“That doesn’t even make sense.”
That’s when Callie arrives, responding to the begging text message I sent her, asking her to hurry. She looks at the scene, where both our fathers are refusing to sign papers while a government employee looks ready to cry.
Hands on hips, she looks between both our fathers. “What’s going on?” she snaps like she’s out of fucks to give.
“Your father won’t sign the water rights renewal,” I explain.
“Neither will yours,” she points out.
“Yup.”
The inspector thrusts his forms at our fathers, dropping half of them in the process. “Please. I have seven more ranches to visit today. Can we just... can we please just sign these?”
“I’ll sign,” I announce, stepping forward. “I have power of attorney for the ranch.”
“Since when, Boone?” Dad demands.
“Since never, but the inspector doesn’t know that.”
“I’m right here,” the inspector says, gathering his dropped papers. “I can hear you. I heard that whole thing. It’s called fraud, young man.”
“Then you didn’t hear that part about power of attorney being fake.”
“That’s fraud. Actual, prosecutable fraud.”
“That’s problem-solving.”
“It’s against the law.”
“Semantics.”
I reach for the forms, but the valve on the irrigationsystem chooses that moment to malfunction. Or maybe I accidentally hit it with my elbow while reaching. Actually, I know I did. Either way, water explodes from the pipe like a geyser.
Amazing timing.
Sadly, the inspector gets the worst of it with direct hit to the face with the force of a fire hose. His papers fly everywhere and he goes down. Mr. Thompson manages to stay on his feet, but his soaked clothes cling to him in a way that would be funny if he wasn’t looking murderous. Dad dodges the worst of the deluge but slips in the resulting mud and goes down next to the inspector. Jesse tries to shut off the valve but turns it the wrong way, increasing the pressure.
“OTHER WAY!” Callie shouts, but it’s too late.
The pipe gives up entirely, breaking free from its housing and whipping around like a water cannon. Water’s going everywhere—sideways, up, down, and in spirals.
Rita, because she has impeccable timing, chooses this moment to escape from Callie’s truck and join the party.
She immediately goes for the inspector’s briefcase.
“Stop that goat!” he screams, slipping as he crawls to his feet.
But he’s not fast enough. Rita gets there first, grabs the briefcase in her teeth, and takes off running with the speed of a gazelle. The inspector chases her even though he’ll never catch her, followed by Callie.
Jesse finally gets the water shut off, but the damage is done.
We’re standing in what looks like a mud wrestlingarena. The inspector is crying, actually crying, tears mixing with mud on his face, as he watches Rita disappear with his briefcase.
“What a freakshow,” Callie mutters, shaking water and mud off her hands.
“A highly rated freakshow,” I offer. “Excellent drama. Emmy-worthy.”
“That’s not helping.”
