Page 3 of Nixon’s Promise

The three hundred acres had been rented out to a farmer to till. The last of his dad’s dairy cows had been sold, and he’d hired someone to mow the grass in the summer. But other than that, the farm had been stagnant for years. Therefore, it was in disrepair.

Not that it had been in any pristine shape before Wayne Swagger had died. The man had done the best he could, too. But with corn and bean prices what they were, and milk being sold by the pound and on a steady decrease for the last decade, farming was a dying occupation. At least small farmers were dying—corporate farms were thriving.

Spring would be fast sliding into summer and if Nix wanted to get the rest of the old pasture ready to rent, he needed to get busy pulling out posts. Not that they’d be all that hard to rip out, considering most of the fence was held together by old baler string. One more thing Nix’s dad had let slide over the years. Without help, the man had done what he could and cheaply as possible. And the orange twine was something that was in abundance, wouldn’t rot, and was sturdy enough to tie posts together. It wouldn’t be hard, but Nix would have a week’s worth of work going at it alone.

With an ever-growing pile of logs to burn, it was nearing on lunchtime and Nix was getting ready to head up to the house, when something in the woods nearby caught his attention. Whether it was growing up on a farm where his father always had either a pistol on his hip or a .22 in the truck, or his years as a Navy SEAL that had only reinforced the habit, Nixon always carried. In one smooth motion he had his Sig P226 out of the holster and at the ready. Not that there were very many wild animals in Cliff City that could cause harm, but he was always prepared, something his father had taught him as a young boy.

It hadn’t taken long for the animal to get through the thick brush and pop out in his pasture. A horse. Or upon further inspection, a pony. A silver bay, Chincoteague pony if he wasn’t mistaken. And a goat. They were leisurely grazing, not paying Nix any mind. One thing that had changed over the years he’d been gone was the property backing up to his woods had been cut into parcels and sold. Now, instead of one large farm sharing his woods, he had three smaller farms that weren’t really working farms. More like three people who built houses on very large pieces of property.

Nixon understood about needing space and privacy so he hadn’t thought much about it. But now that he had his neighbor’s pony roaming around, he was wondering. What were the chances McKenna was his neighbor? He knew a lot of people who owned horses, but only one person who owned a Chincoteague pony.

“Hey, girl,” Nix called out.

On a slow approach with his hand out, he advanced on the animal. McKenna had said her mare was cantankerous, so Nix was being cautious.

“There you go.” He continued to talk to the pony while he made a quick lead line out of the baler twine. He slipped the makeshift noose over her head and let the slipknot tighten.

With a gentle tug, he guided her back into the woods and waited to make sure the goat was following. It didn’t take an expert—though he spent his childhood in these woods and knew every inch—to see the path the pony had taken.

That section of the woods was less than ten yards deep, and with it only being spring, nearly free of the basketgrass, thistle, honeysuckle, and wineberry vines that would soon take over, making the path unusable. Until then, it was easy to navigate through.

The brush cleared, revealing a coated wire fence. On a quick inspection, Nix didn’t see any obvious breaks in the wire or downed posts, and it was doubtful the small pony could jump the enclosure. And he knew that even if the pony could, the goat couldn’t.

“Come on, girl.” Nix gave the mare a gentle tug and guided the pony to the end of the fence and around the side. A big yellow barn he knew well came into view. Whomever purchased this parcel had inherited Mr. Todd’s outbuilding as well. A couple hundred feet past the barn was the old, brick farmhouse.

Nix had spent more than one evening in that house when he was a child. Mr. and Mrs. Todd had taken pity on him and his father and they’d spent holiday dinners around their family table. The Todds didn’t have any children, and though Wayne had one, he was wifeless. The Todds had been good people, good neighbors. Salt of the earth and would—and truly did—give their last penny to the less fortunate.

Mrs. Todd had passed away when Nix was a senior in high school. Her funeral was a county event. Nix had never seen so many people pack into the high school’s stadium. Not even a Friday night home football game could garner the number of asses planted on the benches.

When Mr. Todd died without an heir, he’d instructed everything to be sold and donated to the local churches. Even the Catholic church got their share, and the Todds were Baptist. Everyone was surprised.

Nix was not.

Gene Todd’s generosity knew no bounds. And seeing the house now for the first time since Mr. Todd had passed and his property had been divided, hit Nix square in the chest. He’d missed a lot over the years he’d been away. Most didn’t bother him, some did. Seeing Mr. Todd’s land with a horse enclosure, land that used to be a bean field, was one of those somethings.

It was on this thought that Nix stopped short, his eyes landing on a denim-covered ass. He couldn’t catch sight of much else, seeing as the rest of the woman was bent over the front grill of a rusted, baby blue Ford. She was standing on a closed tool box, yet still rolled up on her toes for extra height.

Goddamn.

That ass.

Those jeans.

Nix had never seen such a sexy sight.

Belatedly, a dog started barking and racing from the barn straight toward Nix and the pony, not looking like it had any intention of stopping.

“Shit.” Nix heard metal clatter, before McKenna twisted her head and looked over her shoulder.

“Shit,” she echoed and stumbled, losing her footing on the toolbox. Her hand flew out and she caught herself before she went down.

“Duke! Sit!” she shouted.

The dog skidded to a halt and sat.

Impressive.

“Nixon,” she greeted over Duke’s barking. “Duke, settle.”