My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
“I did not press the charges,” I said. “The lawyer wanted me to, but I told her to let it go once the money was returned.”
“Probably wise,” Thomas said, wiping his nose with the back of his glove. “Arthur has to walk into the bank in Craig to sign his personal guarantees now. Everyone in the county knows his name is no good on a draft. That is worse than a county jail cell for a man like him.”
We worked in silence for twenty minutes, our breath rising in white plumes that mingled and disappeared in the cold air. The pile of wood grew until it reached the edge of the shed roof, the clean, sharp smell of split larch filling the small yard. My shoulders began to ache beneath the heavy coat, the physical labor warming my back and arms.
“That should hold you,” Thomas said, slamming the tailgate shut and twisting the handle. “You need any help with that south fence line come spring? Those corner posts look like they are leaning toward the creek.”
