My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“Let us go take a look at the boundary lines before the sun goes down,” she said.
By two in the afternoon, we were standing in the snow-covered meadow of the ranch. The fence posts were old cedar, leaning slightly under the weight of the drifts.
My boots crunched against the frozen gravel of the driveway. The main house sat fifty yards away, its wooden siding weathered to a dark charcoal gray.
“The roof needs work,” Carol said, shielding her eyes from the glare of the snow.
“I can fix a roof,” I said.
I walked to the edge of the fence line, looking out over the creek. The water was frozen solid, a ribbon of white cutting through the valley.
My family owned the neighboring section, just over the ridge to the east. Buying this place would mean living in their shadow, but it would be mine.
“The foreclosure ratification deadline is February fifteen,” Carol said, walking up behind me.
“That gives us seven weeks,” I said.
“The bank wants a quick sale, Olivia. If you sign the preliminary papers today, we can lock out any other bidders.”
