My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“You drove all the way from Kiowa for cinnamon rolls?” I asked.
“I came to apologize,” she said.
She reached into her handbag but did not pull anything out yet.
“Your father has been very difficult, Olivia,” she said. “His temper gets the better of him when he worries about Evan.”
“Arthur is not here,” I said.
“No,” she said, her voice dropping to an anxious whisper. “He is at the motel. He does not know I came to see you.”
She leaned forward, her eyes scanning the bakery to see if anyone was listening.
The only other customer was an old man reading a newspaper three booths away.
“He is under a lot of pressure,” Linda said. “We both are. But family should not behave this way.”
I looked at her face. The lines around her mouth were deep, and she had not put on her usual makeup.
“Is Arthur still looking for my land?” I asked.
“He wants what is fair,” Linda said. “But I told him we need to find a compromise.”
