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thing.”
    â€œOh. Good. Did you get a decent price?”
    Her stomach pinched up a little, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “They hadn’t sold yet when I left.”
    â€œSo the auction’s tomorrow?”
    She fiddled with the grimy telephone cord. Barring an act of Congress, Clayton hadn’t been one to go for newfangled ideas like cordless phones or anything involving a satellite. Electricity was lucky to have found its way on to the Lazy. “No, it was tonight. It’s just that I . . .” She glanced toward the door, imagining the gray mare being dragged about the sales ring like a decrepit old shoe. “I didn’t want to stay any longer.”
    â€œMerchandise usually sells better if someone’s on hand to brag it up a little.” Five years her senior, Bradley had been in pharmaceutical sales before being accepting into medical school at the University of Minnesota.
    â€œI suppose,” she said and drew a deep breath. “But there was this horse . . .”
    â€œIt was a livestock auction?”
    â€œYeah, the horses sell before the tack.”
    â€œYou didn’t come home with another goat, did you?” The humor in his voice was edged with something a little sharper. Which was fair, of course; no one in her right mind needs a hairless goat, even if said Nubian did smile like a happy cherub when you brought him cabbage leaves.
    â€œNo . . .”
    â€œThat’s good, because it’s going to be hard enough getting rid of the animals you’ve already accumulated . . . and rent’s due.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œHow long do you think it’ll be before you can sell the farm?”
    She didn’t say anything for a second.
    â€œCassandra?”
    â€œI’m not sure.”
    â€œHave you found a realtor yet?”
    She’d wrapped the coiled telephone cord around her pinky finger and regarded it studiously. “No. Not yet.”
    He paused momentarily. “I know it’s hard, Cass, and I wish I could be there to help you through this, but these rotations are murder. And your dad’s been gone for weeks now. It’s time to move on.”
    Her stomach churned. “I need to get the place cleaned up before I can list it.”
    â€œIsn’t that what you’ve been doing?”
    â€œYes, but there’s so much more to be done.” She hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about Clayton’s decline, even to Bradley. “The house needs a lot of repairs. Not to mention the fences and—”
    â€œCass . . .”
    She paused.
    â€œLet’s think about this logically.” He was using his patient father voice.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œThe house. The property. How long did your parents live there?”
    â€œI don’t know.” She scowled, recalling her fuzzy first memories. Standing up in her high chair to see if she’d grown since dinner. Riding bareback on a potbellied pony. Her mother had been a barrel racer in her youth. Maybe she had even hoped her daughter would follow in her footsteps, but speed made Casie nervous. She’d been far better suited for the control needed for horsemanship, western pleasure, or other, more sedate, events. “It’s been in the family a long time.”
    â€œBut your parents . . . they had it for thirty years, right? Maybe more?”
    â€œYeah. So?” Her stomach felt queasy.
    â€œAnd Clayton died broke.”
    â€œTimes are hard, Bradley. Since—”
    â€œTo hear your dad talk, times were always hard, Cass. While the rest of the world was investing and expanding and building portfolios, he was struggling just to stay afloat. I’m not saying it was his fault,” he added, but his tone suggested otherwise.
    â€œWhat are you saying?” A little irritation had crept into her tone. Which was weird. She wasn’t the one to be defending her father. She wasn’t even sure she