Chapter 2
Cash
One Month Later
It was surprisingly easy to pick up and move halfway across the state of Texas.
For some reason, I thought I’d be sad about leaving my old life behind.
But when I gave my boss two weeks notice at the quick lube shop, he fired me on the spot.
And then when I told the trailer park manager that I needed to sell my place and break the lease, he didn’t even bat an eye.
He just wanted to know how fast I could leave so he could get someone else moved in.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that neither my neighbors nor my coworkers were sad to see me go.
It wasn’t like I had any real friends. I wasn’t even sure I wanted any.
After I packed up a few boxes and tossed them into the back of my truck, I realized I wasn’t really leaving anything behind except the old life I’d cobbled together from scraps.
The only thing I was actually upset about leaving behind was the hookup opportunities.
Living on the outskirts of Austin meant I could pretty much find sex whenever I wanted it.
But in Sagebrush? Forget about it. If that place was anything like it was when I was sixteen, the only thing I’d find there was bigots and old farts.
But it was only for six months, at the most. My plan was to move into the old man’s house, strip out and sell what I could, then sell the entire property to some other rancher that wanted to deal with it.
I’d get my million and head for a new life in some other country where my million would support me for the rest of my life.
Preferably a place where the men were hot and where nobody knew me.
The drive to Sagebrush took longer than I remembered.
Six hours of nothing but flat land, tumbleweeds, and the occasional gas station that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies.
I’d forgotten how much of Texas was just..
. empty. By the time I saw the faded “Welcome to Sagebrush” sign, my ass was numb and my stomach was growling.
I rolled down the window, letting the hot air whip through the cab of my truck. The town looked exactly the same as when I’d left it. Same dusty main street. Same old buildings with their weather-beaten facades. Like someone had pressed pause on the whole place the day I drove away.
Dolly’s Diner sat on the corner, its neon sign still flickering in the same broken pattern. The ‘y’ blinked twice before the whole thing lit up for a few seconds, then repeated. My stomach made the decision before my brain did, and I found myself pulling into one of the parking spots out front.
The bell above the door jingled as I walked in, and I was hit with the smell of coffee and grease. It was like stepping back in time. Same cracked vinyl booths. Same wobbly ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. Even the specials board looked like it hadn’t changed in a decade.
I slid into a booth near the back, facing the door. It was a habit I’d picked up living on the outskirts of a big city in some of the worse parts of town. Never sit with your back to the entrance.
“Be right with you, sugar!” called a familiar voice, and there was Dolly herself. She was a little older but still had that same bleach-blonde, poofy hairdo. She was wiping her hands on her apron as she approached, pen tucked behind her ear.
“What can I get you, sugar?” she asked, pulling the order pad from her pocket.
I studied her face, waiting for the recognition to hit. Dolly had known me since I was a kid. She used to slip me free pie when Dad wasn’t looking. But there was nothing in her eyes. No spark of familiarity.
“Coffee, black,” I said.
She nodded and walked away. I studied the menu, though I already knew what I wanted. The Rancher’s Special, same thing I ordered every time I came here as a kid. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until just that moment.
When she returned with my coffee, I ordered and gave her the name “Jack” when she asked. No need for her to run off telling everyone Cash Callahan was back in town before I was ready.
As I waited for my food, I stared out the window at the dusty main street.
Not much had changed in Sagebrush. The hardware store, the bank, the feed store…
all of it was still there, probably run by the same families.
For a moment, I felt a weird twinge of something like nostalgia, which I quickly washed down with a gulp of scalding coffee.
The food came, and I ate slowly, putting off the inevitable.
Once I finished my meal, I’d have to drive out to the ranch and face whatever mess my father had left behind.
I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I kept reminding myself that the money would be worth it in the end.
A few months of discomfort was nothing compared to a lifetime of ease.
When I finally paid the bill and left, the sun was starting to sink lower in the sky.
I climbed back into my truck, turned the key, and headed west on the county road.
Twenty minutes of dirt roads later, I saw it in the distance: the wooden arch marking the entrance to Callahan Ranch, just as weathered and defiant as the day I’d stormed out under it almost ten years ago.
I stopped the truck right beneath it, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. The sign hanging crooked from the arch creaked in the wind, holding on by just a single chain link. It was so rusted that I couldn’t even read it anymore.
“I’m only here for the money,” I reminded myself aloud, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Get in, get out, get rich.”
I put the truck in gear and drove down the long, familiar driveway toward the old farmhouse my grandfather had built, that hadn’t been a home to me in almost ten years.
As I rounded the final bend in the driveway, my heart skipped a beat as the house came into view.
The front porch still had Dad’s old rocking chair on it, the large oak still had a tire swing swaying in the wind, and even my father’s truck still sat in the driveway, dusty and clearly untouched for some time.
It was just as I remembered it. Every last detail.
Except, as I got closer, I realized… it wasn’t.
As I killed the engine and really took in the scene, my heart sank.
The porch wasn’t just weathered, it was half-collapsed on one side.
The windows were boarded up with plywood, some of them hanging at odd angles.
And what I’d mistaken for shadows from a distance were actually black scorch marks climbing up one side of the house.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, stepping out of my truck.
The wind whipped dust around my ankles as I approached the house cautiously. Up close, it was even worse. Shingles missing from the roof. Siding torn away in patches. And when I looked closer at Dad’s truck, I saw that one of the tires was completely flat, the rim rusted to the axle.
I climbed the creaking steps carefully, testing each one before putting my full weight down. The front door was locked, so I fumbled with the set of keys Cohen had given me until I found one that fit. The door swung open with a groan that seemed to echo through the empty house.
The smell hit me first. It was musty, damp, and with an undercurrent of something burnt.
I covered my nose with my sleeve as I stepped inside.
