The Foxe & the Hound

“I LOVE YOU TOO!”

Though we’ve been saying it for weeks, a warmth still spreads over me. I love hearing him say it, and I especially love hearing him shout it across the front yard.

There’s a voicemail from Mr. Boggs waiting for me on my phone once I get my old clunker to start (yes, I’m stilling driving it) and peel out of the driveway. He wants to change up the schedule and tour a different house—a house I don’t have the specs on. He includes the address, but it doesn’t ring a bell and there’s no time to run back inside and search the property on our database.

He’s just going to have to understand that we had a list we agreed upon, and I know those houses like the back of my hand. If he wants to see a different property, I’m not going to know every detail about it.

I plug the address into my phone and follow the directions.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull up in front of what used to be Hamilton Ranch, the oldest property in the whole town. It sits out on the outskirts of Hamilton now, though it’s so big, the entire town sort of wraps around its perimeter. I didn’t even realize it was for sale. The rumor has always been that the owners passed it down in the family for generations.

I park outside of the front gate and sure enough, there’s Mr. Boggs leaning against one of the posts.

Adam would kill me if he knew I was entertaining this showing. In the last few months, Mr. Boggs’ requests have turned more and more ridiculous. I don’t even tell Helen about half of them because I know she’ll start pestering me to drop him as a client as well.

“Mornin’ Mr. Boggs,” I say as I step out of the car and settle onto the uneven terrain.

Had I known we would be touring a ranch, I would have picked more practical footwear. Like tennis shoes, or a four-wheeler.

“Morning Madeleine.”

He’s already working on unlocking the gate.

“How do you know the combination?”

He doesn’t answer; instead, he scrolls to the last digit, tugs on the lock, and then the old gate gives way.

Before us, rolling hills stretch out as far as the eye can see. In every direction, the perimeter fence continues on as if it never ends. There’s no telling how far the ranch sprawls, but it’s beautiful. Oak and cedar trees are scattered across the property, and I’m not sure, but I think about a half-mile up the dirt road, there’s an old farmhouse that was once used by the original owners.

“I’ve never been here,” I admit, a bit amazed by the expansive property. The unspoiled ranch land is iconic in our old town, though I haven’t heard much about it in recent years, not since it was retired from cattle raising.

“Do you know how many acres are in this property?” Mr. Boggs asks as we meander up the dirt road.

“A couple hundred? Maybe a thousand? I could have checked if you’d given me warning.”

He chuckles. “No need. It’s close to 13,000.”

My jaw drops. “You can’t be serious. Who lives here?”

“Well soon, I will.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh yeah? So you’ve finally found your house, Mr. Boggs? After all this time, you’ve settled on a tract of land so big you can see it from space?”

My sarcasm goes right over his head. “Yes. That’s why we’re here.”

“Well, I have to give you props. I knew when you finally picked a property, it would be something spectacular.”

“Madeleine, I can’t help but feel like you’re mocking me.”

“Mocking you?! Mr. Boggs, c’mon. 13,000 acres in this part of Texas would go for what, 30 million dollars? 40 million?”

“Closer to 50 million.”

I laugh. We might as well be talking about Monopoly money.

“Well whoever owns this ranch is going to be very wealthy. I didn’t even know it was for sale.”

He turns back to face the land and his eyes narrow. “It’s not officially for sale until tomorrow, which is why I want to put in an offer today.”

This is an all-time low for us. For over a year, I’ve put up with Mr. Boggs and his incessant demands. There’s not a property in town that we haven’t toured at least once. He calls every hour of the day, weekends included. I’ve never once lost my patience with him or pestered him to make a decision about a house, but this—this is too far. I have a job to do, other clients who need me.

“Mr. Boggs, I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work anymore. I can’t afford to play games all day.”

“Madeleine—”

“Now you’re just abusing my patience. For a year, I’ve showed you houses, and if you don’t intend on purchasing something, you need to tell me now so I can stop wasting my time. I’ve enjoyed having you as a client, but at a certain point, enough is enough.”