Chapter 12 #2
By some miracle, we get Mr. Thompson to meet us by the irrigation system by stressing the urgency of the situation.
The inspector, standing between the men, is a small, nervous man who’d rather be anywhere than here.
I don’t blame him. The two are glaring at each other with enough intensity to cause spontaneous combustion, and my brothers and I stand close by in case someone takes a swing.
The inspector holds his paperwork like a shield. “Gentlemen,” he says, his voice cracking as if he’s been warned about these two rival hotheads, “if we could just sign these papers...”
“I’m not signing anything that has his name on it,” Mr. Thompson declares, arms crossed like a bouncer at a club for people who hate McCoys.
Christ. Why did he even bother coming over, then?
“The feeling’s mutual,” Dad shoots back. “I’d rather sign my own death warrant.”
“That can be arranged,” Mr. Thompson mutters.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a consideration.”
The inspector looks like he might cry. “It’s a new legal requirement,” he protests, pulling out a handbook and flipping through it frantically. “Both properties share water rights to Cedar Ridge Creek. Both signatures are required for renewal. It’s a statute in the water code.”
“Then we don’t renew,” Mr. Thompson says.
“Then you lose water rights. Both of you. No water for irrigation, livestock, nothing,” the inspector says.
“Better than sharing with McCoys.”
“I’d rather watch my cattle die of thirst than share water with Thompsons,” Dad adds.
Two fools in competition for who can be most dramatic. They’re also in competition for who can be the bigger asshole.
It’s ridiculous, even by our families’ ridiculous standards. They’re willing to lose water access rather than sign a damn piece of paper. They’d rather destroy both ranches than cooperate for thirty seconds.
Jesse tries his charm, turning it up to maximum wattage. “Mr. Thompson, surely we can come to an agreement on this. It’s just paperwork. Bureaucracy. Red tape. Nobody actually cares about it.”
“Nothing involving McCoys is ‘just’ anything,” he replies. “Give them an inch, they take your whole ranch.”
“We don’t want your ranch,” Jesse says. “We have our own ranch.”
“That’s what you want me to think.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
That’s when Callie arrives, responding to the begging text message I sent her, asking her to hurry. She looks at the scene, where both our fathers are refusing to sign papers while a government employee looks ready to cry.
Hands on hips, she looks between both our fathers. “What’s going on?” she snaps like she’s out of fucks to give.
“Your father won’t sign the water rights renewal,” I explain.
“Neither will yours,” she points out.
“Yup.”
The inspector thrusts his forms at our fathers, dropping half of them in the process. “Please. I have seven more ranches to visit today. Can we just... can we please just sign these?”
“I’ll sign,” I announce, stepping forward. “I have power of attorney for the ranch.”
“Since when, Boone?” Dad demands.
“Since never, but the inspector doesn’t know that.”
“I’m right here,” the inspector says, gathering his dropped papers. “I can hear you. I heard that whole thing. It’s called fraud, young man.”
“Then you didn’t hear that part about power of attorney being fake.”
“That’s fraud. Actual, prosecutable fraud.”
“That’s problem-solving.”
“It’s against the law.”
“Semantics.”
I reach for the forms, but the valve on the irrigation system chooses that moment to malfunction. Or maybe I accidentally hit it with my elbow while reaching. Actually, I know I did. Either way, water explodes from the pipe like a geyser.
Amazing timing.
Sadly, the inspector gets the worst of it with direct hit to the face with the force of a fire hose.
His papers fly everywhere and he goes down.
Mr. Thompson manages to stay on his feet, but his soaked clothes cling to him in a way that would be funny if he wasn’t looking murderous.
Dad dodges the worst of the deluge but slips in the resulting mud and goes down next to the inspector.
Jesse tries to shut off the valve but turns it the wrong way, increasing the pressure.
“OTHER WAY!” Callie shouts, but it’s too late.
The pipe gives up entirely, breaking free from its housing and whipping around like a water cannon. Water’s going everywhere—sideways, up, down, and in spirals.
