by Cassie Cole
“Trust me: you’re not intruding.” I made myself laugh. “If anything, I’d feel better having other people in this big, empty house. Besides, the $300 you quoted me was with the assumption room and board was included. Right?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Then it’s settled. I don’t want to hear any other arguments. And I’m buying the groceries from now on, too.”
“Careful,” Landon said. “Chase can eat enough to bankrupt a ranch…”
“Hey! I get hungry!”
With fresh sheets on the master bed, I slept in there instead of on the couch. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel weird sleeping in my dead dad’s bed. I guess it had been so long since I lived on the ranch that none of this held any familiarity; it was just a large room next to the kitchen. I fell asleep to the sound of creaking floorboards from the bedrooms above, and the soft hum of their voices drifting through the floor.
Despite setting my alarm for 5:30, I was the last person up in the morning. The Hughes brothers were already seated around the table in work jeans and boots, eating scrambled eggs and drinking coffee.
We discussed the agenda for the day. Landon and Chase would set to repairing the damaged fence, while Daniel took a closer look at the water damage he’d found in the attic before repairing the missing shingles. My job was to start clearing away all the personal belongings inside, sorting through what was worth keeping and what could be tossed. I’d be tossing pretty much everything, but they didn’t need to know that.
I found my dad’s business credit card in a desk drawer and gave it to Landon in case he needed to buy any materials we didn’t already have, and then we all split up to tend to our tasks.
My dad had boxes of stuff everywhere, but I decided to start in the master bedroom because I wanted some clean personal space for me, especially now that it was clear it would take at least a week to get the ranch fully repaired. The boxes held anything you could imagine: newspaper clippings for random events were in one box, while seven other boxes held the newspapers themselves. A box of bottle caps. Four boxes full of financial documents: bank statements, credit card reports, tax sheets. I put those aside; they were too important to toss, but they sure as hell weren’t my problem.
Everything else I loaded into my SUV. I could make a trip to the landfill when I went to town to buy groceries.
The phone rang at 8:00 on the nose. It was strange hearing a land line ring, like a sound from a long-ago time. Like a typewriter’s clicks, or the whistle of a steam engine.
“Cindy Jameson?” came Robert Bonile’s slow voice. “I just spoke to the county judge. The probate came back.”
“That’s great!” I said. Then, in a lower voice in case Daniel could hear: “So we can go ahead and hire an estate seller? We have a lot of work to do around here, but if they can find someone who’s willing to buy it as-is…”
There was a long silence on the phone.
“Robert? Are you there?”
“It’d be easier if we spoke in person,” he finally said. “Are you at the ranch?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll be there in 20.”
He was here in 13 minutes, which meant he must have driven at least 80 miles per hour the entire way here. Before I could comment on it, he hopped out of his truck with a box of documents carried in both hands.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, red-faced.
By the time I led him into the bedroom and closed the door, the sinking feeling in my stomach had grown large enough to make me nauseous. He dropped the box of documents on the bed and wiped his brow.
“If you’re going to give me bad news, don’t dance around it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”
“Robert...”
He took a deep breath and blew out his mustache. “Your dad’s estate has a considerable amount of debt. It hasn’t had self-sustaining profitability in six years. If not for the mineral rights, he would have gone bankrupt.”
I blinked. The news was bad, and not terribly surprising. Dad never was good with accounting. Said it got in the way of real work. As if ignoring his finances while riding around on a horse would make the problem go away.
“Alright,” I said slowly. “Paying off his outstanding debt will suck up some of the sale proceeds. I knew that was a possibility. It’s not the end of the world, Robert. You can stop sweating.”
But he only wrung his hands even more. “Well…”
I frowned. “Will the debt suck up most of the sale proceeds?” It would suck for sure, but finding out now was better than finding out after I’d sunk a bunch of renovation costs into the ranch.
Robert reached into the box and pulled out a folder, then wordlessly handed me the top sheet.
My eyes widened as I scanned the page.
“How is this much debt even possible?” I sputtered. “He’s maxed out his business line of credit with the bank, and four other personal credit cards.” I stopped reading the specifics and jumped straight to the bottom of the page. “Robert, there’s more debt than equity here.”
“Cindy, I’m so sorry…”
I tossed aside the page. “Don’t be sorry. Help me understand how this could have happened.”
“Your father was a good man,” he insisted. “I’m sure whatever he did—”
“Fuck blame!” I snapped. “I don’t care about blame. I care about understanding. And don’t hand me any documents to read,” I quickly added when he reached for the box. “Just give me the overview. That’s your job.”
I still stood, but Robert sat on the edge of the bed. He looked like the saddest stuffed animal at the county fair.
“It was little things, at first,” he said in his slow drawl. “The price of beef fluctuated. A pox came through, wiping out half the herd. Remember the rains we got back in 2013? Seven cows drowned when the stream flooded.”
I pointed at the financial document on the ground. “That number doesn’t happen because of a few drowned cows.”
