Chapter 5 Kingman Charm
Following the sputtering turquoise truck, she watched it weave slightly during the two and a half hour drive down Interstate 40 to Kingman, its tailpipe puffing out a small cloud of gray smoke with every shift of gears. This was her brother’s life. This was the life she had left behind.
Instead of turning onto the narrow county road that led out of town, Cody’s blinker clicked on, and he pulled into the gravel lot of a low-slung building with a flickering neon sign that read “The Dusty Spoon.”
Her phone buzzed in its console holder. She answered it on speaker. “What are you doing?”
“Figured you’d be hungry,” Cody’s voice crackled through the phone. “It’s a long drive out to the ranch. Place still has the best chicken-fried steak in the county.”
Sierra’s stomach recoiled. “You figured wrong. I’m not hungry, Cody. I just want to get out there, see Dad, and get to work.”
“Well, I am hungry,” he replied, a rare note of defiance in his tone. “I ain’t eaten since yesterday. We’re stopping.” He hung up before she could argue.
With a frustrated sigh, Sierra pulled into the gravel lot behind him, cut the engine, and stepped back out into the furnace. The diner was a time capsule. Red vinyl booths with cracks mended using silver duct tape, chrome-edged Formica tables, a haze of greasy air hanging under lazy ceiling fans. Every head turned as she walked in. She was a Dior-clad flamingo in a flock of dusty sparrows. Whispers followed her as she slid into the booth opposite Cody, her posture ramrod straight, her handbag placed precisely at her side.
A woman with a tired face, hair pulled back in a tight, frizzy ponytail, and a name tag that read ‘Brenda’ approached their table, a coffee pot in her hand. Her eyes widened in recognition.
“Sierra Quinn? My God, is that you?”
Sierra offered a tight, polite smile. The face was vaguely familiar, a ghost from a high school hallway. “Brenda. It’s been a while. How are you?”
“Can’t complain,” Brenda said, her gaze sweeping over Sierra’s expensive attire with a mixture of awe and something less charitable. “Married my high school sweetheart, Tommy Jensen. Got two kids now. Still stuck here, slingin’ hash. You sure got out, didn’t you? Heard you are some big shot in New York City.”
“I do all right,” Sierra said, her tone clipped, discouraging further conversation. “I’ll just have a coffee.”
Brenda poured some of the dark, sludgy liquid into the ceramic mug on the table. “You got it. Cody, the usual?”
Cody just nodded, his eyes fixed on the menu as if it held the answers to all his problems.
As Brenda walked away, Cody looked at her, his exhaustion palpable. “The bank called again yesterday. Mr. Henderson. Said we’re ninety days past due on the operating loan. He’s talking foreclosure, Si. For real this time.”
Sierra took a sip of the coffee and immediately regretted it. It was bitter, burnt swill, nothing like the flavored gourmet brews she enjoyed in Manhattan. She pushed the mug away. “I told you, I’ll handle Henderson. Did you start pulling the financials like I asked?”
“Tried to,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dad’s got everything in a shoebox. Half the receipts are faded. The bookkeeping ain’t great. He was doing it all himself, and after he got sick…”
“How is he?” Sierra asked, the question feeling heavy and overdue.
“Stubborn,” Cody said with a sad shake of his head. “Refused to stay in the hospital. They sent him home yesterday afternoon. He won’t stay in bed. Tried to go out to the barn this morning. Didn’t make it off the porch. Well, he did, but it was because he tumbled down the steps. The doctors said the nerve damage is progressing faster than they thought. He’s in a lot of pain, but he won’t show it.”
The image of her indestructible father collapsing down the porch steps sent a sharp, unwelcome pang through Sierra’s chest. She deflected the emotion with business. “And the inventory?”
“Half the hay is molded from a leak in the barn roof we never fixed. The main well pump is busted, so we’re hauling water. We lost three calves last month. Vet bills are through the roof. It’s all falling apart, Sierra. It’s been falling apart for a while. I just couldn’t hold it all together.” His voice broke on the last few words, and he looked down at his calloused hands, thoroughly defeated.
Sierra felt a surge of cold, hard resolve. Pity wouldn’t fix a busted well. Sympathy wouldn’t pay off the bank. “That’s why I’m here,” she said, her voice devoid of comfort but full of purpose. “We’re going to stop the bleeding, assess the assets, and liquidate on our own terms.”
Cody looked up, his eyes wounded. “Liquidate? You mean sell? Si, this is our home.”
“It’s a failing business, Cody. And a house we can’t afford,” she corrected him. “Let’s go.”
Cody asked Brenda to box up his chicken so he could take it with him, and they left the diner.
The drive to Sage Ranch was a silent, emotional gauntlet. Sierra’s sleek rental followed Cody’s rattling truck down twenty miles of cracked asphalt and then onto the washboard dirt road that marked the beginning of their property. Every landmark was a landmine of memory. The lone, twisted juniper tree where she’d shared her first kiss. The rocky outcrop where she and her mother used to watch the sunset, her mother’s laughter echoing in the vast emptiness. The pain of that memory was so acute that Sierra physically flinched, her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. This was why she’d stayed away. The land didn’t just hold memories; it held ghosts.
When they crested the final rise, the ranch came into view, nestled in a shallow valley. Her worst fears were confirmed and then compounded. The white paint on the main house was peeling away in long strips, revealing weathered grey wood beneath. The porch roof sagged dangerously in the middle. The once-proud red of the barn had faded to a dusty pink, and one of its large doors hung crookedly from a single hinge. Weeds choked what used to be her mother’s vibrant garden. It looked more than rundown; it looked broken. Defeated. A perfect reflection of the family that inhabited it.
She pulled her car to a stop in a cloud of red dust, the engine’s hum dying into an oppressive silence broken only by the steady buzzing of cicadas and the sigh of the wind through the sagebrush. She sat for a long moment, the air-conditioning fighting a losing battle against the sun beating through the windshield. This was it. The wound she’d run from, now gaping and raw before her.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out. The fine dust immediately coated her expensive shoes. Cody was already out of his truck, his head hung low as if in shame.