There are days when the ranch feels heavier than usual.
Not physically—I’ve carried far heavier burdens with these arms—but in an invisible, silent way, as if every fence, every post, every stretch of land were watching me and asking how much longer I could hold them all together.
That was one of those days.
I left early, before the sun fully rose. The air was still cold as I crossed the dirt road toward town, the truck kicking up dust behind me. Tornado neighed in the stable as I passed, and for a second I considered stopping, staying there, doing anything that didn’t involve banks, numbers, and people who speak politely while slowly dragging you under.
But running was never an option my father taught me.
The town was small, but louder than I liked. I started with the suppliers—lumbe
