Page 2 of One Hundred Humbugs

It was beautiful and peaceful. The complete antithesis of her cramped apartment with its view of a brick wall and a perpetually overflowing dumpster.

As Ruby scrolled through the images, a memory surfaced. She was ten years old, spending a rare afternoon with Uncle Peter during one of his infrequent visits. They were sitting on the back porch, Ruby nursing a scraped knee from a failed attempt at skateboarding.

“You know, Ruby Tuesday,” Uncle Peter had said, using the nickname only he ever called her, “there’s a whole world out there beyond these suburbs. Mountains that touch the sky, forests so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. That’s where the real magic happens.”

She’d rolled her eyes then, in the way every preteen could. “Whatever, Uncle Peter. I’m gonna live in the big city and be a famous artist.”

He looked at me with a gentle, knowing smile. “Maybe so, kiddo. But remember, sometimes the universe has other plans. And those plans? They’re usually better than anything we could dream up ourselves.”

The memory faded, leaving Ruby feeling a heaviness she couldn’t shake. Had Uncle Peter somehow known she’d end up needing this escape hatch? Or was it just one of life’s strange coincidences?

In a few minutes, she’d have to pull herself together and pretend to care about website color schemes and font choices.

But for the first time in months—maybe years—a spark of excitement took hold within Ruby. A sense of possibility. She had choices now. She could sell the property, pay off her debts, maybe even squirrel away enough for a fresh start somewhere new. Or...

Or she could go to Aspen Cove. See this place for herself. Breathe in that mountain air Uncle Peter had raved about, walk in his footsteps, maybe even understand why he’d left her this unexpected gift.

The responsible thing would be to call a real estate agent, get the property assessed, put it on the market. That’s what her mother would advise. It’s what any sane person would do.

But Ruby was tired of being responsible. Tired of playing it safe and ending up miserable anyway.

Her fingers hovered over her laptop, itching to search for flights to Colorado. It was crazy. Impulsive. Potentially disastrous.

It was what she needed.

The video call notification popped up on her screen, her client’s name flashing insistently. Ruby took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. One last job, she told herself. One last dive into the world of hex codes and design. And then ... well, then it would be time for an adventure.

As she clicked to accept the call, a lightness spread through Ruby, more freeing than anything she’d experienced in years. She greeted her client on the screen, the mismatched socks on her feet seeming less like a mistake and more like a sign.

“Good morning!” she said, surprising herself with her enthusiasm. “Before we get started, I should let you know—this will be my last project for a while. I’m taking a ... sabbatical.”

The word tasted foreign on her tongue, but not unpleasant. As her client sputtered in confusion, Ruby’s amusement grew.

Sometimes the universe does have other plans, she thought. And Uncle Peter? Wherever you are, I hope you’re enjoying the show.

CHAPTER TWO

The ancient truck groaned as Becket Shepherd navigated another bend in the winding country road, its weathered frame a testament to years of hard use and makeshift repairs. He squinted against the harsh winter sunlight, his calloused hands gripping the steering wheel with a tension that spoke of more than just difficult driving conditions.

Becket, a third-generation rancher from eastern Colorado, never imagined he’d be in this situation. Six months ago, he had a thriving goat farm, a decent plot of land he rented from old Mr. Johnson, and a future that seemed as solid as the Rocky Mountains on the horizon. But then the drought hit, worse than anyone had seen in decades. The pastures dried up, feed prices skyrocketed, and Mr. Johnson, facing his own financial crisis, had to sell the land.

Just like that, Becket was without a home for his beloved herd. He’d sold off what he could—his equipment, his truck, and even his prized guitar, replacing the truck with a wheezing relic. But parting with the core of his herd was out of the question: five nannies, two billies, and ahandful of kids. They were more than livestock; they were family.

So here he was, a nomad in his own state, driving from town to town, looking for temporary grazing arrangements, odd jobs, anything to keep his goats fed and his dream of rebuilding his farm alive.

To either side of the road, barren fields stretched out like a bleak canvas, the once-lush landscape now a patchwork of brittle brown and faded yellow. The persistent drought had transformed the region into a harsh, unforgiving terrain that seemed to mock the idea of life and growth.

A restless bleating from the trailer behind him pulled at Becket’s attention. He didn’t need to see them to know what was happening. The goats were getting hungry. Again. And among those familiar voices, he could pick out one in particular—a lower, more insistent call that made his heart clench with worry.

Daisy. His prize Nubian nanny, heavy with kid and due any day now.

“Hang in there, old girl,” he said, though he knew she couldn’t hear him over the rumble of the engine. “We’ll find you something good to eat. You and that little one of yours.”

Becket’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The pregnancy had been a surprise, coming late in the season when he least expected it. Now, it was both a blessing and a complication. Daisy needed extra nutrition, a safe place to kid, and Becket was running out of both time and options to provide them. Still, he thought that all things happen for a reason.

He pressed down on the accelerator, a new urgency driving his search. This wasn’t just about keeping the herd fed anymore—he needed to secure a future for the tiny lifeDaisy carried. Her bleats, more demanding than the others, served as a constant reminder of the precious cargo he was responsible for.

Becket’s eyes flicked to the fuel gauge, and his jaw tightened. The needle hovered just above empty, a visual reminder of his dwindling resources. He’d been driving for hours, crisscrossing the county in search of any patch of land that might offer some respite for his hungry herd. So far, his quest had been fruitless.

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