Page 5 of The Wildest Ride

Lil was glad she had taken Gran’s advice to sit down. The floor had become somewhat less substantial beneath her boots.

It occurred to her that they were nice boots. She could probably sell them for some quick cash. It wouldn’t be anywhere near enough if what she thought might be true was true.

Sixty days wasn’t enough time at all. Lil frowned. They had a cash reserve of five thousand to keep them and the stock fed through a pinch, and they had the value of their stock itself, which could bring in another eighty thousand in a quick sale at auction, but as far as she knew, they didn’t have any other assets.

Her 1980s Toyota was too beat-up to be worth anything, and she didn’t own any personal items of value.

Finally, she found her voice. “But why would Granddad do something like that?”

Gran sighed. “I don’t think that he could admit he was too old to do it all himself anymore. Looking at his paperwork, in addition to withdrawing the amounts it took to look like he’d still been going on the drives, it looks like he’d been dipping in those funds rather liberally.”

“Rory...” Lil grimaced. She had wondered where he’d scrounged up the money for a papered Arabian filly.

Now she knew.

Gran nodded. “And Gorgeous,” she said, referring to the brand-new Subaru station wagon that sat in her driveway, souped-up with every safety and luxury feature available.

Lil brought her fingers to her temples and rubbed. “So how much is left in his secret pot, then?” she asked.

Gran shook her head. “Just ten thousand.”

“What?” Lil gasped.

Whining wasn’t her usual way, but, as the woman from the bank had gone, and there was no one left to throttle, it was the only option available.

“Don’t be theatrical.” Gran’s comment was automatic, so much so that Lil wasn’t even sure the woman noticed she’d made it, nor that, as far as statements went, it was the pot calling the kettle. “They want twenty percent for the down payment. We don’t have that.”

Lil groaned. “Nor enough for the mortgage payments after that. We’re barely making it by as is.” Lil couldn’t tell the truth: they weren’t making it. She had been contemplating selling equipment to stretch the final distance to make ends meet. Every month it was a struggle, but Lil had been somehow managing, just eking it out of the red. A mortgage payment, any mortgage payment, would break them.

Gran waited a beat after Lil’s interruption, punctuating the unspoken admonishment with a lifted eyebrow and communicating clearly without words:Are you done yet?

Lil blushed.

“But—” Gran continued. “We have each other. And we have Lil.”

The way her gran said her name made the hair stand up on the back of her neck, but when she opened her mouth to question, her grandmother lifted her palm to her, a signal to Lil to hold her tongue.

Out of respect, she did.

“Lil. You’re on temporary reassignment.”

“What are you talking about?” Lil asked.

“I’m the owner, aren’t I?” she asked.

“Yes, but we agreed that I was in charge of daily operations.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Gran.”

“I can do your job. Nobody but you can do what we need you for now.”

Here was the plot, then. Lil’s skin crawled with a warning, but she asked anyway, “And what is that?”

Gran handed her a glossy quarter sheet flyer in response. Lil read the largest print and then set it facedown on the table and brought her fingers to her temples.

Gran’s voice was soft when she next spoke. “We need the money, Lil. I don’t see any other way.”

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