My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“No,” I said, catching another log he tossed my way. “I have everything I need right here.”
Thomas stopped with his hands on the side of the truck bed, looking toward the southern fence line where the wire was sagging under the weight of the snow. “Your father’s car is gone from the motel in Craig. Saw the manager cleaning out the room yesterday morning.”
“They left for Denver,” I said. “Arthur and Linda both. Evan went back to Greeley.”
“That is what I figured,” Thomas said, his voice level and dry. “Local sheriff’s deputy was asking around the feed store about that locksmith Arthur brought out here. People are talking.”
“Let them talk,” I said. “The bank has the money back, and the sheriff has the report. That is the end of it.”
“It is a hard thing, family,” Thomas said. He lifted a massive chunk of yellow pine and set it carefully on the stack. “My brother tried to claim our old man’s John Deere back in eighty-four. We did not speak for nine years. By the time he died, the tractor was nothing but rust in a coulee anyway.”
