Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Are you nuts? It’s after ten. My parents and uncle are in bed.”
“Sorry. You want to check on them?”
“Hell, no. Just stop the pounding. What do you want?”
“You got any beer?”
“In the fridge.”
“I could use one. How about you?”
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just meet me outside on the stoop. Bring some beer.”
I nab a few of Uncle Bobby’s beers out of the fridge. Uncle Bobby is Ma’s brother, and he’s been living with us and working the ranch since my father’s accident. He’s not thrilled when I snag his beers, but he usually looks the other way.
I pop a tab and take a long drink. I don’t like the taste of beer. Never have. But Brett’s right. Tonight seems like a beer night if there ever was one. I take several out on the porch where Brett is waiting.
He polishes one off quickly, grabs another, and pulls the tab. Ernie perks up his ears at the click and the hiss as some beer bubbles over.
I scratch his soft head. “Good boy, Ern.” I look out at the ranch and then upward to the night sky. Montana is called Big Sky Country for a reason. The stars are bright tonight, and the moon is a crescent sliver. A firefly whizzes past in a blink of light, and crickets chirp in the distance while the cattle rustle in the fields, occasionally lowing. I inhale deeply, letting the scents of the night—hay, wildflowers, and the earthy smell of the horses and cattle—soothe me. They’re familiar scents. Comforting scents.
Old Man Larson doesn’t keep cattle. Only goats, and they’re inside his barn at night. I’ve never seen a wildflower growing at his place. His poison personality must keep them at bay.
I let out a huff at my thought.
“What?” Brett asks.
“Nothing.”
Nothing I want to tell him, anyway. Brett’s my best friend, but he’s hardly the poetic type. He won’t understand me thinking that flowers can’t grow on Larson’s land. Seb would get it. He’s artistic, always making up tunes. Or Alex, always talking about the stories he wants to write someday. Pirates and adventurers, he says.
Me? I love the ranch, and I guess I get a little whimsical sometimes. I don’t ever want to leave this place. It’s in my blood. In my soul.
Brett’s the brains of the bunch of us, always messing with some computer program or another. He’s nearly put the local nerd out of business because he knows computers better than anyone in this little town. His attention to detail is uncanny, which is why I know his plan will work. He thinks of everything that could possibly go wrong, and he figures out a way to take care of it.
Brett takes a drink, slurping the beer off the top of the can. “You think we’re ready?” he asks after he swallows.
Did Brett truly just ask me that? This was all his idea. “You’ve planned out every detail,” I say. “You always do. How can we not be ready?”
He nods. “I worry about Jake.”
“Jake? Why?”
“He was so quick to agree. Not that I mind, but it’s not like him.”
“Yeah. I know.” I pet Ernie again and then throw one of his old tennis balls.
He bounds after it into the darkness.
Jake swore me to secrecy about Marnie and her pregnancy, and also about his mom losing her job. And there’s a bunch of other shit going down that he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell me. I want to unburden myself to Brett about it, but I can’t. My word is gold. My dad taught me that when I was little, before his accident.
Now my father doesn’t know me anymore. The accident took away a lot more than his ability to walk. All he does now is sit in his wheelchair and watch TV. More often he just stares into space. I stopped trying to get his attention years ago.
Ma, Uncle Bobby, and I take care of our small ranching operation. But I remember the good times. The times when I had a dad—a really awesome dad who taught me what it was to be a man.
That dad would be really disappointed in me if he knew what I was about to do.
I’m glad he doesn’t know. No one will ever know because Brett’s plan is foolproof...and I need my share of Larson’s riches.
So does Jake.
“What’s up with him, anyway?” Brett spits on the ground.
“Jake?” I shake my head. “Hell if I know.”
“It’s Marnie,” Brett says. “That’s got to be it.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Ernie returns and I throw the ball again.
“You think he’s getting serious with her?” Brett asks.
“Why the fuck would I know that?”
“You know everything, Riv,” Brett says. “You’re the keeper of our secrets.”
I turn to him, but he looks straight ahead, as if he’s trying to see something that’s not there.
“What the hell do you mean by that?”