The living room was mostly intact, though water stains marred the ceiling and mold crept up one wall.
Dad’s old recliner sat in the same spot, a layer of dust covering it like a shroud.
“Jesus, Dad,” I whispered, moving deeper into the house.
The kitchen was worse. Half the ceiling had collapsed, leaving insulation and wiring exposed. Rain had clearly been getting in for months, maybe years. The linoleum floor was warped and bubbling in places.
I made my way through the rest of the house, each room revealing new damage.
My old bedroom was relatively intact, though the window was broken and birds had made a nest in one corner.
Dad’s room was the worst. It looked like the roof had caved in directly above it.
His bed was covered in debris and black mold.
Back in the kitchen, I leaned against the counter, careful to avoid the places where it was pulling away from the wall. The land was still valuable… but a million dollars? With a moldy heap of farmhouse that needed to be torn down? I didn’t think so. Cohen had to be out of his mind.
I pulled out my phone to call him, but there was no signal. Of course not. I’d have to drive back to town.
As I headed for the door, something caught my eye on the refrigerator. A piece of paper held in place by a magnetic Texas-shaped bottle opener. I pulled it free, squinting at the faded handwriting.
“Brooks—checking cattle in the north pasture. Feed in the barn if needed.”
My father’s handwriting. I stared at the note, trying to figure out when it had been written. Weeks before he died? Months? The paper was yellowed at the edges.
Brooks. My cousin. According to Cohen, he still lived nearby, still checked on the property occasionally. Though clearly not often enough to notice the house was falling apart. Then again, I guess it wasn’t his problem, right? Why should he care?
I stuffed the note in my pocket and headed outside. The day was fading fast, and I needed to figure out where I was going to sleep tonight. Not here, that was for damn sure.
As I climbed back into my truck, movement caught my eye. A plume of dust in the distance, coming down the long road that connected our property to the county highway. Someone was coming.
I waited, engine idling, as the vehicle approached. It was an old blue pickup, even more beat-up than mine. It pulled up beside me, and the driver cut the engine.
The man who stepped out was tall, broad-shouldered, with a scruffy jaw and dark hair tucked under a worn brown cowboy hat. He squinted at me from beneath the brim, his expression unreadable.
“You lost?” he asked, his voice deep and rough.
I recognized him immediately, though he’d filled out since I’d last seen him. Brooks. My cousin. The one family member who hadn’t completely abandoned me when Dad threw me out.
“Not lost,” I said, stepping out of my truck. “Just disappointed in my inheritance.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as recognition slowly dawned.
“Cash?” he said, like he couldn’t believe it. “Is that really you?”
I nodded, suddenly feeling awkward. What do you say to family you haven’t seen in a decade?
“My god… I barely recognize you,” Brooks said, his face giving nothing away. “When James died, I didn’t… well, I didn’t expect to see you back here.”
“That makes two of us,” I replied. “Got a surprise letter from a lawyer saying the old man left me this...” I gestured at the dilapidated house. “Though he forgot to mention it was a health hazard.”
Brooks glanced at the house, then back at me. “It wasn’t always this bad,” he said, sadness filling his voice. “But when your daddy went into hospice… well, it was already in bad shape. Things had gotten much worse than anyone realized, and then it was too late to save it.”
I stared at Brooks, fighting the instinct to berate my father. “So he just let it rot?” I asked, kicking at the gravel beneath my boots. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
Brooks shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your daddy wasn’t exactly in his right mind those last couple years. After the stroke, he couldn’t keep up with things.”
“Stroke?” This was the first I’d heard of it. Not that I’d been listening.
“Yeah,” Brooks nodded. “Bout three years back. Left side of his body was weak. Made it hard for him to work the ranch. I helped when I could, but...” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
I felt a strange mix of emotions I didn’t want to examine too closely. “Well, thanks for that, I guess. Not that it made much difference.” I gestured at the wreck of a house.
Brooks’s expression hardened. “He was still your daddy.”
“No,” I said flatly. “He stopped being that a long time ago.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. The wind picked up, whistling through the broken windows of the house like it was sighing, or maybe it was the ghosts of our family taking one last breath. Either way, I didn’t care anymore.
“So, what’s your plan?” Brooks finally asked. “You stayin’ or sellin’?”
“Sellin’,” I said without hesitation. “Fast as I can find a buyer stupid enough to take it.”
Brooks nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer. “Where you stayin’ tonight?”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead, honestly. “Figured I’d head back to town, find a motel.”
“Sagebrush Inn closed down last year,” Brooks said. “Closest motel’s forty miles out in Oakridge.”
“Shit,” I muttered. The sun was already dipping toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. I was tired from the drive, and the idea of another hour on the road wasn’t appealing.
“You could...” Brooks started, then seemed to think better of it.
“What?” I pressed.
“I’ve got a couch you can crash on,” he said, not quite meeting my eye. “It ain’t much, but it’s clean and warm. Besides, there’s bad weather on the way. Best to be someplace with a functioning roof.”
I was surprised by the offer. Brooks and I had been close once, sure, but that was a lifetime ago. Before everything went to hell. Before I left.
“I don’t need charity,” I said automatically.
Brooks scoffed. “It ain’t charity. It’s family.” He paused, then added, “Besides, we should talk about the property line issue.”
“Property line issue?”
“Yeah.” Brooks adjusted his hat. “Your daddy sold me fifty acres five years back, but the paperwork got messed up. Boundary line’s all wrong on the deed.”
Great. Another complication. “Fine,” I sighed. “One night. Just till I figure things out.”
Brooks nodded, then headed back to his truck. “Follow me,” he called over his shoulder. Then he stopped, turning back to me. “There’s just one more thing.”
I paused, letting out a sigh. “What is it?”
Brooks gave me a small smile. “I’m engaged now.”