Chapter 19 #2
That led me to the thought. The barn has a lot going for it.
I often wondered if Penny was going to raise prized horses, given how the barn was designed.
It was laid out in a U-shape. It had 10 stalls on the west side, and 3 were large enough for what I would only assume were meant for draft horses.
The back wall had 3 rooms with kennels in them for what, I didn’t know, and a room for storage or tack, I guess.
The east walls were made up of rooms that were unfinished.
That’s what gave me the idea for a clinic.
The middle section was divided in half: the back half had wash stables, and the front was an office.
Come to think of it, maybe Aunt Penny got further than Doc Wilson was giving her credit for. The setup was pretty perfect.
Janet, the old mare next to my mare Emma, snorted, bringing me back to reality.
In the inheritance, I was given the house, three barns, a chicken coop with 11 chickens, an outside goat pen with 2 goats and a goat house, fifty head of cattle that the ranch hands tended, and 3 horses.
Janet, a sweet old mare that was too old to ride; Emma, a dapple gray mare that was sweet and sassy when she didn’t get her way; and a gelding named Jax that Penny was pet-sitting but the owners never came back for.
I’ve adopted him as mine, and he is the gentlest boy.
Austin was out on the far pasture checking cameras, so it was just me, the dust, three horses, and the occasional chicken that wandered in.
I rolled up my sleeves and pulled the tarps off the nearest pile.
Beneath one lay an old metal cabinet still wrapped in shipping plastic.
Another corner revealed metal counters, the edges rounded, and a wooden desk, its live edge scalloped by years of storage but never used.
An oval shape leaned against the back wall, draped in canvas. My fingers shook as I tugged the cloth free.
The navy letters shone faintly through the grime:
THOMAS VETERINARY — Everwood, MT
My breath caught.
I’d built my whole life around other people’s animals.
Long shifts, emergency calls, the kind of exhaustion that makes friendships slip through your fingers because you’re always choosing someone’s beloved dog over dinner plans.
Standing here, staring at her sign, I realized Penny hadn’t just left me land…
she’d given me my clinic, a wish I’d always worked toward.
Penny hadn’t just dreamed it—she’d already started it.
I ran my hand over the smooth metal, the paint still rich under the dust. The idea that she’d stood here, planning this very thing, made my throat ache.
That’s when the practical part of my brain kicked in.
If these cabinets were ordered, there’d be receipts.
Maybe blueprints. I glanced toward the loft, where boxes had been waiting since I got here.
Penny had planned on making the loft into a guest suite.
It had a small kitchen, a single bedroom, and windows that looked out over the barn.
Must have been for late-night watches. She’d had it all planned.
I hadn’t been up here, but looking around, she had a great vision.
A broom leaned by the stairs. I grabbed it. “All right, Aunt Penny,” I said, brushing cobwebs from the first rung. “Let’s see what you left behind.”
The wood creaked under my boots as I climbed.
Each step protesting under my weight. The feel of ghosts lingered like perfume.
Penny’s character was etched in this place like a stamp.
I shoved aside a few old saddle blankets and found a stack of boxes.
Most were labeled in Penny’s uneven scrawl—Winter Blankets, Old Tack—but one near the back read simply: Vacation Stuff.
I smiled and felt nostalgic. Mom had often told me stories about Penny and her attempt to become the renowned Dread Pirate Roberts.
I knelt beside it, heart tripping over itself, and peeled back the tape. Inside were the relics of Penny’s past: a faded notebook, the bag of mysterious coins, a letter, and secrets.
A few coins of unknown origin spilled across the plank floor. A disappointed sigh escaped before I dove to retrieve them. One penny rolled until it struck a knot, spun once, and fell through a crack to the ground below with a bright clang.
What were the chances? I laughed softly, half in awe, half in warning to myself. “All right,” I whispered. “Message received.”
The sound still rang in my ears, bright as struck glass. I knelt, brushing dust from my knees, and stared at the gap in the floorboard where the penny had vanished. Somewhere below, Inspector yowled.
“Sorry, partner,” I muttered.
I reached back into the box. A small leather notebook lay wedged between the folded brochures and the bundle of coins. The cover was cracked, the corners softened. Penny’s handwriting filled the first page in straight, deliberate lines: Feed Orders—1999.
At first, it was ordinary inventory. Then came alternate columns: Missing and Unpaid. But halfway through, the tone changed—sentences broken mid-thought, notes scribbled at angles:
Lost five bales again.
Wrong nails in the shipment.
Check Red Hollow. Ask Browne before it’s too late.
My pulse quickened. I turned the page and found a list of names written in a rougher hand, as though she’d been angry or frightened:
Harold
Arnie
Carl?
Browne
The last two were crossed out, but Harold’s and Arnie’s names had been circled twice.
A chill walked up my arms.
The stairs creaked below. “You up there, Milly?”
Austin’s voice carried up the stairs, along with his heavy booted steps.
“Yep—but wait until you see what I found.”
“Ooh, that sounds ominous.” He appeared in the doorway, hat tilted back, eyes narrowing at the open boxes. “Looks like you found treasure.”
“Well, close. Look at this.” I handed him the notebook and an old coin from the bag.