Keeping Our Home (Holliday Book 2)

by Sarah R. Silas

  "I dunno. I've been looking for it since I came back, and some pieces are definitely there. Dad's illness, your practice, the ranch, and," she said, coughing. "And Clark."

  "The ranch hand?"

  "Yeah. The felon ranch hand, who's now sitting in jail for Ricky’s murder," she said, her voice dragging out each word as if she'd never mention it all ever again.

  "Fuck that noise," he said, laughing. "Clark's a good man. You know he didn't kill Ricky. But I think I know what you're looking for, and for fuck's sake Lilith, you're out of your mind."

  "What? What am I looking for?"

  "Love."

  She looked at Doc Mulreedy, trying to figure out if he was wrong, if he was patronizing her, or maybe her life wasn't as complicated as she was making it out be. Maybe it was as simple as that. She cursed under breath, not wanting to believe that Doc Mulreedy was right.

  She had worked hard to be a 21st century woman who wanted nothing more than to go to Boston, carry on with her career and lead a revolution, and here she was stalled by a boy. And not just any boy, but a boy sitting in jail, possibly headed to prison. Maybe he had meant it more generally, but she knew she was done with his hot takes for the day, so she didn't bother continuing the conversation. She drank her beer in silence.

  Maybe Doc Mulreedy had solved the puzzle. She shook her head. He hadn't solved anything. If anything, now it was even more complicated.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The morning broke over the mountains, once again blinding and waking up Lilith. She sat up, Grandmother Aggie's diary sprawled across her lap. She had fallen asleep in her clothes, not bothering to change after Doc Mulreedy's visit. She had just wanted to lay and think about the future, and the past, and had drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  She had progressed through a lot of Aggie's life, coming to a point where Aggie had turned into her most private and existential. The ranch was doing the best it had ever done, beef prices were soaring, and she had secured the fate for her kids and the future. And yet she was uneasy. Lilith chalked it up to being a fighter without anything to fight. She had won, but the diaries had turned from anger towards the world, to anger towards herself. Lilith hadn't deciphered it all yet, but she was hoping to continue reading it, trying to find answers for her own life through her fearless grandmother.

  If she had ever met Aggie, would Aggie even like her? She couldn't answer that. She had grown up girly and pretentious, but now Lilith knew she had changed to much more of a ranch girl.

  And that was kind of disturbing, but it also felt right. She loved her boots, she loved her hair a little messier, and most importantly: she liked seeing the ranch and the mountains from outside every window of the house. The cows, the horses, the ranch hands, it all felt like what she wanted to see every morning when she woke up.

  She had been thinking about calling Zeke. Her father might not like it, but she had to at least see what his offer price was. And, she hadn't gone on a real date in a long time. She knew that's what Zeke really wanted, and maybe forgetting about the whole Clark thing for a while would do her some good.

  They hadn't had a good first meeting, but first impressions are rarely right, she thought. It was good to give people more chances, especially considering that he might be completely different on a real date. Was it a real date? Or just a business deal? She aimed to find out.

  She found his business card and pulled out her phone. She dialed the number and waited as it rang, and rang, and then finally, he picked up. "Hello?" he said, his burly voice pushing through the poor connection on the ranch.

  "Hey, this is Lilith. Uh. Lilith Holliday," she said, trying to get through the conversation without feeling awkward or putting herself on the spot.

  "I've been waiting for your phone call. I really think I came off horribly when we last talked. Really very horribly. I wanna make it up to you, perhaps talk to you about stuff."

  "Yeah, I'd like that," she said, trying to keep any sort of desperation from her voice. Doc Mulreedy wasn't totally incorrect it seemed.

  "Great, alright. How about tonight? Maybe I could pick you up and we'll go into Billings or Helena. I'll make some reservations?"

  "Yeah, that would be great. Just pick me up outside the gate or something?"

  "Yeah sure," he said, laughing. "And ya know, come as you are. This'll be informal."

  "Alright. See ya, ya know, later," she said, immediately hating the way she was ending the conversation. She hung up the phone and laid back down.

