“You sleep alright?” he asked without looking up.
“I’ve had worse,” I said, stretching.
He nodded. “Come on. Time for the tour.”
I barely had time to pull on my coat and grab a piece of toast before I was following him out the back door, down the icy porch steps, and into the wide-open world of what was apparently now mine.
“This here’s the main house,” he started, pointing to the weathered siding. “Built in the sixties. Needs a new roof. Furnace is moody. Windows rattle when the wind picks up.”
Charming, I thought, a wry smile failing to reach my lips.
He led me past a battered old pickup that looked older than both of us and toward the barn. The ground crunched beneath our boots, the snow giving way to half-frozen mud.
The massive barn doors groaned open on rusted hinges, the sound echoing like a lament off the snow-covered hills.
Inside, it smelled like wood, animals, and history. Dust hung in the air like it was suspended in time. A horse in the nearest stall turned to look at me, blinking slow and solemn.
I took a careful step forward. “Hey there.”
It stretched its neck over the gate to sniff my coat, its warm breath puffing against the cold air. I flinched back, startled when its rough whiskers brushed my collar.
Max chuckled under his breath, a low, rumbling sound.
“We keep feed in the far corner, tack room’s through there. Roof leaks when it rains hard. We’ve patched it best we can.”
I ran my fingers over the worn wooden stall. “How many people work here?”
He hesitated. “Used to be six. Down to three now, counting me.”
“And that’s… enough?”
“For the basics.”
Which was a cowboy’s way of saying no.
We stepped around a rusted wheelbarrow and passed a stack of worn-down hay bales. A workbench sagged under the weight of tangled reins and tools, and the barn cat darted across the floor like a shadow.
We made our way to the southern pasture, where the fence leaned like it had been holding its breath too long.
In the distance, dark shapes moved slowly through the snow—cattle grazing with the patience of winter animals who knew how to endure.
“Cattle are out farther,” he said. “We rotate grazing spots to save what grass we can. Winter feed’s tight. Prices are up, and deliveries are late.”
I tried to nod like I understood, but the words 'rotate grazing,' 'winter feed tight,' and 'deliveries late' blurred into a single, overwhelming message: a mountain of work, not enough hands, and certainly not enough money.
As we stood there, I noticed more: a broken gate latch tied together with bailing wire. A sagging post held upright by what looked like a rusted shovel handle. Fences that hadn’t seen paint in years.
“Look,” Max said finally, turning to face me. “This place has good bones. But it’s held together with duct tape and grit. We’re behind on property taxes. Bank’s been sniffing around.”
I blinked. “Wait. The bank?”
He looked away. “I was gonna tell you. Figured you should see it first.”
“How bad is it?”
He exhaled through his nose. “We’ve got weeks. Maybe.”
My breath caught. “Weeks until what?”
