by Cassie Cole
“I can’t believe you kissed her,” Daniel said.
Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, uhh. We did more than just kiss. Your toast is burning.”
Daniel flinched, then moved the skillet off the burner. “I’ve felt guilty for the past three days, and then you go and do it too.”
“At least Chase had the humility to admit it,” I said. “Truth is: Cindy and I slept together too.”
“What?” Chase said. “When?”
“Few nights back. Was gunna happen again last night, but then I saw you sneaking out to the barn.”
“Aww, shit. Didn’t mean to get in your way.”
“So you both slept with her? After we all agreed it was a bad idea to make any moves?”
Chase sat down and hung his head. “And now our plan is fucked.”
“It’s not fucked yet,” I said.
“You heard her. She talked to the sheriff.”
“But she doesn’t know anything,” I insisted. “She’s suspicious, sure, but that’s all she has: suspicions.”
“We should have told her,” Daniel moaned. “Gotten it all out in the open. Least then I could sleep at night.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But not yet. You saw how mad she was. We have to wait for the right time. Otherwise we’ll lose her altogether.”
“Then what do we do in the mean time?”
“What we’re paid to do,” I said, grabbing my hat off the table. “Tend her ranch.”
30
Cindy
I drove with the windows down and the radio blaring music as loud as it would go. I didn’t even mind that the only two radio stations were country. I just wanted something loud.
The wind whipped my hair around behind me, just like it did when I was a girl driving into town.
My emotions were jumbled like a knot. I wanted desperately to stay at the ranch, to savor being around the Hughes brothers and ignore all the other shit going on. But the problems couldn’t be ignored, and they were only getting worse, and running from them was what I did.
I pulled into the feed store parking lot and checked my phone. One bar of signal. Better than nothing. I opened my email app and watched it spin: 120 megabytes of emails were queued up for download. That would take forever. I changed my sync settings to display in batches, and to turn off all other background refreshing, but the data still transferred at a crawl.
Even after driving with the windows down, the car smelled like sex. That wonderful, pungent smell.
Slowly, the emails trickled in. Updates from Jason. Price alerts triggering. A 20 megabyte training video from HR that was hogging way too much of my bandwidth. I glanced at them and deleted what I didn’t need, enjoying the calm feeling of catching up.
I paused when I saw an email from Mr. Cormoran, the bank manager. A paragraph expressing his sympathy, with the hope that I was getting closure during my bereavement time. Then the meat of the email: some new investors were driving down from Dallas, and he wanted me to give them a cryptocurrency presentation tomorrow morning.
My mind seized on the opportunity. I typed an email back saying I’d drive back for the presentation no problem.
I paused before sending.
I’d finished most of the stuff I needed to do around the ranch. I’d gone through all my dad’s belongings, keeping the few sentimental items I wanted while discarding the rest. Everything left on the ranch could be completed by the Hughes brothers. I didn’t need to be there at all; I could return to Austin permanently.
But I had a feeling in my stomach that I needed to stay and see things through to the end. I didn’t want to leave this hanging over my head. Especially since I still needed to know what Landon and his brothers were up to.
I tacked on another paragraph to the email telling my boss I would be back for the presentation, but would then need to burn a week of vacation time back at the ranch.
My stomach made a scary noise, so I went into the feed store to buy an old hot dog rotating on one of the rollers. With enough mustard and ketchup it was almost tasty.
I spent the next few hours going through the rest of my emails, which were numerous but not terribly important. Some of the investors from the quarterly meeting had follow-up questions, all of which Jason handled smoothly. Things were rolling on just fine without me.
Then I opened my cryptocurrency app and checked the prices. As someone used to checking the market every hour, it felt like I’d been away for a year! The IOTA coin was up 42% in the last two days? I hoped Jason was dollar-cost-averaging into that rise in accordance with our investment plan.
I lost myself in the charts for a while. I checked my own personal portfolio, which was recovering nicely since last week’s sudden drop. Just a bump in the road. I could weather those.
And you know what? Thinking about my future felt good. After filling out the paperwork at the bank to request the foreclosure proceedings be halted, it felt like I actually had a future. One where I wasn’t stripped of all my assets and forced to start over from scratch.
A new email came in from my boss, telling me I could take all the vacation time I needed—so long as I made it back for this presentation. Yeah. Things were looking up.
Christ, I was tired. How was it the afternoon already? I felt like I hadn’t slept in days.
I still had so much to do. I wanted to use my phone as a hotspot and connect to the bank VPN so I could download the presentation. That way I could review it in my head during the six hour drive back to Austin. I did my best thinking while driving. Forming convincing arguments in my head, coming up with rebuttals, then ways to sweep those aside.
To do that I had to go back to the ranch and get my laptop. Then come back here to download it. Then drive home. My phone was running low, too, so I’d need to dig out my car charger as well.
I tilted the car seat back and felt the tension seep out of my muscles. If I could rest my eyes a few minutes I’d be fresh for the drive home. And if not, then I’d buy some of the feed store’s crappy instant coffee.
