My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
By two in the afternoon, the sun had reached its highest point, casting a pale, silver light across the south meadow. I took a mug of hot coffee out onto the front porch and sat down on the wooden swinging bench. The chains creaked slightly as I settled back against the slats.
The valley looked different now that the legal battle was over. The ridges seemed wider, the sky more open. For weeks, every time I looked at the hills, I had been searching for Arthur’s white sedan or waiting for another yellow-stickered envelope to appear in the mailbox. Now, there was nothing to look for.
I took a sip of the coffee, letting the heat warm my hands through my wool gloves. Across the creek, three mule deer were moving slowly through the scrub oak, their gray coats blending into the dry brush. They did not look toward the cabin. They belonged here, and now, so did I.