  That was done. She was going to figure out what the hell was going on with the ranch, she was going to save her father the heartache and anguish of dealing with it. And maybe, she might even like this Zeke guy. It was a long shot, but who knows, he said he wanted to act differently, after all.

  She made her way downstairs, the morning routine returning to her from her high school days and short vacations from college. Returning was never easy at first, but she had to admit she liked it. And learning a new place, like Boston, was going to be frustrating. She would end up being homesick, not only for the ranch, but to see her father and drink coffee with him every morning.

  She set the coffee on and noticed Pistol and Marty walking up to the backdoor. They always had a penchant for waltzing in whenever, and however, they wanted. It hadn't been annoying, but she had just woken up and wanted at least a few minutes of privacy and alone time. She wasn't even wearing proper clothes or a bra.

  She crossed her arms as Pistol and Marty walked in. They might be close, but it was a little cold. Her nipples were poking through her sheer shirt and she had no interest in showing off to Pistol. Marty would probably poke them or do something even odder.

  "Mornin'. How you be?" asked Pistol, taking a mug and pouring coffee. When he saw that she didn't have a mug, he offered her his. She took it, glaring.

  "What the hell do ya'll want this fuckin' early in the morning?"

  "Well, Marty had something to tell you," said Pistol. He poured more coffee, finding sugar and milk.

  "I did?" said Marty, finally remembering what Pistol had dragged him off the fields for. "Oh yeah, I got something to tell ya. But I have to give credit where credit is due. Pistol found this out from his new job."

  "Shouldn't you be at this new job?" asked Lilith.

  "Called in sick," said Pistol, blowing on his coffee.

  "Goddamnit," exclaimed Lilith. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "I'm just not feeling their impersonal attitude," said Pistol, waiting for the inevitable reprimand from both Marty and Lilith.

  "You're a fuckin' idiot," muttered Marty. "You're gonna lose this job too and Lilith doesn't want you working here as it is."

  "What?" exclaimed Lilith. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Her irritation was coming. Perhaps mother nature was calling her name. "Speak for yourself."

  "Yeah, I meant I don't wanna clean up anymore of your fuck ups," clarified Marty.

  They stood in silence, sipping their coffee, unsure how to get past beating up Pistol for skipping work and putting his job, and future, at risk.

  "So what do you gentlemen want exactly," whispered Lilith, thanking God that she at least had coffee to get through this.

  "Pistol wanted me to tell you," started Marty.

  "Shut the fuck up. I'll tell her. Even though no one even appreciates me or nothing," said Pistol.

  "We appreciate you Pistol," mumbled Lilith.

  "I was talking to a guy I work with, since the Kent Ranch was sold to this giant energy and mining conglomerate called Diamondback, and apparently they’re looking to expand pretty drastically in this area. Holliday Ranch might be next," blurted Pistol. He hadn't wanted to tell the story, because now he had to look at Lilith's face fall.

  She put her cup down, putting her face in her hands, her elbows resolutely against her breasts. She hadn't expected both a cute playboy and an agribusiness conglomerate to want to buy the ranch. She was going to have to defend her father from both of these things. Alth
ough she knew which one was going to be easier to deal with. "When did you hear this?" she mumbled.

  "Yesterday, at work. The old Kent Ranch," said Pistol.

  "Fuck," she said. It was all she should manage. She had seen the accounts, she knew the ranch wasn't making money, and with agribusiness moving in, it was only going to get harder every year to make this entire thing work. "Alright, thanks for telling me."

  Pistol and Marty looked at each other, not knowing what to do or say next. They both kept drinking their coffee.