The plan sounded good as I drifted to sleep.
31
Cindy
I woke up after a few minutes feeling a thousand times better. I rubbed the crud out of my eyes and glanced at my phone: the battery had died. It was still light out, though, and when I turned on the car the clock said 7:30.
Good. Plenty of time to get my stuff and drive back. I wouldn’t get home to Austin until 2:00 in the morning, but I could deal with that. I made my best presentations on little sleep.
I drove back to the ranch a new woman. I didn’t even feel uncomfortable about the ranch hands waiting for me. So what if Chase was getting all lovey-dovey? He was an adult. He could handle rejection. I didn’t even mind their silly little pact. If anything, I felt flattered. Men did that shit all the time: claiming “dibs” on a woman, or coming up with rules as to who could pursue them. It was antiquated—as if a girl were a piece of property to be fought over!—but that’s how these cowboys were. If they were all romantically interested in me, of course they would come up with some sort of guidelines.
The only thing still lingering was what they were hiding from me. The real reason they’d offered to work on my ranch. I was going to confront them about it as soon as I got back from Austin, because I needed to know what they were about.
Having said that, it was easy to dismiss it all considering my ranch had zero value. Less than zero value, in fact. If they were after something, they sure as hell weren’t going to find it here.
Plus, they continued working here in spite of learning the ranch was going under. That meant their motivations had to be somewhat genuine, right?
The mailbox flag was up—which surprised me, since I didn’t think the mail came on Sundays. I stopped to grab the stack of letters, and was struck by a memory from my childhood: following my dad down the long driveway to check the mail every day.
“I think today’s the day,” he said, voice rising at the end and giving
day two-syllables to tease me.
“You say that every day!”
“Sure, Cindy-Sue. But today I mean it.”
He’d purchased a mail-order box of old Buck Rogers comics from when he was a kid. They were hard to find back then, especially without eBay. So we had to wait. They were one of the few hobbies we shared: vintage science fiction comics. He’d grown up on them, and I loved anything technology-related, and it was one of the few things we shared.
I stared at the mailbox, which was filled with only bills, and wished he was here to say I think today’s the day.
I was surprised to find the house empty; the boys should have been working on dinner by now, gathered around the table with their nightly beers. I guess they were still out working hard to make up for what happened last night. Doing their best to get back in my good graces.
And you know what? It worked. Knowing they were out there getting the ranch into shape made me feel less angry.
I tossed the mail onto the counter with the intention of looking at it tomorrow, but before I turned away I saw one letter slide out.
A letter from the bank.
Hoping it was an answer regarding the debt restructuring request I’d submitted, I tore into it eagerly, tossing aside the plastic envelope and unfolding the letter.
I scanned the words quickly, my stomach sinking farther with each one.
“No…” I whispered. It was a notice that the foreclosure auction had been set for Wednesday. Three days away.
I fished out the bank manager’s card, which had both his office and cell phone listed. Not caring if he was just sitting down to dinner, I called the latter and began shouting as soon as he picked up.
“This week?” I yelled. “You’re setting the auction for this week?”
“Miss Jameson,” he said, surprised.
“Yes, it’s me. What happened to the stay of foreclosure I submitted?”
“I, err, well I did say I couldn’t promise anything. I tried, but the process was too far along. I was overruled by the accountants.”
“Can’t we talk about this?” I asked, frantic. “Surely there’s something you can do. I want to pay back the loan. I have the money to make the missing payments!”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple…” he said. “The decision has been made, it’s out of my hands.”
I felt all the hope I’d gathered from the past day slipping away. Nothing I did mattered. The foreclosure was happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I closed my eyes to keep the tears at bay.
“Miss Jameson, let’s discuss this in person,” he said. “I’m getting ready to drive to the office. Meet me there and we can discuss other options. Foreclosure doesn’t have to be the end of the world, especially for a girl as young as you…”
I gave a start. “You would drive into the office this late? For me?”
“I, err, late? Bank hours are 9:00am on Mondays…”
I ripped my cell phone out of my pocket before remembering it was dead. The light outside was brightening, not getting darker as the sun set. Because it wasn’t setting.
“Oh no,” I said, hanging up.
I rushed into the bedroom to find the phone charger, fumbling with the cord as I plugged it in. The logo spun slowly as it booted up. Christ, how was there no other way to tell what day it was in this fucking world?
But I knew what it would say before the home screen finally loaded: 8:08am, Monday.
I’d slept all night in my car.
It was now Monday.
I was already late for the presentation at work.
And I was six hours away.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
For the next minute I was like a chicken with its head cut off. I tried calling my office on my cell, but of course I had no signal. So I ran into the kitchen to use the land line, but I didn’t know the number. I darted back in the bedroom, unplugged my cell from the wall, and carried it into the kitchen to plug in before it died again, then pulled up my contacts list.
