Some days, Abby Whit forgot she was hiding behind an alias. After two years and change
of living in Herd, Montana, she fully embraced her cover story as a food truck chef, passing
through town. To anyone who asked, she was working for herself after stints being the sous chef
for chefs from Kansas City to Las Vegas. Her family didn’t put down roots. Those were the
kernels of truth. But she’d arrived with a plan.
Determine the public’s perception of her family and assess the feasibility of taking back
her land.
On the frosty March morning, she parked her food truck in the gravel lot behind the
bright red barn on the Kincaid ranch. Against a snowy backdrop and overcast sky, the new
construction building popped amidst the open land that had been owned by one family for over a
century. Credited with saving the local economy by modernizing their ranch into a cowboy spa,
Hank and grandson Ryan Kincaid were undisputed winners in the town’s founding families’
feud. Her family, the Whittiers, were the first losers. The good citizens of Herd considered her
ancestors the villains in the town’s history. If she had given her full name on arrival, she’d have
been kicked out of the state.
Hating the Kincaids on principle, given her history, would have been expected. Prejudice
hadn’t suited her. They had never questioned her sudden appearance and purpose in the tight knit
community. They’d supported and encouraged her. Their kindness was the reason she continued
to debate finally making her legal claim to the small patch of land near the church where she
parked her food truck. The deadline approached.
The hum of the idling truck wasn’t loud enough to silence her whirring thoughts. Helping
out others in the community had been equally about establishing good karma for herself and
treating others with the kindness she valued. No one had been better to her than the Kincaids.
She didn’t think she’d done nearly enough to redeem herself in their eyes once they learned the
truth.
Joe would be sure to highlight her villainy.
She shuddered. Joe Staunch, middle school teacher and ranch tour guide, was her very
vocal critic. She was careful to never cause anyone offense and yet she’d somehow made an
enemy of him.
He either ignored her or complained about her—often within her earshot. Some people
rubbed each other wrong. She accepted that fact. The trouble was that she liked him. Her heart
wouldn’t be reasoned into submission.
She cut the engine and exited the truck, leaving the vehicle unlocked.
An icy breeze whipped past her, burning her ears, and carrying the scent of a nearby fire.
She crunched the gravel under her feet as she made her way to the barn.
While she agonized over the decision, she only had two choices. Either she claimed her
inheritance, or she gave up on it forever. Security lingered so near she could almost smell the
roasting meat in proper ovens and feel the stability of the solid walls and roof from her own
restaurant on her land. She couldn’t stall much longer. But she didn’t want the town to feel she’d
betrayed them. She hadn’t told bald-faced lies. Neither had she shared the complete truth.
The side door stood slightly ajar. Muffled, deep voices carried out.
She slipped inside and rubbed her hands together. “Hello?” she called, her teeth
chattering, from nerves and the low temperature.
“We’re here,” Hank Kincaid replied.
She blew on her icy figures and approached the men standing in the center of the room.
“Sorry, the new furnace arrives by the end of the week,” Ryan Kincaid said. He stood
next to several toolboxes and a stack of drywall.
“No bother,” she said, waving off any concern like she didn’t notice the unfinished walls
with wires poking out and gaps visible in the boards. A little spray foam insulation and a
working system would solve the heating problem. “I hope the first week in June is warm enough
and we won’t have to be concerned with turning on the heat. I don’t want to add fix furnace to
either Hank’s ninetieth birthday extravaganza or the wedding budget.” She plastered on a smile
to stop her teeth from chattering.
“Bad luck to replace the furnace twice in one year.” Hank Kincaid shook his head.
“Makes me worried what the third calamity will be.”
“Doesn’t the fire count as the first strike of poor luck?” Ted Stirling frowned.
“Rebuilding this barn from the ground up is at the top of my list of bad things.”
She darted her gaze between the three cowboys.
As the oldest, white-haired, and permanently tan, Hank Kincaid often touted tired cliches
and old wives’ tales as guiding life principles. “No, that was last year’s number two after my trip
to the hospital.”
Hank’s grandson and heir, Ryan, rolled his eyes. Standing well over six feet and with a
perpetual scowl, he was the town’s stalwart visionary. Practical and forward thinking, he had
revitalized his family’s legacy and the entire community through a clear and unexpected plan. He
didn’t waste time looking for signs of divine intervention.
The third, Ted Stirling, was the thoughtful ranch hand turned trusted confidant. Often
found stroking his jaw in consideration, the slim man with thin streaks of silver threading his
dark hair didn’t jump to conclusions. He’d been hired to work cattle and, over the past decade,
switched direction to managing people.
Abby had overheard the stories enough from Joe. She almost imagined a first-hand
recollection despite only living in town for two years. For the past decade plus, the three men
guided the town to an unprecedented economic recovery thanks to their varying character
qualities, forming a strong pyramid. If one side wobbled, the other two assumed the weight of
the struggles and balanced the load.
What would they do when her revelation rocked them all?
“Was there a number three last year?” she asked.
Hank tapped a finger against the deep cleft in his chin. “I don’t think there was unless
you count Colby’s trip to the vet after she ate that pan of brownies.”
Colby, a rescue mutt, was arguably more human than dog. She hadn’t been shaken by her
life-or-death accident over Thanksgiving weekend. Meg, her owner, and Ryan’s fiancé, however
had been an emotional wreck.
“No more of this talk.” Ryan held up his hands. “Don’t even put the energy out into the
universe. We have too much going on in the next few months for anyone to go looking for a
curse or believing in superstition.”
Hank nodded and turned, flashing crossed fingers behind his back.
Abby glanced at Hank’s crossed fingers and snorted. She rubbed a hand over her face.
“Sorry. Must be allergies.”
“Why did you need us to stop by today?” Joe Staunch asked, his voice carrying from the
sliding glass doors in the center of the back wall overlooking the deck behind the building.
“Couldn’t this be a phone call or email?” he asked as he approached.
Rachelle Paige Campbell 