  "I'm gonna go find my father. Please, make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing around her. She left them, still clutching her arms against her chest. For some reason, the room had gotten even colder.

  ~~~

  Sheriff Holt put his hat on the dashboard, tired of shifting it to get the sun out of his eyes, and flipped down the sun visor. He was trying to find his way through Ricky's neighborhood, trying his best to understand the unfamiliar neighborhood where every sign and every house looked the same. Some of the deputies thought that questioning neighbors, in this neighborhood, as accidental witnesses, was a waste of time, but experience had taught him better. He had been a cop for a long time, and he was sure he knew more than his deputies, however good they might be. Witnesses were magically always there, even in the worst neighborhoods. It was his job to find them and ask the right questions. The latter being the hard part.

  It was a rundown, dilapidated neighborhood, but thankfully he wasn't there to search through Ricky's house for the third or fourth time. He had driven out from the station to personally question one Markus Kincaid. Most people in town tried their best to stay away from Markus, who was known to be kind of a creep. He would stare at people who walked down the street, even those who walked into the same aisle as him, writing down in a little notepad what they were wearing, or in what direction they were going.

  Sheriff Holt didn't like his penchant for being a part time detective, but it would neglectful not to at least talk to him, to ask if he had seen anyone enter Ricky's house. It was a shameful coincidence that Markus lived a few doors down from Ricky and they had forgotten to ask him.

  Tad, Clark lawyer, had been adamant that they release Clark, not as soon as possible, but right that instant if they didn't have the evidence sufficient to detain him. Holt didn't want to keep Clark any longer than he needed to, he knew the Hollidays needed their best ranch hand back, but something about the whole thing didn't feel right. Clark had said he didn't kill Ricky, but he also didn't have an answer as to how Ricky's things landed in his house. Holt didn't like coincidences. They were for novels and fairy tales. Here, in the real world, coincidences just meant he hadn't done his job.

  He pulled his cruiser up to a dilapidated house that sat back from the street. It was dark blue, had a couple windows and a flat top. It was a glorified mobile home, not that Holt cared. He had grown up in a house like that, that's not what bothered him. It was the perfectly manicured lawn, the swept clean stones. He knew that Markus was incredibly OCD about everything in his life, and it showed even from the outside.

  He got out of his cruiser, but before he was even able to step on the first paving stone from the sidewalk, Markus Kincaid rushed out of his house. He had short cropped brown hair, was wearing a bright blue bathrobe, and was holding a bible in his left hand. He had no shoes on, and he picked his feet up more than necessary against the hot paving stones. "Please Sheriff, don't step on the property, I just, I just, I just, I just fixed it all," he stammered. He held the bible out in front of him. "I don't have anything on me except this bible. I was reading it. Trying to correct the grammar."

  "Ah, I see," said Holt. "You doin' ok Markus?" Holt never knew how to talk to Markus, and he always tried to keep it simple and to the point. And then leave. Because Markus freaked him out.

  "I'm, yeah, I'm fine, I guess. It's been really hot, and people have been walking by all day, and driving by, and I dunno why they're doing that."

  "They probably have somewhere to go," said Holt.

  "Yeah, can you stop them from doing that?"

  "No Markus, I can't." He was losing his patience, a new record, he thought. "I came here to ask you a question. There was a murder a few doors down, and I need you to tell me if you saw anything."

  Markus stared at Holt for a second, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to remember what exactly the Sheriff was talking about. Finally, as the memories flooded back, he nodded vigorously. "Yup, I remember. I heard things and everything. Saw some stuff."

  "Wait, you heard it?" asked Holt, surprised that it was loud enough to hear.

  "Yeah, but no one does anything around these parts. It was just another weird scream in the middle of the night. It's why I don't like people walking down the street or nothing."

  "Because...they scream?"

  "Ya never know Sheriff. Peace is a premium around here," said Markus.

  "Right, yeah, whatever. Alright Markus. Tell me what this scream sounded like? Were there any recognizable words or anything?"

  "Nope, just a scream. Like. Sheriff. It was like someone was getting murdered."

  "Well Markus, someone was murdered. It was Ricky, the former manager of Holiday Ranch. Now, tell me if this person looks familiar," asked Holt, taking out Clark's mugshot. "Also tell me if he was with anyone, if you think they took anything out of the house."

  Markus took the mugshot, resting it on the bible. "Yeah, this wasn't the guy that night. He's too broad, his chin is too...well, I'd say perfect. This guy is very handsome. Nice haircut too. Those guys were scraggly, wearing leathers, and definitely a little more..."

  "A little more what?"

  Markus leaned in close, looking left and then right, making sure no one was going to walk by. "Those guys were a little more white trash than this guy," he whispered.

  Holt sighed, taking the picture back. He thought he had gotten what he needed, but it was good that Markus was so open to talking to him. "Thanks for talking to me about this," he said, turning away.

  "Alright, but Sheriff, I helped you out. Now you gotta help me out," said Markus.

  "Is it about the people walking by?"

  Markus nodded vigorously.

  "I'll see what I can do Markus. Thanks for helping," said Holt, waving at him, getting into his car, and starting the engine. What did Markus think he could do, put up anti walking signs? He sighed, and drove away.

  One thing was clear from talking to Markus. There was no reason to hold Clark any longer, he was free to go about his business, until at least, they figured out who had planted Ricky's things in his house.

  Sheriff Holt put his hat back on, flipping the sun visor back up. Sometimes, there was no substitute for old fashioned police work.

