My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
When I reached my gate, I did not put another padlock on the chain. I left the chain hanging. If Arthur wanted to think he had cleared his path, I would let him think it.
I drove up the winding driveway to the cabin. The house looked small and lonely against the vast gray expanse of the foothills.
I walked inside and set my keys on the kitchen table. The house was cold, the oil heater in the corner clicking as it struggled to warm the small rooms.
I went to the front door with my tools. I spent thirty minutes drilling out the old wooden frame, fitting the heavy steel strike plate, and lining up the deadbolt.
When the screws were tight, I turned the thumb latch. The heavy brass bolt slid into the frame with a solid, metallic click.
I walked out onto the front porch. The wind was quiet now, but the cold was heavy, settling into the valley like a weight.
I sat on the wooden bench and watched the shadows stretch across my meadow. The white snow turned blue, then gray, as the light faded.
