<< Go Back

Fields of Glass

By Alyssa Schwarz

Order Now!

GIVING UP WASN’T an option.
Despite what the parched earth might be telling him.
Kneeling, Micah Prescott scooped his hand into the dirt on the edge of the parking lot. The pale brown dust slipped through his fingers. Not a hint of moisture.
And, according to the wide blue, cloudless sky, nothing on the horizon either. Just perfect. Another drought was the last thing Micah needed on top of his growing mountain of problems.
He released the remaining handful to the wind and stood up. The bank papers in his jacket pocket crinkled with the movement.
It didn’t matter what they all said. The ranch wasn’t dead yet.
Micah shoved back his baseball cap and rubbed his forehead. The tension headache he’d been fighting all afternoon now pulsed at his temples.
“I’ve never been late on a payment, not once in fifteen years—”
He wanted to shake away the memory of his voice this morning at the bank. He hadn’t been begging.
Just…reminding.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this…” Stupid Jackson, sitting behind his mahogany desk at Bank of the Rockies.
“Yeah, me too. How am I supposed to raise seventy-five thousand dollars in thirty days?”
Jackson had left the question unanswered even as Micah stormed out of the office, not caring who might be watching.
Probably all of Lake City had figured it out, anyway.
He was about to lose the ranch that had been in his family for generations. Yeah, he was that son. Not the successful veterinarian like his younger brother Tye. He thought he’d finally been able to resurrect his father’s legacy, if not his name. No wonder he felt their stares on his back, the cold shoulders from a town he’d grown up in.
Again, what did they expect from Micah Prescott?
He glanced at the digital display above the bank’s sign, noting the late hour. Great. He’d already lost half a day in town, and all for a fool’s errand.
Around him, the town buzzed with activity. Families and tourists popping in and out of shops. Noise spilled out from the open-air restaurants lining the streets on either side of him. On any other day, he could appreciate the perfectly clear fall day or the quaintly preserved mountain town.
He breathed in a steadying breath, and a faint tinge of smoke made his heart race. Turning, he spotted a handful of construction workers smoking beside their work trucks.
“Are you serious? One spark and you could light the entire county on fire!”
His warning barely lifted the head of one of the crew. He should march over there and put their cigarettes out himself. He took a step in their direction and halted, clenched fists relaxing a fraction. Confronting them would only amount to putting a Band-Aid over a gaping wound. Colorado faced droughts annually, and this year was no exception.
Only rain and a miracle could change that.
“Finn, come here boy.” Micah blew a sharp whistle, and a mottled cattle dog with one blue eye and the other brown bounded toward him from behind a thicket of trees.
Micah opened the passenger door of his once-white ‘89 Dodge Ram, and with one solid leap, the animal hopped in. Finn barked excitedly at Micah, as if ready to get back to their sheep.
“Almost finished here, and then we can go home. I promise.”
The dog calmed as if he understood—which, after a few years working the ranch with Micah, perhaps he did.
Micah stroked the dog’s flat coat. Just calm down. Think.
The papers in his jacket pocket crinkled with the movement. Grabbing the bank’s letter, he opened the glove box and shoved the stark white envelope in with the rest of his projections and ideas for the ranch he hadn’t gotten to share with the managers at the meeting. The metal click of the latch echoed like a nail in a coffin.
Ready to leave everything from today behind him, Micah reversed his ​​truck out of the bank’s parking lot and drove as fast as the multiple stop lights and crosswalks allowed. A few miles south, he turned off the main highway and eased into his smaller hometown. Not much more than a few restaurants, a post office, a general store, and the all-important bait and tackle shop lined the street. A few new houses had sprouted up over the past decade, but besides that, it looked nearly the same as it had all his life.
Everywhere Micah looked, the place seemed… tired. A once-brilliant Main Street of Easter egg pastels now faded under the high-altitude sun. If it weren’t for the summer tourists, the mining town of Lake City might have all but become a long-forgotten memory buried within the Colorado Rockies.
With Finn as his copilot, they slowed at the single stop sign and pulled into the parking lot of the Gold Bar Café. Its log exterior and rustic mountain character made it a popular place with locals and tourists alike, and the barbecue burger with homemade fries could nearly make a man forget his problems.
Nearly. But he’d give it a try.
Finn lifted his nose and wined as the smell of bacon and fried potatoes wafted into the car.
Micah only planned to be gone for a few minutes. Twenty, tops. But between the dry heat outside and the pathetic look Finn was sending him, how could he say no? Besides, he knew from experience that Pauline wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Micah patted his thigh, and the dog immediately jumped down from the seat as if having expected the invitation all along.
A little bell above the door announced their arrival.
