Page 14 of All We Carry Home

BIRKSTROM RANCH

“Rumor has it you’re broke, Eva. Why not make this easier and sell me the scraps of Bill’s ranch now?”

Five years of blood and bullets, and this is all I had: a thousand acres of dilapidated fencing, a few broodmares, and a relentless neighbor determined to take it all.

Gramps . . . why did you have to leave me now?

Victor was a short, robust man with a permanent sneer, deep lines in his brow, and dark shadows under his eyes. Gramps had only been in the ground for a few hours and the vulture had swung in, picking through what was left of my life.

I dug my black heels into the soft ground outside my barn and clenched my teeth. I still wore the dress from my grandfather’s funeral. I could still feel the reverend’s hand on my shoulder and hear his words. “You know, Eva, at most funerals, people say all sorts of nice things about the person we’re putting in the ground. In Bill’s case, everything is true.”

How different Gramps was from this man before me.

“Get off my property or I’ll call Sheriff Lowe,” I said.

“Go ahead. Lowe was over for dinner last night,” Victor sneered. “We’re endorsing him in his reelection campaign.”

Hopelessness washed over me. No doubt the Merricks were providing some sort of financial support along with their endorsement, which carried weight in the community. I was truly alone and a David to this Goliath, without a stone to my name, surrounded by sand.

“One more missed payment and it will be mine.” His lips curled at the edges, and the sheen of sweat on his skin repulsed me. “How many horses do you have left to sell to scrape up a payment?”

None. I couldn’t afford to lose the two broodmares I had, but neither could I count on the yearlong turnaround of purebred foals to sell. We hadn’t had a winning stallion at Birkstrom Ranch for years, which meant no one cared about our stock. In the world of Arabian horse breeding, titles mattered more than anything.

I’d spent the two thousand dollars I had saved for Phantom on Gramps’s medical bills and a casket.

Even with just the few horses we had, I had mountains of work to do in the few precious hours before the end of the day. The sunrise funeral had been small and quiet. Gramps, like me, had adored the pastel sunrises over the eastern plains, the Wallowa Mountains to the north. The wildflowers of spring painted the hills purple, white, yellow, and orange.

But it was now nearly noon, and there were still chickens to feed, a coop to clean, stalls to muck, wounds to tend, a goat to wrangle and milk, a few stall boards that needed fixing, a persistent leak at the water pump. Five years of neglect to patch.

Not to mention the equipment I needed to inventory and sell for a mortgage payment. I’d miss the tractor to plow the roads come winter, but I’d make do.

Had Gramps been right? Should I sell it all off and start somewhere else anew?

That thought caused my blood to run cold. No. This was my home, and the only piece of Gramps I had left. The place I’d found sanctuary twenty years ago. How could I abandon it to this man who only cared for money, power, and reputation?

My heart hammered as Victor tilted his head and inched closer. “You can’t compete against me, girl.”

“You haven’t been a threat on the show circuit in years,” I hissed back. “If it wasn’t for the judges you have in your pocket, you’d have lost your own land decades ago.”

Victor’s wrinkled face flushed with rage. He clenched his fists at his sides, raising his right hand ever so slightly as if to strike me. Something in my words had struck a nerve, deeper than even I had intended to. He stepped toward me so abruptly that I stumbled back and slammed into the barn siding, knocking the wind out of me.

“You know, back in the day, we had different ways of getting things done.” Victor leaned over me, propping his hand against the wall behind me. He smelled of alcohol and smoking tobacco. The animosity that radiated from him felt as dangerous as the Japanese forces that had surrounded us in the Philippines.

In that moment, I smelled blood, gunpowder, smoke, and death. Terror seized me, and I braced my foot against the barn wall, pushing myself up and Victor back a few steps. My heart raced and my head swam.

Victor chuckled and paced around me. “Bill isn’t here to protect you anymore. Just sign over the land and I’ll be on my way.”

Memories from that Philippines hospital bubbled to my mind. Those times when the enemy closed in, when the sergeant next to me gave advice of how to fight once the ammunition ran out—that terror and adrenaline rose in me. I’d be ready to push back if Victor forced me to. I was alone but not helpless.

“Excuse me,” a strong voice boomed across the yard.

Victor quickly stepped back.

I straightened, turning toward the unexpected visitor and savior. My thumping heart and raging pulse came to a screeching halt.

The square jaw, high brow, and firm mouth. The short, dark hair and stubble-ridden chin. Though he wasn’t wearing Army fatigues, I could picture the name tag, rank, and stripes. As if a year hadn’t passed from those moments we shared in Germany. His attention was narrowed on Victor as he walked closer, his fists tight.

“Captain Hayes?”