Chapter 15: What He Wants From Me

"Floyd signed the notice," Cade said through the speaker.

His voice was thick, and a glass clinked somewhere behind it.

"Noon Monday, you hear me? You and your woman can both sleep on Route 9 with the cows."

The machine clicked off.

Rhett stood on the third stair with me still in his arms, and then he set me down on the step.

"Go up," he said. "I'll deal with him."

"You'll deal with him in the morning," I said, and I took his hand and pulled him up the stairs after me.

I woke at dawn with his arm across my ribs and his beard against my shoulder.

For one minute I let myself lie there and remember his mouth.

Then I heard a truck in the gravel, and the arm over me went tight.

By the time I had my shirt on, Rhett was at the window.

"Pop," he said.

There was a paper taped to the bay door, a white sheet with a county seal and Floyd's signature in blue ink.

Rhett went down in his jeans.

I followed as far as the top of the stairs and stopped behind the steel door, because he'd shut it, and because I wanted to hear.

I opened it an inch.

Floyd stood in the middle of the shop with his cane and no vest, looking older than he had on Sunday.

"You've got a mess of a business," he said.

"It's mine."

"It's mine. I own the dirt." He pulled the notice off the door and held it up. "I can tear this in half, and I can have it served again in an hour."

"Pick one."

"I'll tear it." The old man's hand shook. "Sit down, son. I have an offer."

"I'll stand."

"Suit yourself." Floyd breathed in. "The girl is carrying the first grandchild. She names the seat, and you know who she'll name."

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