After he left, I sat there staring at the envelope and keys. Part of me wanted to throw it all in the trash, but another part, a part I didn’t particularly like, was curious.
A million dollars. Maybe more.
I grabbed another beer and popped it open, then grabbed the thick envelope and tore it open. Inside, just as I expected, was the deed to the ranch, several copies of the estate holdings, a few years worth of tax records, blueprints, sales records for the cattle that no longer existed, and finally, the letter my father had written. I stared at the front of it, my name written in his familiar blocky handwriting. For half a second, I nearly turned it over and opened it. But then, thinking better of it, I walked it over to my desk and tossed it into the lower drawer with all the other letters he sent over the years, and slammed it shut.
“Fuck you,” I grumbled, staring at that closed drawer. “I’m gonna sell your ranch and go on a gay cruise across the world just to spite you,” I said through gritted teeth. “And I’m gonnado everything you said I couldn’t… be everything you told me I couldn’t be…” I wiped hot tears away, furious they even dared to exist. “Fuck you for dying...”
I sank back into my recliner, draining my beer in a couple of gulps. For a long moment I just sat there, the blood pounding in my ears. None of this was fair or right. And yet, I already knew that I wasn’t going to work tomorrow, that I wasn’t going to be in this trailer anymore come the end of the week.
I was going to Sagebrush, back to my childhood home that I swore I’d never return to ever again. I was going to sell that ranch, take the money, and run.
And not a fucking thing on the entire planet was going to stop me.
Chapter 2
Cash
One Month Later
It was surprisingly easy to pick up and move halfway across the state of Texas. For some reason, I thought I’d be sad about leaving my old life behind. But when I gave my boss two weeks notice at the quick lube shop, he fired me on the spot. And then when I told the trailer park manager that I needed to sell my place and break the lease, he didn’t even bat an eye. He just wanted to know how fast I could leave so he could get someone else moved in.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that neither my neighbors nor my coworkers were sad to see me go. It wasn’t like I had any real friends. I wasn’t even sure I wanted any. After I packed up a few boxes and tossed them into the back of my truck, I realized I wasn’t really leaving anything behind except the old life I’d cobbled together from scraps.
The only thing I was actually upset about leaving behind was the hookup opportunities. Living on the outskirts of Austin meant I could pretty much find sex whenever I wanted it. But in Sagebrush? Forget about it. If that place was anything like it waswhen I was sixteen, the only thing I’d find there was bigots and old farts.
But it was only for six months, at the most. My plan was to move into the old man’s house, strip out and sell what I could, then sell the entire property to some other rancher that wanted to deal with it. I’d get my million and head for a new life in some other country where my million would support me for the rest of my life. Preferably a place where the men were hot and where nobody knew me.
The drive to Sagebrush took longer than I remembered. Six hours of nothing but flat land, tumbleweeds, and the occasional gas station that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies. I’d forgotten how much of Texas was just...empty. By the time I saw the faded “Welcome to Sagebrush” sign, my ass was numb and my stomach was growling.
I rolled down the window, letting the hot air whip through the cab of my truck. The town looked exactly the same as when I’d left it. Same dusty main street. Same old buildings with their weather-beaten facades. Like someone had pressed pause on the whole place the day I drove away.
Dolly’s Diner sat on the corner, its neon sign still flickering in the same broken pattern. The ‘y’ blinked twice before the whole thing lit up for a few seconds, then repeated. My stomach made the decision before my brain did, and I found myself pulling into one of the parking spots out front.
The bell above the door jingled as I walked in, and I was hit with the smell of coffee and grease. It was like stepping back in time. Same cracked vinyl booths. Same wobbly ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. Even the specials board looked like it hadn’t changed in a decade.
I slid into a booth near the back, facing the door. It was a habit I’d picked up living on the outskirts of a big city in some of the worse parts of town. Never sit with your back to the entrance.
“Be right with you, sugar!” called a familiar voice, and there was Dolly herself. She was a little older but still had that same bleach-blonde, poofy hairdo. She was wiping her hands on her apron as she approached, pen tucked behind her ear.
“What can I get you, sugar?” she asked, pulling the order pad from her pocket.
I studied her face, waiting for the recognition to hit. Dolly had known me since I was a kid. She used to slip me free pie when Dad wasn’t looking. But there was nothing in her eyes. No spark of familiarity.
“Coffee, black,” I said.
She nodded and walked away. I studied the menu, though I already knew what I wanted. The Rancher’s Special, same thing I ordered every time I came here as a kid. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until just that moment.
When she returned with my coffee, I ordered and gave her the name “Jack” when she asked. No need for her to run off telling everyone Cash Callahan was back in town before I was ready.
As I waited for my food, I stared out the window at the dusty main street. Not much had changed in Sagebrush. The hardware store, the bank, the feed store… all of it was still there, probably run by the same families. For a moment, I felt a weird twinge of something like nostalgia, which I quickly washed down with a gulp of scalding coffee.
The food came, and I ate slowly, putting off the inevitable. Once I finished my meal, I’d have to drive out to the ranch and face whatever mess my father had left behind. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I kept reminding myself that the money would be worth it in the end. A few months of discomfort was nothing compared to a lifetime of ease.
When I finally paid the bill and left, the sun was starting to sink lower in the sky. I climbed back into my truck, turned thekey, and headed west on the county road. Twenty minutes of dirt roads later, I saw it in the distance: the wooden arch marking the entrance to Callahan Ranch, just as weathered and defiant as the day I’d stormed out under it almost ten years ago.
I stopped the truck right beneath it, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. The sign hanging crooked from the arch creaked in the wind, holding on by just a single chain link. It was so rusted that I couldn’t even read it anymore.
“I’m only here for the money,” I reminded myself aloud, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Get in, get out, get rich.”
