Page 24 of The Mountain Echoes

I want to cry. I want to break. I want to scream.

The silence stretches until Earl says, “Your father was a jackass when it came to people. He didn’t know how to say he was sorry for makin’ you leave. Too much fuckin’ pride. But Nadine is right about one thing. He wanted you to be happy, and he didn’t think you could be here. Your Mama was…well, you know how she was. And Celine. She wouldn’t leave, you understand?”

“She does not stay because she likes it here.” There’s equal parts venom and sadness in Nadine’s voice. “She stays because she knows you love it, Aria, and with her here, you won’t come back.”

I lean back in my chair and tilt my head, and stare at the ceiling for a long moment. “That’s not the reason I stayed away. Papa told me to…. I’d have come, even if it hurt my heart.” I look at them and shrug it off. Business is business, and I get back to it. “Can we keep the ranch? Make it profitable?”

“Sure.” Earl doesn’t look enthusiastic, but he’s not negative either—which, in my book, is a big fat plus. “If we can get the cattle in shape—fatten ’em up, get their coats right, boost their weight for auction—there’s a big sale in Gunnison at the end of May. We could send maybe sixty there and keep the rest for breeding and the fall sale. They’ll pay top dollar if we show up with solid stock.”

“That the only auction we got comin’?”

“We’ve got the Canyon Heritage Sale in two weeks,” Nadine says.

Earl shakes his head. “That ain’t for us. It’s bulls and a whole hell of a lot of high-end breeding stock.”

“May be good for you to go,” Nadine suggests. “Will give you the lay of the land.”

“Okay, back to getting the cattle ready. What’s it gonna take?” I ask.

My mind’s already running. I know I need to talk to Amos, figure out exactly where we stand, and whether it’s smarter to put money into finishing the herd right or just sell now, cut losses, and reinvest whatever we get into pulling this place out of the dirt.

Earl sets his coffee cup down with a thump. “’Bout fifteen grand in feed, meds, andtrucking. Not counting fencing repairs, or the tractor that sounds like it’s coughing up a lung.”

“And debt?” I ask, already bracing for the number I don’t want to hear.

“Don’t have exacts,” Earl admits, glancing at Nadine.

She lets out a sigh and rubs the back of her neck. “I’d say somewhere between two-fifty and three hundred. Amos will know.”

Two-fifty, maybe three hundred grand? Let’s call it 275K, split over whatever payment plan Papa negotiated with the bank. Figure six percent interest minimum, probably compounding. That’s roughly $16,500 in interest a year, or $1,375 a month, just to keep our heads above water and not default. Doesn’t touch the principal.

Fuck!

“Revenue from the hay?” I ask.

“Last year we cleared about twelve grand, give or take,” Nadine answers. “Dry season don’t help.”

No, it don’t!

So, we can clear this money under the best circumstances, and that’s assuming no drought, no busted irrigation lines, and we get a decent price per ton.

“And the apples?”

She shrugs. “Maybe eight, nine if we get a good harvest and sell direct to the co-op in Grand Junction. Less if we sell wholesale.”

And as a farmer, I know that any hiccup—late frost, hail, bad storage—and that number will shrink.

“So, let’s say twenty grand, max, from crops. Enoughto cover interest if everything goes right”—I pause as they both tilt their heads in a grimace—“which it never does.”

They nod in unison.

“We’d need at least fifty, maybe sixty grand a year to survive. More like seventy-five if we want to fix what’s broken and actually grow,” I tell them. “That’s assuming no emergencies, no unforeseen breakdowns, and no blizzards flattening the herd.”

“That don’t include labor. Vet bills. Feed,” Earl reminds me.

I tap my fingers on the table, thinking. “As I see it, cattle’s our only real shot at a jumpstart. It’s not enough to fix everything. But it’s enough to buy time.”

“Or you can sell,” Nadine reminds me.