“Your sister too.”
That earns her a laugh. “I wouldn’t trust her with a paintbrush.”
“Dick,” she calls out.
“What? You know you painted half of the ceiling because you weren’t being careful in high school.”
“At least I fixed it now.” She points a finger in my face.
“Still. I don’t know if I need your help.” I smirk at her. “We’ll see what I’m getting myself into once I get out there.”
I’m only hoping I’m not biting off more than I can chew.
Life for me is back in Seattle. It’s not in Pinecrest. I’m hoping for a quick transaction and then leaving town.
That’s my plan.
I only hope I can stick to it.
Chapter Four
KADE
Dirt billows out from behind the SUV as I drive down the empty road. Scraggly grass lines each side as the mountains loom in the distance.
The Lost Spurgateway greets me. One of the metal spurs hangs haphazardly from one side and rust coats the sign.
Leaning forward to take it in, I pass under it, entering Verne’s ranch.
Well, now my ranch. I met with the attorneys today, and after some signatures, the place is mine.
Fences don’t look to be in great shape, held together with duct tape and a prayer.
Jesus. I knew the place wasn’t looking good, but I didn’t think it was this bad. Turning along the drive toward the main building, pine trees rise up on either side of me. I roll the windows down, sucking in a breath of fresh air.
I forgot how good it feels.
A few cars sit in the parking lot, but I bypass them and head toward the barn. I don’t know who still works here that I would know, but something I learned from the time I spent here is that the ranch hands always knew what was going on.
I’ll start there.
Parking my car, I hop out and slam the door shut behind me. A horse neighs in the pasture ahead of me.
The barn is old. Windows and doors are dusty, with bales of hay stacked along one wall. The sun glares off the high windows from the roof.
Everything looks like it could use a good scrubbing.
The doors are swung wide open and an older man walks out.
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah. I’m Kade Miller. I?—”
“The new owner,” he interrupts. “Sam Shaw. I’m the lead rancher here. I’ve been trying to do what I can to keep things running these last few months, but it hasn’t been easy.”
“What do you mean?” He winces, brown eyes looking at me with curiosity, gauging how much he wants to tell me. “Look, I own the place now, so might as well rip off the Band-Aid.”
“The ranch is broke,” he says matter-of-factly, running a hand through his graying hair.
