Chapter Sixteen #3
Travis drained his whiskey and slammed the glass down on the handmade wood table. His grandpa had made this before Travis had been born. Cut, sanded, built, all from wood in the yard and his own hands.
Usually, Travis could hear any approaching vehicle before he saw it, but the storm was loud, masking the engine of the Ford truck. So, when he saw it turn the bend he stared as if he was hallucinating. Until he recognized Clive Robinson.
Titan’s head came up as Travis tensed. The dog watched, ears alert, looking as if he might attack.
Travis had never trained Titan to be an attack dog, but he was a German shepherd, and they were naturally protective.
Travis had trained him to be a service dog, to help him if he fell, to bring him his pain meds when he couldn’t walk.
To remind him to eat when he rarely felt hungry.
Travis didn’t move. He watched as Clive pulled the truck almost up to the porch.
The house itself was on a small knoll, mostly safe from the flooding in the fields.
His grandparents had lived here for nearly twenty years, after Milton and Penny had given the big house to John and Ellen when they got married.
Travis had moved in when Penny lost her driver’s license and moved in with John.
He hadn’t wanted to, but John convinced him.
And maybe, Travis realized, he would have died in that pitiful apartment in Dallas.
At least here, he could die in a slice of paradise, on the land he grew up on and still loved.
Clive was drenched as soon as he stepped from his truck. He frowned as he trekked up the stairs to where Travis sat. Titan watched him, unmoving. Clive smiled at the dog. The dog didn’t smile back. Neither did Travis.
“You’d better go home before you won’t be able to make it home,” Travis said. “Because you’re sure as hell not staying here, and Ellen will kick you out faster than boots hit the saloon floor on payday.”
“I dropped off a contract for Ellen to look at, but she needs to sign this weekend. We need it Sunday night so we can file first thing Monday morning.”
“Ellen isn’t selling to you or anyone,” Travis said.
He had pushed Ellen to sell right-of-way to Verdacorp because it would have given her the money she needed to keep the farm.
But she didn’t want to, and she had good reasons—well, some good reasons, and some reasons that were just stubborn.
But he respected his sister-in-law, and if she didn’t want to sell, he would back her play.
“We need the two hundred acres between the Coulters’ house and our property line.”
Travis frowned, thought. “That square that abuts Privett Road?”
“Yes.”
“That’s part of our primary grazing land. Why do you want it?”
“It connects our property to our right-of-way through the Coulters’ property. Mitchell, kicking and screaming, has agreed to trade eight hundred acres from the Baldwin property for that two-hundred-acre parcel.”
Travis laughed. “You want me to believe that your cheap-ass brother who would sell his soul for a deal would give Ellen four times the land? And Baldwin’s property is choice—”
“Yes,” Clive interrupted, one eye to the north, where lightning sliced across the dark sky. A roll of thunder followed quickly.
Clive pulled a folder out from under his jacket and handed it to him. “This is a copy of what I gave Ellen. Read it. Look at the map. You’ll see it’s on the up-and-up. We need that land.”
They needed it? “Why?” Travis asked. “You sound desperate.”
“Like I said, it connects to the Coulters’ land, and to other parcels we have. Talk to her. Convince her. You were on board last year.”
Slowly, Travis nodded. “I was, until Verdacorp started dicking around with our neighbors. Until you started overpaying for land that John and Ellen were trying to buy. And then pushing her to sell not a week after John was buried.”
“That wasn’t me,” Clive said, having the good sense to avert his eyes.
“Yeah, Clive, it was,” Travis said. “You and Mitchell are a team, brothers, partners. You went too far.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Tell Ellen, not me.”
“I have. She’s so stubborn, you’d think she was born a McKenna rather than marrying into the family.”
“Must be why John fell so hard for her,” Travis mused.
“Are you going to help?”
“No.”
“What? Dammit, Travis!”
“I’ll talk to her tomorrow, see what she’s thinking, look at the contract, and give her my honest opinion.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t have one yet. I need to read this”—he held up the folder—“and make sure you’re not trying to screw her over.”
Clive stared at him, then gave him a nod. “Okay. Thanks. Remember, I need this signed before nine AM Monday.”
“I heard you the first time.”
Travis watched Clive run back to his truck and drive off, mud and water spraying out from his tires on both sides of his dirty truck.
He stared at the papers in his hand. Glanced down at Titan, scratched him again between his ears. The dog relaxed when the truck was out of sight.
“What are the Robinsons up to now?” Travis asked Titan.
Titan didn’t respond. He probably thought the exact same thing Travis did.
The Robinsons were up to no good.