“Shankle,” Chance says. “Is he going to check up on us all year long?”
“I don’t give a shit about that.” I click open the door of the truck. “But we can ask him about Vance’s land. See if we have enough money available to pay him off. I’ll forgo part of my thousand dollars a month if I have to.”
“That won’t be enough, Austin,” Miles says. “I’m not an expert on ranch land in Montana, but I know real estate.”
I sigh. I knew that when I said it. But damn, I’m willing to try anything. Anything to bring that beautiful smile back to Carly’s face. Anything to ease the ache in my gut from disappointing her. Because if Vance gets his way, she’s not coming back to work. Yeah, it would suck if I didn’t see her here, but this is about her happiness. I know how much she loves her job.
“Fine. But there’s one way to find out,” Chance says.
We walk into the house, give the dogs a few belly rubs, and then head into the living room where Shankle is sitting. In his black suit, bolo tie, and felt hat, he looks a lot like Johnny Cash. Funny I didn’t notice the resemblance the first couple times I met him.
“Mr. Shankle,” Chance says. “Didn’t realize we were out past curfew.”
“Boys,” he says, ignoring Chance’s sarcasm, “we’ve got a problem.”
Great. A problem. As if the list of problems isn’t long enough already.
Just great.