Everyone in the area knew him. He lived alone on a large ranch near Silver Creek, up in the mountains. People said he was wealthy but cold. That after his wife died, something inside him shut down forever.
“I’m here for the girl,” he said bluntly.
My heart nearly stopped.
“For Emily?” Linda asked with a fake smile. “She’s weak and eats too much.”
“I need help on my land,” he replied. “I pay today. Cash.”
That was it. No questions. No hesitation. Just money spread across the table, counted quickly, as if I were an object being cleared out.
“Pack your things,” Frank ordered. “And don’t embarrass us.”
Everything I owned fit into a canvas bag. A few worn clothes. One pair of jeans. And a battered paperback.
Linda didn’t even get up.
“Good riddance,” she muttered.
The drive felt endless. I cried without sound, bracing myself for whatever nightmare awaited me. Why would a lonely older man want a teenage girl? Forced labor? Worse?
The road climbed into the mountains until we reached his property.
It wasn’t what I expected.
The ranch was large but cared for, surrounded by pine trees. The house was solid, warm, and alive. Inside were family photos, sturdy furniture, and the smell of fresh coffee.