My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
A white pickup truck went past on the county road, its chain tires throwing gray slush onto the snowbank. The driver did not slow down, but I recognized the orange safety lights on the cab. It was the county road grader, heading back toward the depot before the evening freeze.
I checked the battery indicator on the screen. Ninety-four percent.
The solar panel on the well house roof was tilted south, catching the last pale light of the afternoon. It would keep the system running through the night, even if the temperature dropped to fifteen below.
I heard a low hum from the highway.
A dark blue sedan drove slowly past the gate entrance, its passenger side window rolled down three inches. I could see the silhouette of a woman’s knit hat in the passenger seat.
Linda Carter, my stepmother, was looking at the new chain.
The sedan did not stop. It accelerated as it hit the straight stretch, the rear tires fishtailing slightly in the loose snow.
I watched the red taillights disappear over the ridge toward the river.
