My Husband Sold My Two Million Dollar Land For Five Dollars To His Girlfriend
The sound of a heavy diesel engine came from the driveway, followed by the slow crunch of gravel under wide tires. Tom Murphy’s old blue farm truck rumbled past the equipment shed, towing a flatbed trailer loaded with sixty bags of sweet grain.
He brought the truck to a stop near the barn doors, the brakes squeaking twice before the engine cut out with a low shudder. Tom climbed down from the cab, wiping his hands on a greasy red shop rag before he even looked toward us.
“Morning, Lily,” he said, nodding toward the new sign above the door. “Looks like you finally got the blacksmith to finish his work.”
“He delivered it at daybreak,” I said, walking over to the side of his trailer. “Tom, I did not order sixty bags of grain. Our account at the store is still suspended until the bank finishes the title restoration.”
Tom spat a toothpick into the dirt and rested his thick forearm against the side of the trailer. “I don’t recall asking you about your account, Lily.”
