I just have to drive. And breathe.
Rhett
Through the rain-streaked window of Boone’s cabin, I watch the taillights of the truck fade into the gray gloom. The red glow bounces off the wet mud of the driveway, then disappears around the bend toward the main road.
“Did she just...” Knox asks from behind me, his words trailing off.
“Yeah,” I say, turning away from the glass. “She took the truck and left.”
Boone’s sitting at his small kitchen table, his head in his hands. He looks up, his brow furrowed. “Where is she going in this weather? The roads are washing out.”
“Maybe she just needed to get out,” Knox says, stretching his arms over his head. His spine cracks, loud in the quiet room. “It’s been tense. We’re all living on top of each other. Even the dog is getting cabin fever.”
We retreated to Boone’s cabin after finishing the morning chores. Feeding the livestock in the pouring rain is a miserable job, and we were all shivering and coated in mud. The generators are keeping the essentials running, but the cabins themselves are freezing without proper central heating. The wood stoves help, but the dampness seeps into everything.
“Why are we holding a secret meeting anyway?” Knox drops into the armchair, resting his boots on the coffee table. “Is this about the fact that she’s been stealing your sweatshirt? Because I think it’s the dog that’s the culprit, not her.”
“This isn’t about the sweatshirt,” I say. I pull the crumpled envelope from my back pocket and toss it onto the table in front of Boone.
Boone picks it up, his frown deepening. “What’s this?”
“Mail came yesterday,” I say. “I grabbed it from the box at the end of the driveway before the storm washed it away. It was addressed to the estate, but I opened it. It looked official.”
Boone pulls out the papers. His eyes scan the page, and then he goes still.
“What?” Knox leans forward, trying to read over Boone’s shoulder. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“It’s a notice from the County,” Boone says, his tone flat. “Code enforcement.”
“Code enforcement?”
“Anthony missed several regulatory inspections on the barns,” Boone reads. “Structural integrity, electrical wiring updates, waste management systems. They flagged the south barn and the stables back in June. There were follow-up notices in August and October. None of them were answered.”
“Anthony was sick,” I say. “He probably didn’t even open them. Or he forgot.”
“Well, the county doesn’t care,” Boone says. He slides the paper across the table so Knox can see. “Look at the fines.”
Knox whistles. “Holy shit.”
The total at the bottom of the page is bold and black.Eighteen thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars.
“They’re threatening to condemn the structures if the repairs aren’t completed and the fines paid by the date of the next inspection,” Boone says.
“When is the next inspection?” I ask.
Boone checks the paper. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Knox rubs his face. “Eighteen grand? Plus the cost of repairs? We don’t have that kind of cash sitting around.”
“I have some savings,” I say. “But not enough to cover that and the materials. Do you have access to your rodeo winnings?”
Knox shakes his head, looking frustrated. “I’m waiting on a payout from that Wrangler shoot I did last month. Gary said the check is stuck in accounting. And with the circuit on hold... I don’t know when I’ll see another prize check. Most of my assets are tied up in investments I can’t liquidate without taking a huge hit.”
“And I put everything I had into the new tractor last spring,” I add. “I’m liquid, but not that liquid.”
Boone leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “So we’re broke. And the ranch is about to get shut down.”
“Can we fix the stuff ourselves?” Knox asks. “The repairs? We’re competent guys. We can do the wiring. We can fix the railings.”
