Hiram Varnum was standing in front of the porch before the car had finished turning around, boots already dusty, a folded orientation packet in one hand that he has read out loud more times than he can stand. The north fence, the cattle count and two cabins with a water problem were still waiting on him, and guests were the part of the morning he could not put off.

Somebody on the porch behind him said something about thirty days just getting interesting. Hiram did not turn around.

Then he walked toward the SUV himself, before anything else could be said.

Somebody behind him made the joke about military training.

That is the whole of his argument, and it has worked for years.

And then there were bags to move, and while your friends were already laughing, his attention caught on you for one brief second too long, and he was the only one of the four who did not enjoy being caught at it.