Rita, because she has impeccable timing, chooses this moment to escape from Callie’s truck and join the party.
She immediately goes for the inspector’s briefcase.
“Stop that goat!” he screams, slipping as he crawls to his feet.
But he’s not fast enough. Rita gets there first, grabs the briefcase in her teeth, and takes off running with the speed of a gazelle. The inspector chases her even though he’ll never catch her, followed by Callie.
Jesse finally gets the water shut off, but the damage is done.
We’re standing in what looks like a mud wrestling arena. The inspector is crying, actually crying, tears mixing with mud on his face, as he watches Rita disappear with his briefcase.
“What a freakshow,” Callie mutters, shaking water and mud off her hands.
“A highly rated freakshow,” I offer. “Excellent drama. Emmy-worthy.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Nothing’s gonna help at this point.”
The inspector pulls out what’s left of his phone, the screen cracked but somehow still functional. “Both ranches are being fined for unsafe water management, destruction of government property, assault by goat, and creating a hostile work environment.”
“Assault by goat isn’t a real violation,” Jesse protests.
“It is now.” He types something with shaking fingers.
“I’ll be back next month with new paperwork.
If it’s not signed by both parties, in my presence, without any goats, you lose water rights.
And if that goat comes near me again, I’m calling animal control, the sheriff, and possibly the National Guard. ”
He squelches to his car, leaving muddy footprints and what’s left of his dignity.
“This is your fault,” Mr. Thompson tells Dad.
“My fault? Your daughter’s goat stole government property!”
“Your son broke the valve!”
“Your stubbornness started this whole thing!”
“Your existence started it!”
They storm off in opposite directions, leaving me, Jesse, and Callie standing in the mud.
“So that went well,” I say.
“We’re going to lose water rights,” Callie says flatly. “Both ranches will fail. We’ll all have to sell. The land will probably become a shopping mall.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Jesse assures her. He doesn’t sound convinced.
“How? Our fathers would rather die of thirst than cooperate. They’d rather watch everything burn than sign one piece of paper together. Couple of idiots, if you ask me,” she says with disgust.
“Maybe they’ll mellow out by next month,” I suggest.
Callie and Jesse look at me like I’ve suggested our fathers might spontaneously become besties.
“Right. Never mind.”
Callie heads back to her truck, and Jesse and I watch her go, both thinking the same, that this feud is going to destroy everything if we don’t find a way to stop it.
Later that afternoon, I run into Callie at the gas station. She looks frazzled, like she’s been dealing with more than the usual amount of chaos, which for a Thompson is saying something.
“Your dad’s being weird,” I tell her.
“My dad’s always weird. It’s his baseline state.”
“Weirder. Florist weird. Smiling at his phone weird.”
She freezes, credit card halfway to the reader. “What?”
“Jesse and I saw him at the florist. With a suspicious bag. Very secretive. Also, he was parked behind the pharmacy for twenty minutes doing something that made him smile. Jesse got pictures.”
“Oh my God.” She finishes paying for gas with shaking hands. “That confirms it. He’s definitely dating someone. And I’m now ninety percent sure it’s Mrs. Delaney.”
“Your dad and the town gossip?” I can’t help but laugh. “That’s either genius or insane.”
“Both. Definitely both.” She grins at me, all excitement and mischief. “I’m gonna do some surveillance tomorrow. Think I can pull it off?”
“Absolutely. Use Rita as your cover story.”
“Brilliant idea. Or is it too creepy? Spying on my dad’s love life?”
“Welcome to Cedar Ridge, where everything is creepy if you think about it too hard.”
As she drives away, I think about how everything’s getting more complicated by the day—the water rights disaster, the secret romances multiplying like rabbits, our whole situation with her and my brothers.
But somehow, with Callie grinning about playing detective and Rita probably planning her next crime spree, it all feels like it’s going to work out.
Or spectacularly explode in a way that becomes Cedar Ridge legend.
Either way, we’ll face it together. And probably get banned from something else in the process.