I called Mr. Cormoran’s direct number. He didn’t have a secretary, and it rang three times before going to voicemail. Because he was already in the presentation that started 10 minutes ago.
“Fuck!” I screamed.
I called a second time, then tried Jason’s desk. I had Jason’s cell, so I tried that next. He answered on the fourth ring.
“Cindy?” he asked in a hushed voice. I heard voices in the background. “Where are you?”
“Patch me in to the conference call,” I said. “I can join from there.” I hadn’t looked at the presentation notes, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d winged one of these. I knew my stuff.
“There’s no dial-in number,” he said. “Mr. Cormoran likes to do things in person. Are you on your way? Should I stall?”
“I can’t be there. Are you in the main conference room? Give me the number to the telework kit on the desk. I can make it work over the phone.”
“Cindy…” he said, dread in his voice. “This is bad. I made something up, told them you were just running a little late. You need to be here.”
“Jason, please,” I begged. “Just dial me in.”
“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Jason wait—”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone. The cheap plastic receiver that was ancient in its size. Larger than necessary. I listened to the hollow dial tone drifting from the speaker.
I slammed it down into the holster, again and again, smashing it until pieces of plastic flew around me and clattered to the floor.
*
I found Daniel in the barn. He had one of the horses out of its stall, all saddled and waiting. He was whispering soothing words into his ear when I barged in.
“Oh. Hey Cindy,” he said. “We were wonderin’ if you’d gone home to Austin, or if…”
“I’m here,” I said.
He removed his hat to run fingers through his dark hair. “Good. Cause, uhh, there’s somethin’ I need to tell ya.”
“I’m not in the mood to discuss anything right now.” I eyed the horse: he wasn’t lathered or breathing heavy, so he hadn’t been ridden yet. I grabbed hold and put my foot in the stirrup.
“Hey, hold on a sec. Landon was gunna come and…”
“Some of us aren’t afraid of riding, Daniel,” I said with as much acid as I could.
“This one’s got a bee in his bonnet. He needs a good riding to—”
“Good,” I said. “I need a brisk ride.”
I kicked my heels into his flank and he trotted out the open barn door. The moment we rounded the property and he saw open pasture ahead, he opened up into a gallop.
I couldn’t believe how quickly everything fell apart. I’d been so hopefully about everything: the foreclosure, the overall debt situation, the path going forward. I’d been working hard to pick up the pieces. I thought it had been working.
Nope. It was all one giant waste of time.
My chest ached with the realization: the property was going to auction on Wednesday. Foreclosure had seemed like an abstract threat before, but now it was as real as could be. A date, a time. An official end to all of this.
We galloped across the land, up one small hill and down the other side, the horse as anxious as I was.
As I scanned the horizon of our property, I realized what was really bothering me. Deep down, in the part of my chest I put things I didn’t want to acknowledge.
I was going to miss this place.
I’d put up so many walls growing up. I made this ranch into the punching bag for everything I hated in the world: too remote, too boring, too antiquated. Detached from technology. Off the grid.
But now that I’d allowed the walls to come down a little bit, I saw the beauty in everything I hated. My life was a flurry of market reports and candlestick charts. The thing about cryptocurrency was that the markets ran 24/7: there was no opening or closing bell. It meant always be
ing at work. Always watching for a sudden movement, ready to act.
The Jameson Ranch was separate from all that. As much as it had itched the first few days, being off the grid was relaxing. I had no choice in the matter: I couldn’t check the charts unless I drove 20 minutes into town. It let my mind, my soul, unwind to a level I hadn’t felt since… Since I don’t know when.
With tears in my eyes, the good memories bombarded me. Mostly memories with my mom: naming the chickens in the coop while we collected the morning eggs. Planting flower bulbs in the garden, and picking the flowers when they eventually bloomed. The field of bluebonnets we used to run through when Heidi was just a puppy, snapping her jaws at each passing flower because she wanted to eat every one.
There were good memories with my dad, too. Learning to ride a horse, his patient voice telling me to try again after getting my foot stuck in the stirrup. Riding out to meet the new calves that had been born, and helping dad check their legs and teeth for defects. Coming out to the middle of the ranch to watch the Parseids meteor shower every summer, the sky alight with white streaks.
Riding at a full sprint, almost reckless, I realized some part of me had hoped to keep the ranch. Hire someone to manage it so I could come visit on weekends, or whenever I needed to unplug. Recharging my batteries in a way I hadn’t realized I needed until this past week.
But there was no chance of that, now. The ranch was being auctioned off in two days.
I gripped the reins and hated myself for feeling hopeful. This place had been doomed from the start. I never should have bothered. I should have let the bank handle it, then dealt with the fallout when they inevitably came after me.
The horse cut left to avoid a shrub, bouncing me several inches in the saddle. “Woah,” I said, tugging gently on the reins.
The horse tossed its head, fighting against the bit.
“Woah!” I said, yanking the reins harder. The horse snorted and its ears went back, completely ignoring me. It changed course again, nearly throwing me from the saddle. Somehow I held on.
