He looked at her.
For the first time since the auction, there was no amusement in his face.
Only frustration.
He drove away.
January brought the determination.
Reina was in the kitchen when her attorney called.
She saw the number.
Could not answer for several seconds.
Finally:
“Hello?”
“You sitting down?”
“No.”
“Sit.”
Reina sat.
Her attorney continued.
“The state engineer’s review accepts the historical amendment documentation.”
She closed her eyes.
“Keep going.”
“The spring collection site has been matched to the historical works with sufficient confidence.”
Her hand tightened around the phone.
“The source is located within Juniper Crown’s boundary.”
“And use?”
“Approved restoration of the historic collection system subject to conditions.”
Reina stopped breathing.
“What conditions?”
“Flow limit. Monitoring. No unrestricted diversion.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-two gallons per minute under the approved plan.”
Reina said nothing.
“Reina?”
“I’m here.”
“Thirty-two is enough for what you proposed.”
She knew.
She had calculated it dozens of times.
Modest cattle numbers.
Storage.
Controlled pasture irrigation.
Domestic needs under appropriate separate arrangements.
Not a giant commercial ranch.
But a functioning one.
“Grant?”
“His challenge is denied.”
Reina put her forehead against one hand.
She did not scream.
Did not jump.
Did not even smile immediately.
The first thing she felt was exhaustion.
Months of doubt released at once.
Her attorney kept talking.
“There are reporting requirements.”
“Fine.”
“You’ll need engineered stabilization around the chamber.”
“Fine.”
“Collection design approved before construction.”
“Fine.”
“Reina.”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations.”
She looked through the kitchen window.
Juniper Crown was still brown.
Fence still partly unfinished.
House still needed repairs.
No cattle.
No green pasture.
Nothing visible had changed.
Everything had changed.
She called Kelsey.
“Thirty-two.”
Kelsey understood instantly.
“Good.”
“Just good?”
“That’s a sustainable planning number, not a lottery ticket.”
Reina laughed.
“Never let anyone accuse you of joy.”
“I’m a hydrogeologist. Joy contaminates sampling.”
She called Emmett next.
He answered on the second ring.
“Well?”
“Accepted.”
Silence.
“Emmett?”
He made a sound.
Half laugh.
Half breath.
“My grandfather wasn’t crazy.”
“No.”
“My father thought that water was gone.”
“I know.”
“He spent thousands drilling wells.”
“I know.”
Silence again.
Then Emmett said:
“Take care of it.”
“I will.”
The actual restoration proved less dramatic than discovery.
It required permits.
Engineering.
Excavation.
Concrete.