Rode Hard, Put Up Wet: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 2)

Chapter Fifteen

It wasn't until the boys were already out working the field that the mail came for the day. It was always like that. Philip took a deep breath and mopped at his forehead. It wasn't as if tending animals was easy work, and even in the coolness of the spring it was hot inside the barn.

Still, the man standing at the barn door called out his name and he answered.

"I've got a letter for you," the mailman says.

"Good," Callahan calls back. What's that supposed to mean?

"Needs a signature, Mr. Callahan."

"I'll be right there."

He carries himself out to the door. The cool breeze blowing in cools his skin comfortably, and he takes a moment before he accepts the little electronic sign-in and scrawls his name on the screen with the plastic stylus.

The scribble that results is vaguely similar in some ways to the signature he might have put down on paper, but the man looks at it and shrugs. Good enough. Then he hands over the letter. His hands straight into Phil Callahan's.

On the front is a label he'd hoped never to see. The Internal Revenue Service was sending him a love-letter, it seemed.

The mailman turns and starts walking off as Callahan tears open the envelope and pulls the papers inside out. Whatever productive work he might have done today is pretty much out the window at this point.

Callahan's blood pressure jumps through the roof as he reads. Each time that it seems as if it can't get any worse, it just does.

A god damned audit? This is hardly the time for that. He's got no time at all. And all because they think he made more than he filed?

He would almost laugh, if it wasn't so god damn frustrating. He'd made next to nothing the past two years. Next to nothing. It was only thanks to the savings he'd built up, when things looked like they might actually be looking up, that he could even keep the place open.

The ranch was relying almost entirely on the hope of getting twenty grand or so from the Black that would put them back on track. If they could do that, then they could get a younger mare, they could get back to seriously breeding again.

The Black was as quick as greased lightning. He should have been thirty. Forty if he found a real good buyer. But now, Callahan had to hope for twenty. And then he had to hope that he could find the right breeding stock and do it for pennies.

Another year without making much of anything. But at least, if he was lucky, this year could be one where he broke even at the end of it.

With an audit going on, though, it's that much harder to do anything at all. It probably wouldn't even be wise to sell the damn Black. If they drop another ten thousand in taxes on him, then there's just no way to pay it.

Callahan settles against the side of his truck and reads through the letter again. The answer is obvious, but it's not one that he likes. He needs money, and he needs it in a hurry.

There's only two places he could make that kind of money, on a good day. Selling the Black, and fleecing some guy for all he's worth, that's the first.

The second… well, it's only a ten minute drive on the highway to get to the Lowe Industrial build site. The thought turns his stomach.

But a ranch somewhere is better than no ranch at all, and with the government about to be digging around and trying to find anything they can to make his life hell, it might be the only option.

He'll have to make a decision, and soon. The big hope is that the meeting with Glen goes real well, and he can get the Black gone as soon as possible.

Barring that…

Callahan cuts his own thoughts off. There is no 'barring that.' He'll have to hope to hell it happens. Because there's no way that he can let the ranch go.

Chapter Sixteen

Her blood was still boiling after the morning's little… chat with Brad. He hadn't come back, which was something. He didn't seem like the kind of person who took "go home" as anything but a challenge.

Which left the problems with the build site. Thankfully, nothing as bad as she had feared. Nothing as minor as she'd hoped.

A sinkhole had opened up, and until it had been completely stabilized, they couldn't exactly put down foundation, could they?

They were already well under way working on that, but it wouldn't be finished for days. Possibly as much as a week. There was a little space for error. Probably enough space, and if there wasn't enough space, then plans just got changed.