Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(41)

Chapter Eleven

As soon as he dropped a smirking Wes off at the guesthouse with his meds, Mack hauled ass to the main house so he could run his new ideas past Arthur. Most of the guests were assembled around the corral. On Tuesday afternoons some of the more experienced riders showed off their roping and riding skills, and even gave guests the chance to learn some tricks. Not something Mack needed to be there for, since the riders used their personal horses.

Arthur’s office door was wide-open, and two voices drifted out. Judson’s voice was no surprise, but Patrice’s made Mack pause outside. Not one to eavesdrop, he knocked on the doorframe.

“Come in,” Judson said.

Mack stepped inside the large, cozy office. Arthur had decorated the walls with different painted horse portraits, and two big bookcases were stuffed with horse figures of all sizes and colors. The desk was an organized mess that made Mack a little crazy, but whatever system they had worked for Arthur and Judson. At least he could see the computer and keyboard clear as day.

Judson stood near one of the two big windows with Patrice, the two of them clearly in the middle of some sort of conversation.

“This about Wes?” Judson asked.

“Partly,” Mack replied. “Just got back with him. Doc took a small splinter of wood out of his leg and put in two stitches. Got some antibiotics, but he should be fine. Not even limping anymore.”

“Oh good, that poor angel,” Patrice said.

Angel? Someone had Patrice wrapped around his little finger, all right. “You know where Arthur is?” Mack asked. “I wanted to talk to him about the ghost town Wes stumbled over.”

“Went to the can,” Judson replied. “Should be back in a minute. I gotta say, I’m curious to see these pictures you found.”

Mack plunked down in the desk chair, then hooked his phone up to the computer. By the time he had the images up and ready, Arthur shambled into the office. Mack hadn’t seen his grandfather since yesterday, and he looked tired. More worn out than usual. Mack didn’t comment, though. Arthur wouldn’t appreciate it in front of his other employees.

“I’ve got a radical idea, but hear me out,” Mack said. “Something that will not only make the ranch more money for the horse rescue, but may even bring Garrett out of its economic decline.” He brought up the wide shot of the town, with the best view of the different buildings. “Imagine this restored, with day players walking around as gunslingers, and live shows by trained actors. Authentic clothes, authentic food served in a real saloon.”

Patrice clapped her hands. “Like an attraction.”

“Exactly like that.” He clicked through a few more pictures. “Think of the people from town that we could employ, and the tourist dollars this could bring in. We’re an hour from San Francisco and less than that from San Jose. There’s no access road yet to the location, but there has to be a way to create one. We’re not that far off I-5. This could be exactly what Garrett needs.”

“It sounds good in theory,” Judson said, “but restoring a town like that, never mind staffing the kind of attraction you’ve dreamed up, costs a lot of money. The ranch can’t front that.”

Arthur was staring at the computer screen, a strange look on his face. As if the man was caught between excitement over the idea and the downside of financial realities.

“Granddad?” Mack asked.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied. “I love the idea, to be honest. And I definitely want to go see this ghost town for myself, but Judson’s right. Only way we could pony up that sort of money is by mortgaging the ranch, and I’d hate to do that. Owe on something that’s been owned by our family for generations.”

Mack hated the idea of Arthur doing that, too, gambling the family’s land on his pipe dream. If it didn’t pay off, they could lose too much. A new idea flickered to life in the back of Mack’s mind—a sure-fire source for the cash they needed.

“You could always take that offer on the back forty,” Judson said.

“Wouldn’t work,” Mack replied. “Our ghost town is right on the border of that tract of land. The whole thing would go to hell if we ended up with modern condos on the horizon. Kill the experience.”

“Don’t wanna sell it, anyway,” Arthur snapped. “No sense in arguing money until we’ve seen the town. Distance from here, terrain, if we could even get a road through. Can you show me on the map?”

“Sure.” Mack stood and walked to the assessment map of the ranch lands, drawn up three generations ago as a gift to the man who would have been Mack’s great-great-grandfather. He traced his finger over the glass-covered surface, moving from the northern-most point of the camping tour to the west. Over the stream. “There. Right in this area here.”

Three sets of eyes peered over his two shoulders, studying the topography.

“That valley cuts down through here,” Arthur said, pointing at a mark on the map. “Some trees but not much that would need to come down. Seems accessible. It’s a wonder we’ve never found it before now.”

“I want to go back into town at some point,” Mack said. “Do some research at town hall, see if there are any records of people settling up there.”

“Good idea. Why don’t we make a plan to go out tomorrow on the ATVs?”