The door swung open and Penny came out with the shotgun, which she could barely lift to her shoulder. Ellen feared if she fired it, it would knock her on her ass and she’d break a hip.
“Miz Penny!” Clive said warmly.
“You heard my granddaughter,” Penny said. “Skedaddle, and don’t come back. No means no, boys.”
They didn’t immediately move. Penny racked the shotgun.
Clive and Tom quickly climbed back into the cab. When Clive didn’t turn the ignition, Ellen took the shotgun from Penny and aimed at the truck.
The truck came to life and they drove off.
Ellen had to smile, but still admonished Penny. “John told you five years ago you weren’t allowed to shoot anymore.”
“I wasn’t going to press the trigger, but back in my day I was a sharpshooter.”
“I’ve heard.”
Ellen went inside, unloaded the shotgun, put the shells on the high shelf inside the door—out of Penny’s reach—and propped the gun in the corner. “Avery!” she called up the stairs. Her older daughter was the only night owl in a house filled with morning people.
Bobby ran down the stairs, hand gripping the newel post as he swung around and headed down the hall, Whiskey, their yellow Lab, at his heels.
“No running,” Ellen said automatically as she put her hand in front of Penny to prevent her from tripping over the dog.
“Sorry, Mom! Morning, Grandma!” Bobby grabbed a muffin off the cooling rack, ran out the kitchen door, down the steps, and out to the barn, Whiskey in pursuit as if this was a game. “I’m gonna look for Cleo!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“That boy,” Penny said with a wide grin.
Ellen poured more coffee and grabbed a biscuit. Penny was an amazing cook, and while Ellen had repeatedly told the eighty-four-year-old that Ellen didn’t expect her to cook, Penny dismissed her. They’d developed a comfortable rhythm where Penny made breakfast—she was up before dawn anyway—and Ellen or Avery made dinner.
This week, their schedules had been off. Storm prep last week, then days of cleanup after the weekend rain, and now more storm concerns, all while managing the fields and cattle.
Flooding was definitely a possibility. The ground was saturated, and while the levees would likely hold along the Red River to thenorth, the creeks that ran from the river all through the valley were already running high.
They could withstand an inch or two. The roads—all packed gravel leading in and out of their property—may be impassable because there were several sections damaged from last weekend’s rain and hail. Just a little rain would cause the drainage ditches to overflow and create muddy spots where even four-wheel-drive trucks could get stuck. She’d had the kids stay home from school today because while Ellen could probably drive them to the closest bus stop two miles away, she worried about them getting home.
Jake usually drove everyone to school, but today he had to check on the cattle and fix the run-in. And she wouldn’t have wanted him driving in the downpour that was expected before school let out for the day. At least once a year, someone got caught in a flash flood. It had happened once to John’s brother Travis; he was lucky to be alive.
“Don’t let Clive and that eejit he’s been working with get into your head,” Penny said. She sat down and began shelling peas. Ellen marveled that Penny could be so focused on her daily chores that she didn’t seem fazed that they could be trapped here for a couple of days—or that their fields could flood and wipe out all their crops.
Not to mention the truth of what Clive had said. Their farm was struggling. She had crop insurance, like most farmers, but she didn’t want to lose the entire season. They had the cattle—which was more than a lot of their neighbors had—but cattle prices were erratic, and this year already showed signs of stagnant prices. John had always brought in labor during harvest, but he did so much himself both at harvest and in the winter. Last season Ellen had paid out more than she’d earned; this year, except for the cattle, she would be in the same boat. Those animals might be the only thing keeping them afloat.
“Do you believe him?” Ellen asked Penny. “That the Coulters sold access rights to the utility company?” From what Ellen could piece together from the neighbors, the utility company was working with Verdacorp to buy narrow strips of land across the valley where they’d put up poles and cell towers, and Verdacorp would manage the mineral rights.
“I hope not,” Penny said, “and I don’t put it past Tom Garza to lie through his teeth.”
“I hear abut.”
“I haven’t talked to them since before last weekend’s storm,” Penny said.
The Coulters and McKennas had been neighbors for more than a hundred years. Why hadn’t they talked to her first? Had Ellen not explained the seriousness of the leases? The fine print that could damage their property as well as Ellen’s? Why did they do it? Were they in financial trouble?
“I need to know if Tom is telling the truth,” Ellen said. “Why would he lie when we can easily verify it?”
“Because he’s a lying, cheating piece of horse manure.”
Ellen had to smile. She loved Penny.
Penny put a hand on her arm, gave it a squeeze, her old fingers bony but strong. “You’re doing good, Ellie. I know it’s hard. But John would be proud of you. Pull up your bootstraps and be the woman my grandson married.”