“I know, I know. Like I said, it was little stuff adding up, at first. It was fine because the monthly check for the mineral rights covered the loss. But…”
“But what?”
His sigh, and his slumped shoulders, encompassed much more than just my ranch alone. “The oil finally dried up. It was one huge pocket under the town, spread out among a few hundred ranchers. The surveyor estimated it would last until 2031, but…”
That explained why Maggie’s motel closed down. No more oil meant no more workers. It also explained why my dad started changing: growing more bitter on our infrequent phone calls, hoarding junk in boxes, neglecting parts of the ranch.
I remembered the voicemails on his answering machine: one from a bank manager, and another from his ranch hands. I saw everything in new eyes.
“So my father kept dumping money into the ranch to try and make it profitable,” I said. “And then his only steady source of income literally dried up underneath him. And now the estate is in debt, and the land is worth only a fraction of what it was.”
“That’s right. Your father’s not the only one, either. The judge told me most of the ranches in the area are in financial trouble. The Honeycombs to the north are the only ones who diversified enough to avoid ruin.”
“Good for the Honeycombs,” I mumbled. I picked up the picture frame on the bedside table. It was a close-up of my parents, my dad and momma’s cheeks pressed tight together while grinning for the camera. It looked like a selfie from before selfies were even a thing.
I couldn’t make myself feel sorry for him. His precious ranch was a burden around his neck? Well, that sounded like a sweet little bit of irony to me.
I put the frame back down. “I guess it was better to find out about it now than before I started fixing the place up. I’ll go tell my new ranch hands to pack it up and go home.”
Robert frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not worth sinking more money into,” I said. “If the proce
eds of the sale aren’t enough to cover the debt, then I’m done here. I’m going back to Austin.”
Back to my real life.
But Robert’s expression only worsened. “Cindy… it’s not that simple. The new mortgage was substantial…”
“So the bank forecloses,” I interrupted. “It doesn’t matter since I won’t get a penny regardless. I’m fine with that. I wasn’t joking when I said I have no sentimental attachment to this place.”
“But… the debt. You are now responsible for it.”
I looked at him like he was speaking Greek. “Debt can’t be inherited. Everyone knows that.”
“Yes, well, normally that is true. But there are exceptions. Such as if an inheritor co-signed on a loan…”
I waited for him to continue, but he kept staring at me with that pitying expression. “Well? What other exceptions?”
“That’s the exception that applies to you.” He reached into his box of documents I didn’t want to read and handed me a stapled stack of papers. As a girl who worked for a bank, I immediately recognized it as an equity loan with the house as collateral. Essentially a new mortgage.
And at the bottom of the page, next to my father’s name, was my own signature.
I couldn’t have been more surprised if the loan sprouted wings and flew around the bedroom.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Pardon?’
I shook the papers at him. “This isn’t my signature. I didn’t sign this.”
“I… are you certain?”
“Yes I’m certain!” He flinched, and I lowered my voice to a not-crazy level. “Two years ago he visited Austin out of the blue. Mentioned getting a loan like this, and made up some bullshit about needing a co-signer. I refused him.”
I remembered because it was only a few months after momma passed, and I thought he was visiting because he was lonely. I took pity on him. Then he sprung the loan idea on me over lunch. Claimed he wanted to expand the ranch, give lessons to tourists or some stupid shit like that. As if West Texas was a hot new tourist location. West Texas! Come for the skin-melting heat; stay because you’re too lost to find your way home.
When I asked why he needed a loan when momma’s life insurance money should have paid out, he told me he’d already spent it on ranch supplies. The memory of it was enough to make my blood boil, even now.
“You’re saying this signature is forged?” Robert asked.
“It must be.”
“Hmm.” He chewed that over. “That would be hard to prove in court.”
“Who the fuck allows a mortgage to be co-signed without a notary present?” I held up a hand to keep him from answering. “Podunk little banks in West Texas, I know. If I can’t prove it’s a forgery? What then?”
“Well… I’m not sure it will ever even get that far. Your father hasn’t made any payments in three months; the loan is already in default, which was part of the reason the probate court responded so quickly.”
“I work for a bank—I’m familiar with the process,” I said. “We can negotiate with the bank and try to find a middle ground. That’s part of the process. Banks like to avoid foreclosures, if they can.”
“They’ve been trying to negotiate for weeks,” Robert said. “Your father has ignored them. The process of judicial foreclosure has begun.”
My heartbeat was a drum in my left ear, making it hard to think. But ultimately, I knew what would happen next. The bank would have a foreclosure sale. It would be low, if it sold at all. That would leave them with a big red number: their total loss. Then they would try to recoup them by coming after me. I was fucked.
Suddenly Robert’s eyes lit up. “Do you own a house? In Austin?”
“I rent a condo,” I said, not understanding the point. “Property taxes are too damn high to own.”
“And you truly don’t care what happens to the ranch?”
“Not even a little bit.”
