Page 6 of Cherry Tree Ranch

“True. Pro for the ranch: I can eat all the honey I want.” My mouth waters at the thought. “OK, a con for going to college: I wouldn’t be able to take care of the ranch and then we’d need to sell. Neither of us would be able to live here. Another con: you’d stay in Silver Springs and have in-home care instead of me. Oh, and what would we do with Blue? And Shadow? There are so many cons.”

“Then let’s try a list for the ranch.”

“A con for taking over this ‘cursed’ ranch: I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.” My voice grows louder.

“Why did you say it like that?” Mom asks.

I grab a rock in the road and throw it aside. “Because I don’t have a clue. I know they taught me a lot, but I don’t know how to make money managing a ranch.”

“No, no. I mean, cursed.”

I laugh. “Because that’s not a thing, obviously. You and Grandpa always talked about it like the fields are full of weeds instead of grass because of some superstition, but maybe Grandpa just wasn’t meant to be a hay farmer.”

“It wasn’t only Grandpa who couldn’t get grass or a garden to grow. It’s been like this for a hundred years.”

“Probably because we don’t have water,” I point out.

Mom pulls a juniper berry off a tree as we go past and rolls it between two fingers. “No, love. I promise you, even on rainy years, nothing grows here but the cherries.”

I shake my head. “It’s probably the soil, then.” I pause, a sinking feeling invading my gut. I start counting on my fingers the other cons for taking over the ranch. “If I stay, I won’t be able to room with Lani in college like we’ve always planned…”

“But you’re still going to see her in Hawaii, right?”

I shrug. “Yeah. I’m crazy excited about that, but it’s not the same as spending our first year in college eating ramen together and getting in trouble for playing music too loud and staying out till dawn.” I eye Mom to gauge her disapproval. She just nods. She understands what it’s like to be young. “And then the biggest con for not choosing college … is what Dad will think.”

At that moment, Mom’s phone blares at full volume and makes me jump. She uses the siren tone because she sleeps so deeply a normal one won’t wake her up.

“Hello? Yes, this is she.” Mom listens carefully for a moment and halts. For a couple of minutes, she kicks pebbles off the road and repeats, mm hmm. Then her eyes close and she tugs a hand down her face. I frown, gesturing for her to indicate who it is, but she just keeps nodding, looking pale. Finally, she says, “I understand. I’ll be in touch.”

“Who was that?” I ask.

“That was the person who owns the tax lien on the ranch,” she says, as though she never thought those words would come from her mouth. “Apparently, Grandpa wasn’t paying his property taxes. Because I’m the executor of his estate, it’s my responsibility to either use the estate to pay them or pay them off myself.”

“What?”

Mom’s eyes get murky with panic. She turns back and marches towards the house.

“What do you mean, ‘use the estate’?” I jog to catch up.

“Sell it or sell things from it,” she says tightly. Her shoe comes untied again, but she doesn’t stop. “I can use the savings he gave me, but that won’t even come close. I can try to get a job at the taco place in town…”

“You’re not supposed to work, Mom,” I warn. Her panic is infectious, and I feel my heart beat faster. “How much is it?”

Mom tries to catch her breath between words. “Well, because this cursed place is so big, and its value keeps increasing, each year it’s about ten thousand dollars.”

My mouth falls open.

“He missed three years, and it needs to be paid within six months, or the deed will belong to the lien owner.”

I take a deep breath, letting this sink in. We have to pay a huge sum, fast, or we could lose the ranch forever.

“Mom, it’s OK. We’ll figure it out. I know we will.”

Chapter Three

I take off to the barn, hoping I can find something valuable to sell to pay the taxes. Mom can’t work, nor has she got an answer on qualifying for disability yet. So it’s up to me.

I yank at the door with all my strength and pull it open far enough to slip through. Inside there’s a menagerie of rusty farm equipment, tools and storage bins. Grandpa hadn’t done much in here the last few years. He kept himself cooped up in the ranch house ever since Grandma died five years ago. I’m afraid to get rid of anything sentimental, but if it saves the ranch from auction, that’s what I’ve got to do.