She dismounted and tied Sir Lancelot’s lead to the rail on the side of the house. The wind suddenly picked up, then settled back down. Ellen knocked on the door.
Millie answered, smiled warmly. “Ellen! Dear, come in. It’s getting windy out there.”
Ellen took off her muddy boots and left them by the front door. “Thank you,” she said and stepped inside.
“Coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
“That would be nice, thanks.”
She followed Millie into the kitchen. George was sitting at the table, reading the news on a tablet. He smiled at Ellen. “How’s things at your place?”
“Last week’s storm prep helped. Jake and Mateo are out repairing the run-in that was damaged by hail.”
“I fed and secured the bulls this morning. They were agitated, it’s going to be bad.”
Maybe, she thought. Animals had better senses about weatherthan people. She hoped they’d done enough to prepare, but there wasn’t much more that they could do other than secure the animals, shore up the outbuildings, and stay inside once the rain fell.
She sat across from George. He tapped on his tablet and she saw he was reading his email. The words on his screen were enlarged so it was easy to see Congresswoman Jeanne Clarke Culver’s header across the top.
“Good thing email is free,” he said. “Otherwise the weekly emails I get from this woman would be costing taxpayers a fortune. Did you see this? A letter about how to prepare for a storm. Like we haven’t been preparing for sixty-some years.”
Mille put a mug of coffee down in front of Ellen along with cream, knowing she preferred her coffee light.
“Now, George, she’s just doing her job.”
“I didn’t get emails every week from Henry.”
“Henry probably didn’t even know how to use a computer,” Millie said.
Five years ago, Jeanne had run for the congressional seat that her grandfather Henry Clarke had represented for twenty-some years after he retired because of his health. He died a year later. Ellen had taken Penny to the funeral. She’d gone to school with Henry and they’d been friends ever since.
“I need to get back pretty quick,” she said, knowing how a conversation with the Coulters could turn into an hourlong gossip session, “but I had a visit from Clive Robinson this morning.”
George and Millie exchanged a look, and Ellen’s chest fell. “So, youdidsell to Verdacorp?”
“Just the right-of-way,” George said. “Not the whole farm. I told John I wouldn’t sell the farm to them, and I’ll stand by that.”
A small blessing, Ellen thought. “Thank you.”
“And they’re just working with the utilities, many people sell the right-of-way for utilities. Better than the government comingin and snatching the land through eminent domain. The money is good, Ellen. You might want to think of doing the same thing.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but George put up his hand. “I know your concerns, but we had a lawyer look it over, and there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not selling a square foot to Verdacorp,” Ellen said, sounding a lot harsher than she intended. She sipped her coffee to cover, then said, “I’m going through with the expansion.”
“Do you have the money, dear?” Millie asked. “Clive said you were struggling.”
Ellen wanted to wring Clive’s neck. Was that what he was telling people? That she was struggling and therefore they should sell to Verdacorp because Ellen couldn’t pay them a fair price?
“I have the money,” she said, though it wasn’t completely true. They’d bought the Mendoza property and had planned to plant it last year… then John died. This year, she was only able to get one fifty-acre plot planted with sunflowers, and they hadn’t yet touched the pecan trees, which were a complete mess as they hadn’t been harvested properly in a decade. She had hoped by next year she’d have half the old Mendoza property planted, which would on paper give her the ability to carry a loan on the Coulters’ property.
“A lot of people are selling off,” George said.
“The McKennas have farmed here for nearly a hundred and thirty years. I’m not backing down,” Ellen said. “After harvest, I hope we can negotiate for the east half of your property. I’ll plant winter wheat and move the cattle there.”
George nodded. “That’s a good plan,” he said. “We can talk.”
She hoped he wasn’t just saying it to make her feel better.
