The Waimea Two-Step: An Excerpt

The following is an excerpt from my novel-in-progress, THE WAIMEA TWO-STEP, which I will self-publish, well, sometime soon.

The waitress arrived with their breakfasts, along with coffees for Jefferson and Pualani, and a green tea for Kalola. She left the check on the table and split.

Jefferson pointed at Kalola’s bowl of oatmeal as he sprinkled pepper on his three eggs, sunny-side, accompanied on his Big Ranchhand plate by steak, two strips of bacon, home fries, and a side-stack of pancakes. “That’s all you’re having?”

“I’m not much of an eater. I can get by with not much.”

He grinned. “So I see. And you no doubt are wondering how I can eat all of this and still stay so incredibly fit and trim.”

Pualani gave him a sideways look as she poured non-fat milk in her coffee.

Kalola hesitated, and then said, “Well, maybe it’s because when you were growing up, you had to fuel up for a full day of hard work.”

Pualani guffawed. The mirthful outburst surprised herself as much as it did Jefferson and Kalola, so she covered her mouth with her napkin and issued a muted apology.

Jefferson blinked at her, and then said to Kalola, “The concept of hard work is not foreign to me. I’ve had my share of callouses.”

Kalola looked at his hands. “Um, so tell me—what do you envision for the future of the ranch?”

“I see us raising a lot more of this delectable meat.” Jefferson carved his steak into bite-sized pieces. “No, seriously, I think Carswell Ranch will be around forever, or at least as long as our vegan-conversion program maintains its current ninety-five percent success rate.”

Pualani, a hunk of Denver omelet impaled on her fork, stared at him.

Kalola said, “I guess what I mean is, you must feel a lot of pressure, being the heir to the Carswell name, and knowing one day, the ranch will be all yours.”

“It’s not so bad. See, the place runs itself. Dad’s basically a CEO—he calls the big strategic shots, but when it comes to the everyday things, he can take it easy, ride his horse, drink expensive wine, and not worry about it.”

“Then you mean, the paniolos and Sam and everyone who works on the ranch, they have things under control?”

“Sure, okay.”

“When you were younger, did you look forward to the day when you’d be in charge? I mean, I don’t mean to imply you’re waiting for your father to retire or die—”

“Kalola, the heady, carefree days of my adolescence were spent frolicking in the meadows, chasing the sun and flying kites, my head filled with dreams of one day—when I was a grown man, ready to conquer the world—of one day laying claim to the title, ‘certified public accountant.’”

“Really?”

“Or a fireman.” He popped a chunk of meat in his mouth and grinned while he chewed.

Pualani said to Kalola, “I can’t vouch for a single thing he just told you because I didn’t have the misfortune of meeting him until he was older. But”—she turned to face Jefferson—“perhaps my handsome husband can slow his snark roll long enough to answer your questions like a grown-up.”

Jefferson bounced his eyebrows at her.