishing a couple of public walk-in areas downstream on Sand Creek, where the county road ends…”
Latta went on to explain the parameters of walk-in areas, the benefits for the public as well as the landowner, the goodwill that could be established, on and on, Joe thought. He’d never heard Latta talk so much or so quickly. Joe let him and didn’t interrupt. He assumed it was because Latta was nervous and perhaps intimidated, and instead concentrated on trying to read Wolfgang Templeton.
Joe had learned from Marybeth to trust his instincts upon meeting a man for the first time, and he’d honed the ability over the years when encountering fishers, hunters, and other loners in the outdoors. His immediate impression of Templeton was that he was a man with both the drive to achieve what he wanted and the patience to get it done. He was also a perfectionist who personally checked not only the fences, roads, and culverts of his ranches himself but also the hay crop. Templeton listened to Latta without a word, appeared to be engaged, but Joe doubted it. He seemed like the kind of man who had heard thousands of pitches in his life and could cut through the verbosity of the proposal to its bare essence within half a minute, and sum up the presentation in a sentence better than the presenter could ever dream of — for better or worse.
Joe had been in the presence of evil men — outright violent criminals and those with hidden motives and agendas — and Templeton didn’t give off that vibration.
There was also something in Templeton’s demeanor that suggested weariness and exhaustion. As if he had too much on his plate to spare the time for Latta, even if the game warden’s intentions were good.
Templeton nodded slightly as Latta went on about access and agreements with the state, but his eyes drifted first toward the rows of cut hay and then to Joe himself, where they locked on Joe just long enough to make him uncomfortable.
While Latta was in mid-sentence about the property-tax benefits of establishing a walk-in area, Templeton cut him off and said, “Okay, we’ll do one.”
That seemed to take Latta by surprise. Again, he began to explain the benefits.
“I said we’d do one,” Templeton said with finality. “Send all the paperwork to Mr. Williams, my ranch foreman. Deal exclusively with him to establish the boundaries. I’ll let him know you and Mr. Pickett here will be in touch.”
“That was easier than I thought,” Latta said, beaming. “I thought you’d have questions and concerns—”
“I said yes even though, believe it or not, it’s not the highest on my priority list,” Templeton said. Then, to Joe: “Some people have trouble taking yes for an answer. So you’re new to the area?”
Joe nodded.
“Where’s home?”
“The Bighorns.”
Latta said, “He’ll only be here for a couple of days. He’s done this walk-in area thing a few times, and—”
Templeton waved off Latta and turned a shoulder to him. To Joe, Templeton said again, “It’s fine country, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“Only a settler or two away from pure wilderness,” the rancher said. “What you see around you in this county is the first edition, even though it’s crumbling away. Think about that, how new it is even though it looks old. Most civilizations build for centuries on top of themselves. Not here. What you see is the first version of an attempt to tame wild country and draw a living from it: Black Hills 1.0. I’m not counting the Sioux and Cheyenne — they were here first. But they hunted here and passed through. They didn’t leave anything permanent except a few tipi rings.”
Joe nodded.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Joe nodded to Latta and said, “He thinks I talk too much.”
Templeton took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly through his nose.
“Strange how many people here feel they need to protect me in some way. I used to find it charming.”
Joe had no idea how to respond or what to say.
Before Latta could interject again, there was the sound of another vehicle roaring up the ranch access road toward the highway.
All three men paused to look up at the late-model white Suburban with the SAND CREEK RANCH logo on the door. It was traveling so fast, Joe thought, it might cause a head-on collision if someone was coming the other way around the tight curves. The tires kicked up a large plume of dust.
As the Suburban shot by, Joe saw three forms inside — the driver in front and two women in back, each in their own row of seats. Although the windows of the vehicle were darkened, he saw a pale hand wave good-bye to Templeton through the smoky glass.
Templeton raised his hand and waved. “There they go,” he said. “Off to the airport in Rapid City to return to where they came from.”
“Who were they?” Joe asked. He could feel Latta’s glare on the side of his head but didn’t acknowledge it.
“Visitors,” Templeton said. “Visitors who forgot they were visiting.”
Templeton watched them go. As the Suburban curved around the last hill, his face softened as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders, Joe observed.
“You’ve got quite a few visitors,” Joe said.
“I do,” the rancher said. “Some are better than others.”
“I assume those two in the car are who you’re talking about,” Joe said.
“Yes. But someone very special is replacing them.”
Joe arched his eyebrows.
Templeton continued, “It’s an amazing fact of life that no matter what your situation and current circumstances, you can suddenly meet a special someone who looks you right in the eye and sizes you up and opens herself up to you and everything else just melts away and you just know she will be a part of your life. Maybe even a big part. When that happens, it’s important to reassess.”
Latta’s mouth dropped open. He was obviously unsure how to respond, and a little shocked that Templeton spoke to Joe that way.
“You realize it’s time to clear out the detritus,” Templeton said. As he did it, he raised his hand and flicked his fingers at the memory of the passing Suburban.
He said, “After I’d met my special woman and returned back to the ranch, I couldn’t even look at those two anymore. It was the difference between dining on caviar and champagne and returning home where someone is opening a can of Spam for dinner. So it was time for them to leave and clear the air.”
“When will this special lady get here?” Joe asked.
“Anytime now,” Templeton said, almost in reverie.
“I met another one of your visitors down the creek,” Joe said. “He was an interesting guy who called himself Whip. He was fishing with a vintage bamboo fly rod. I don’t see many of those.”
Templeton seemed to snap back to the present. “That would be an important colleague of mine.”
“He wanted to ticket him,” Latta interjected. “Luckily, I saw what was going on and put a stop to it.”