My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“How much?” I asked.
“Three thousand dollars by Friday,” Rachel said. “That will leave you with almost nothing to live on.”
I stood up from the table. I adjusted the silver watch strap again, feeling the cold metal against my skin, remembering the day my mother gave it to me.
“Do the filing,” I said. “I will find the money.”
I drove back to the ranch as the afternoon sun began to drop behind the high western ridge. The mountain air was turning cold, the temperature dropping toward single digits.
I stopped at the hardware store on the edge of town and bought a heavy steel deadbolt for the front door of the cabin.
The clerk behind the counter looked at the brass lock in my hand, then up at my face. He knew my father. Everyone in this valley had done business with him at some point.
“Rough winter, Olivia,” the clerk said, sliding my receipt across the counter.
“It is,” I said.
I did not offer any details. I took my bag and walked back to the truck.