  ~~~

  Lilith had no idea how she was supposed to break the news that multiple parties wanted to buy the ranch. She thought her father would freak out, question whether she was going to sell it the moment he was put into the ground, and make her promise that she would never, ever, under any circumstances give away her birthright for something as silly as money.

  None of this was what she wanted to talk to him about. She especially didn't want him to ask questions about her date with Zeke that evening. If he learned of that, everything would be even worse. It would be worse than worse. She might as well book her plane ticket now.

  Her father never wanted her to marry a ranch hand, or another ranch owner, because he felt she was better than that, for some reason. But the other end of the spectrum was probably worse. A coddled, soft handed billionaire was definitely not his cup of tea.

  Grandmother Aggie had her fair share of hard times on the ranch, many of which Lilith had read through in the diary. The years of going lean, the years of contemplating selling the ranch were constant, even and especially in the good years. It seemed that the bad years were what kept her going, so that she could fight against losing. Not losing the ranch, specifically. She took it all as a personal loss if she lost any battle.
Lilith could see a lot of her father in that. It wasn't just about the ranch, it wasn't just about property and family, it was their way of exerting control of their lives in the only way they knew how: by fighting.

  Which confused her, because her father did not want to fight his cancer, at least in the usual ways. He was delaying his chemo, he wasn't thinking about it, he was choosing to ignore it. Perhaps, the only fight he cared about was the fight for the ranch. It was the only piece of his life he wanted to try and control. Everything else was up to God.

  She paced the hallway in front of his office, trying to figure out how to bring up the sale offers. Realizing that she had no plan and the only way to go forward was to wing it, she knocked on his door. His usual grunt gained her entry. "Dad," she began.

  "Shut the door," he said, swinging his feet off his desk. "Take a seat, I have some troubling news." He moved a laptop across his desk towards her.

  She hurriedly sat down, unsure of what was coming. "Is it the cancer?"

  He glanced at her above his reading glasses. "No, it's not the damn cancer," he mumbled. He pointed at his laptop. "You read this article?"

  She glanced over it, it was long and in depth, but she picked up some of the salient details. "This is a lawsuit," she said. "Who's being sued?"

  "Well, technically, the entire cattle industry," he said. "Well, not technically at all. It's a massive e. coli lawsuit, and until it's squared away, beef prices are about to be in the fuckin' dump. No pun intended."

  She sat back. "How bad is this going to be?"

  "Probably pretty bad. I dunno if we'll get even a grand a head. Might be 800, might be less. I don't know. We might have to go lean and not sell this year, or figure something out." He put his feet back up on his desk, blowing out of his nose. "I dunno. This is gonna be tough."

  Now how was she supposed to bring up the sale offers? He would think it was all timed against him, like God had struck a hammer blow against the ranch, crushing it in one fell swoop. She leaned into her chair and mumbled, "Yeah so. Apparently there's a sale offer, and a rumor of one."