He clapped his hands together. “Well then you’re saved! Lots of other ranches are being foreclosed on right now. Aside from seizing the estate, a bank will typically only pursue you if they think they can recoup most of their losses. And since you have no equity in any other home, which is the most valuable asset most people possess, they won’t even bother with you!”
He blurted it all out in a rush like he was trying to solve the final puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. Christ, he looked so pleased with himself. And for a few, precious seconds his excitement bled over, allowing me to feel hope. I didn’t have another house! The bank wouldn’t have anything on which to put a lien!
Until I realized the one thing I was missing. All hope drained away like the drain had been unplugged. I held my head in my hands and stared at the ground.
“What’s wrong?” he said. “Are you worried about your credit score?”
“The bank won’t ignore me,” I said. “They’ll take the time to sue me for their losses.”
Robert gave a nervous chuckle. “Why would they do that? Have you won the lottery?”
“Worse: I’m sitting on $2.4 million worth of cryptocurrency.”
11
Landon
Life was good when you were working on a ranch.
Chase and I rode along at an easy pace, our saddle bags filled with extra wood posts, spare barbed wire, and nails. The air was warm, but not too hot. The sky was blue and filled with a herd of billowy white clouds that looked like cotton candy I could almost reach out and snatch from the air if only I reached just a little bit farther.
We had chores, and we had plans for the future, and it was a beautiful day to work on both.
We worked in silence for over an hour before Chase said, “I saw you holding hands.”
I was in my own thoughts, so the comment caught me off guard. “Do what now?”
“You and Cindy were holding hands on the ride yesterday. While I was testing the herd.”
A tickle went up my gut at the memory. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed; it was an innocent moment. A man lending a little bit of comfort to a woman who’d just lost her father.
But Chase’s eyes held enough judgement to make me look away.
“I was thanking her for hiring us.”
“Sure you were.”
“Shut up.”
We hammered the new post into the ground with a mallet and then rode in silence to the next damaged section.
30 minutes later Chase said, “She’s something, ain’t she?”
I shrugged casually. “Not that it’s any of your business, but she is.”
Chase leaned back. “Why isn’t it my business?”
“Just pointing out that my feelings are mine alone.”
“Please. I wasn’t talking about your feelings. I was just saying she’s something.” He poked me in the chest with a roughness only a brother could get away with. “And I thought you said you were only thanking her for hiring us.”
“I was,” I said, but I knew it was a weak protest. I let go of the barbed wire, which re-coiled down the line away from us. I turned to face my brother straight-on. “I don’t want to risk our opportunity here. Not until we know for certain this is the place we’ve been looking for. Not until we make our move.”
“And after that?”
I shrugged. “After’s after.”
“Sure is,” Chase said, grabbing the end of the barbed wire. “We come to that point, I just might make a pass at her myself.”
“Hah!”
That wiped the smile off Chase’s smooth face. “What’s so funny?”
“Just the thought of a woman choosing between you and me. Like deciding between a juicy steak and a cheeseburger.”
“Sometimes cheeseburger tastes better,” he said. Then: “Hey! I’m not cheeseburger.”
“Sure you aren’t, buddy.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, anyways. Remember Anastasia?”
I trawled my memory for the name. “The foreign exchange student? In high school?”
“Wit
h the legs.”
I laughed. “Boy, do I. She dated all three of us for months. Remember when she took us all to the same movie at the same time?”
“Wedding Crashers,” Chase said wistfully. “She let me slip a hand under her skirt during the dinner scene.”
“I know,” I said, “and the entire school knew, because you bragged about it for weeks.”
“Oh, right.” Chase went to his horse to get the hammer and nails while I held the post steady. “I still can’t believe she chose Daniel,” he said as he bent down to the post.
“Some girls like the quiet types.”
Chase hefted the hammer, then paused. “You think Cindy likes the quiet type?”
I gave him a reassuring grin. “No. I don’t think so.”
He held a nail to the post and drove it flush in three swings. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“But not until after,” I said.
We wiped our hands and nodded in mutual agreement.
*
Daniel had dinner halfway finished by the time we returned to the house. Cindy was quiet and brooding, giving one-word answers to the conversation we tried to strike. I wondered what was bothering her.
I wondered if she’d figured out we had other motives for being here.
Daniel’s chicken was served in a cream sauce that tasted like heaven no matter how many times we’d had it. Even Cindy groaned and seemed shocked by the taste, insisting her own mom had never cooked anything so tasty. Daniel listened to the praise quietly, but I could tell he was happier and more confident than he’d been in a long time. Since before the accident.
Chase and I cleaned the dishes, which turned into Chase finding an excuse to go to bed early and leave me with the rest. That’s when Cindy appeared with a bottle of brown liquid whose only label was a thick layer of dust. She slammed it down on the counter next to the sink.
“Want a drink?”
“Only a fool turns down a drink with a pretty girl,” I said, though I couldn’t help but feel like I was walking into some sort of trap.
12
