She blinked back tears.Damn. “I’m trying.”
“It’s not weak to ask for help, Ellie. I miss him, too.”
Ellen knew she did; they all did. She needed a moment to collect herself before she went out again, so she headed upstairs. She didn’t want her kids seeing her teary-eyed.
Two weeks would mark the one-year anniversary of John’s death. It was getting harder and harder to be the strong woman everyone expected her to be. The pressure that Verdacorp had put on her neighbors and her family had been constant and soon would cometo an impasse. And Travis—her brother-in-law—was part of the problem. He didn’t see the issue with selling rights to a fifty-foot-wide strip of land that cut through their property. It wasn’t the utility poles and lines and towers that bothered Ellen; she wasn’t anti-progress. It was the fine print that gave the company mineral rights.
When she and John first discussed leasing right-of-way, they thought it was a good idea. They’d have needed money, money to grow and expand the farm even if they had to give up a strip of land. But as they researched, they learned about problems with the same proposal in the Panhandle: The utility company put up the lines, but sold the mineral rights to Verdacorp. Fields cut in half, fences put up, the ground destroyed putting in oil pipes and oil pumps. Animals cut off from their pastures, or forced to cut through uneven land, risking injury. And often the strip of land completely cut off easy access from one side to the other.
John knew Mitchell Robinson—they’d gone to school together. The Robinsons owned thousands of acres directly south of Whisper Creek Ranch. But the Robinsons and the McKennas weren’t friends.
Two generations ago, Mitchell’s grandfather and John’s grandfather—Penny’s husband—had been in a prolonged legal battle. The McKennas refused to sell a parcel that Robinson wanted to connect to another farm he’d bought, so Robinson declared that he owned the roads because they cut through his land. The McKenna family had an entire crop they couldn’t get to market because Robinson had hired armed goons to block the roads. Then Penny had nearly lost her baby—John’s father—when she went into labor because the men wouldn’t let the doctor through. Robinson eventually lost in court, but it took months.
Sour grapes blossomed between the families, but over time they learned to be cordial again. They communicated only when they had to. Then, a decade ago, when Mitchell’s father retired to Dallas,Mitchell created Verdacorp and turned the Robinson ranch into a major agribusiness. Verdacorp fingers became entwined in projects all over north Texas and the Panhandle, and John hadn’t been surprised when he learned they were involved in cheating landowners out of mineral rights.
Now, Verdacorp was buying up farmland right and left in Cooke and Grayson counties, overpaying so the McKennas didn’t have a chance to compete. Verdacorp practically surrounded them. John had spoken to every family farm in the valley, large and small, and some stood with him. Some felt they could negotiate better terms. And some thought John was just being ornery, because of the history between the McKennas and the Robinsons.
Calmer now, with a mental list of everything she needed to do before the storm hit, Ellen was about to leave her room when her eyes grazed over her favorite picture framed on the top of her dresser. She and John were sitting on the porch, the sun setting and casting a warm glow over their faces. Her head was on his shoulder, her hand on her large stomach, John’s hand on top of hers—she’d been pregnant with Jake then. They were so young, she thought. So full of hope and love and joy. Even with the hard work operating a farm, they had joy.
Ellen was not going to lose this land.
“I’ll fight back, John,” she whispered as she caressed the still face of her husband behind the glass. “This is our land, now and forever.”
I miss you so much.
She pushed aside the tears and went back downstairs.
CHAPTER THREE
Ellen grabbed a muffin that Penny had just taken out of the oven.
“I’m going to make sure Lyla doesn’t need help with the animals before I head over to the Coulters.”
“Have you talked to the Mendozas?” Penny asked as she put another tray into the oven. A peach pie, based on the skins and pits at the top of the garbage and a pot of overripe peaches, from which Penny would make peach syrup, simmering on the stove. When she was worried, she baked.
“Not today.”
“I called this morning to see if they needed anything, and Rose was short with me.”
“I’m sure she’s just busy.” Not to mention that Penny didn’t always realize that not everyone got up at four thirty in the morning. It was barely after eight now; when had she called them?
“I should check on them.”
“Grandma, you can’t drive anymore.” Penny’s license had been taken away five years ago when she couldn’t pass the eye test, even wearing her glasses.
“I can see well enough to walk over there.”
“It’s nearly a mile. It’ll be raining before you get back.”
Ellen didn’t want to say no to Penny, but the old woman—though healthy—often overdid it. If she broke her hip and they couldn’t get to the hospital? Or fell and no one was there to help her get up? Ellen didn’t want to even think about it.
“I’ll call over there, okay?”
Penny didn’t look happy, but she nodded curtly and went to wash the bowls she’d used to make the pie.
Ellen picked up the house phone and dialed the Mendoza house by memory.
No one answered. She left a message on the answering machine.
