Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
When he finally climbed into his truck, he lowered the window. “The power has been going in and out, and if it kicks off again, just come over, or call me and I’ll come pick you up.”
I hesitated then gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you, Ryder. For everything today.”
His gaze stayed on mine for a long second. “Never have to thank me, Lila. I want to do these things for you.”
Before I could respond, even if I could have picked up my jaw off the ground, he drove away. I watched until his truck disappeared beyond the fence line, and only then did I make my way back inside. Once the door was closed, I stood there staring at the emptiness. The house felt different when he wasn’t here, and I didn’t want to look too closely at that.
I changed into old clothes and spent the next hour cleaning up after the storm. After that, I went into my father’s office with the plan of sorting through all of his paperwork. The room still smelled faintly of stale tobacco and dust. It made me sick, but I powered through it because this shit needed to be done.
Heavy curtains blocked most of the afternoon light, and the dark wood desk dominated the space. I opened the curtains first, letting the gray daylight push into every corner. Boxes of receipts and documents had been stacked beneath the desk and inside a narrow closet. None of them appeared organized. Tax forms were mixed with old feed bills, insurance notices, equipment receipts, and unopened envelopes dating back years. It was exactly the kind of mess my father would have left for someone else to handle.
I carried everything into the dining room and began making piles. Keep. Shred. Estate. Questions for the attorney.
By late afternoon, my back ached, dust coated my hands, and I was hungrier than hell. But I was determined to finish this shit before I took a break.
I found evidence of unpaid invoices, bounced checks, and more debt than the estate attorney had initially estimated. There were notices from the county, warnings from utility companies, and invoices for repairs that were more than I’d ever be able to imagine. The ranch had been struggling long before he died. That only confirmed selling was the right decision.
At least, that was what I told myself.
I opened another envelope and found a delinquent property tax notice dated nearly six years earlier. A bold red warning stretched across the top of the page.
FINAL NOTICE BEFORE COLLECTION.
My stomach tightened.
I searched through the papers for proof that it had been resolved. The next statement showed the balance carried forward. So did the one after that. Then, abruptly, the account showed it had been paid in full.
I frowned and pulled the attached receipt free. The county treasurer’s stamp marked the payment as complete. Penalties, interest, and the original balance had all been covered in a single transaction. My father’s name appeared at the top of the account. But it wasn’t his name listed beneath the payment information.
KANE RANCH LLC.
For a long moment, I sat completely still. The amount was more than I made during my first year away from Rootstown Creek. Ryder must have paid the overdue taxes before everything fell apart, quietly keeping the county from putting a lien on the property or starting foreclosure proceedings.
He wouldn’t have let the land go under even if it wasn’t his. I didn’t understand why he’d done that or why he even cared. My father was a piece of shit, an abuser, and deserved no help from anyone.
But Ryder hadn’t mentioned anything about this. Not when he fixed the porch. Not when he repaired the fence. Not when I signed the listing agreement in front of him and made it clear I intended to sell everything he had helped keep standing.
Your land. Your choice.
As I sat there, another memory surfaced. Ryder had always been fixing something. A loose fence board, a broken gate latch, even a roof after a storm. When we were kids, he'd quietly moved through the world putting things back together without expecting thanks for it.
Back then, I'd thought he was simply hardworking. Now, I wasn't so sure. Maybe he'd never been trying to save the ranch at all. Maybe he'd been trying to save a piece of me.
Beneath my confusion was something far more difficult to face. He had paid my father’s debt, and judging from all the paperwork, he’d been doing it long before he knew I was coming home. Long before there was any chance I could thank him. Or repay him. But why?
I looked around the room at the boxes of records waiting to be sorted and wondered what else I hadn’t found yet. I had assumed Ryder was helping because I came home. The receipt in my hand told a different story.