Page 23 of The Mountain Echoes
“How bad is it?” I ask, my arms crossed.
They trade one of those long looks that tells me I’m not gonna like what I hear.
“We’ve got seventy-six head,” Earl says finally, voice dry as the flour dust in the air. “Forty are in good enough shape to sell. The rest need feed, vet work, a miracle or two.”
“We were down to thirty-five,” Nadine adds, “But we picked up a few from an old neighbor who couldn’t keep his operation going. Got ‘em cheap.”
“Last buy your Papa made before he fell too sick.” Earl runs a hand over his white, patchy head.
“Who’s been running the place?” I ask.
“We are,” Nadine replies. “You know Celine doesn’t give two shits.AndHudson likes to pretend he’s boss, but he ain’t.”
“I thought he took care of all the finances.”
Nadineand Earl look at each other again.
Nadine clears her throat. “He hardly does any work. Mostly everythin’ that’s got to do with money is handled by Amos.”
I know Amos Langley. He’s the accountant for several ranchers in Wildflower Canyon. No nonsense. Honest. High integrity.
“Didn’t see him at the wake,” I mention.
“He couldn’t make it.” Earl gets up and pours himself more coffee. He looks at me, and when I nod, he refills my cup as well. “Called to let me know. He was in Chicago, and the storm grounded flights.”
“I’ll catch up with him. He still has his office on Main Street?”
“He does.” Nadine leans forward and rests her elbow on the table. “Look, your Papa had started to keep Hudson off the money.”
I narrow my eyes. “Since when?”
“Since some of it went missing,” Earl snaps. He never sugarcoats.
I want to say that Hudson would never steal, but I know Earl; he doesn’t spout bullshit. The man hardly talks, so when he does, it behooves you to listen.
“Amos will know?”
Earl nods. Drinks some coffee.
“What was Papa’s plan with Longhorn?”
“He wanted it sold, girl.” Nadine purses her lips, obviously not happy about a sale. “After him, he knew Celine didn’t want it and…he didn’t think you’d even come back for the funeral.”
My chest tightens as I try to breathe.
Slowly, I lick my lips. Say nothing.
The last time I spoke to my father was when I called to wish him a Happy New Year. The conversation was brief. Papa didn’t even tell me he was ill. Nadine did. I asked him about it, but he chalked it up to Nadine being paranoid.
I should’ve come then, I think, regret, real and heavy inside of me. I should’ve just shown up. Spent time with him. Held his hand.
“He understood.” Nadine took my hand in both of hers. “Girl, he did what he could to protect you.”
I shoot her a displeased look. “Come on, Nadine.”
Her eyes soften. “He didn’t want you to be tied to this place…he knew what happened with Celine and Hudson broke your heart. He wanted you to be free.”
“That should’ve been my choice.” I pull my hands away from hers, feeling angry. Petulant.