Even in September, hardly a table or booth sat empty. He caught a few familiar faces as he looked around the room. Jenny from the post office glanced at him, then turned away from where she sat at the counter. Wayne and Joe sat at the corner table, drinking coffee. A few groups of unfamiliar faces gathered around the larger tables, backpacks slung over their chairs, conversation and laughter erupting in busts like a tractor backfiring. Tourists.
Pauline pointed to his regular stool, as if he'd ever sit anywhere else. "I'll get you a coke."
He just might survive the day, given the smell escaping the kitchen. Barbecue and buttery biscuits.
He walked to the end of the bar, and like the socially outcasted leper he was, no one stopped to say hi. Fine. It wasn't like he needed or expected friends—he knew what the Prescott name meant in this town. And his scars certainly didn't help ease up on that general opinion.
Micah sank onto the vinyl seat, and within minutes, a waitress he hadn’t seen there before greeted him.
“Howdy. What can I get for you?” The girl slid a pen from behind her ear.
He checked to make sure Finn was settled on the floor beside him before placing his order. “I’ll have the rancher’s special, but without the mushrooms.”
“Great choice. Anything to drink?” She couldn’t have been older than eighteen, but the way she smiled at him—young and innocent and a little flirtatious—made him feel guilty for even stepping foot inside.
“Just a bowl of water for Finn.”
She smiled at Finn, who was already fast asleep, and returned her gaze to Micah. “I meant for you, silly.” A slight flush colored her youthful face. She had to have been at least a decade younger than him, but that didn’t seem to stop those fluttering eyelashes. He envied her carefree attitude; he just didn’t want it directed at him so intently.
“Just a coffee, thank you.” Anything with enough caffeine to tame his mounting headache.
Her airy chuckle followed her toward the kitchen, leaving him alone to stew over his thoughts.
Once she was gone, he pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at his reflection in the blank screen. He had to make the call eventually. But the thought of admitting to his younger brother that he’d failed rankled. He was the oldest, the one who was supposed to have all the answers. He’d taken over the ranch when Dad died, made sure Tye went to veterinary school.
He raised the phone to place the call, which felt like a brick in his hand, when the screen lit up with a text from Caden.
Oh, no. What had that cousin of his gotten himself into this time?
God knew he shouldn’t trust Caden to operate the hay baler on his own, let alone manage the ranch for an entire day. With Micah’s recent luck, he’d come back home to a half-plowed field or the hayloft in flames.
Sure, Callie would be nearby in case things went sideways, but he could only infringe on his neighbor’s goodwill for so long.
“Storm’s coming. I can feel it.” Pauline herself stepped up to the bar, red-and-white-checkered apron tied around her waist. The skin around her eyes wrinkled as she smiled—something sweet, almost forgiving in it—and she tipped the coffee carafe to fill his cup.
If only that were true. While sitting in the bank’s lobby, the local radio station had predicted nothing but hot weather and laughable humidity levels. But if Pauline from the diner thought she knew better…
“Don’t give me that look,” she said, handing him a plate of steaming hash brown and her famous brisket. “The last time my knee acted up like this, it rained for two days straight. The river nearly flooded its banks, unless you’ve forgotten.” She rubbed her knee as if to support her statement. “And based on how it’s hurtin’, I’d say we’re in for a real doozy.”
Micah picked at the pile of hash browns before moving to the brisket. He understood a lot of things, but how an arthritic knee could predict the weather with more accuracy than a team of meteorologists and all their fancy equipment was not one of them.
“Mark my words. That drought everyone’s been talking about, the one that’s got all of you frowning into your coffee cups as if they hold the answers, it’s about to end.” She bobbed her salt-and-pepper head, making her aquamarine earrings sway like raindrops, before disappearing through the swinging kitchen door. A few seconds later, she returned and propped a plate of blackberry pie topped with whipped cream in front of him.
“What’s this for?” He eyed the glossy berries and tried to remember the last time he’d splurged on something so sweet. Not that he’d turn up his nose to a slice of Pauline’s pie.
“It’s on the house. A thank you for working on those cabinets in the kitchen. I don’t know how you managed it, but they’re almost as good as new.”
Micah’s face grew warm. “There’s really no need. All I did was tighten a few screws and sand some edges. Anyone could have done it.”
“Nonsense. Now, eat up. I know you’ve got more than enough room in that stomach of yours.” The bell above the door chimed, and she waved toward whoever had entered. “I’ll leave you to it. But when I come back, I’d better see both those plates licked clean.” Whisking the coffee carafe from the counter, she sauntered toward one of the booths by the window to greet the newcomers.
Micah chuckled at the woman’s determination to see the good in everybody. He’d like to believe that as well, but despite his best attempts, he’d learned the hard way that people, no matter their intentions, would let you down one way or another. Best to be as self-sufficient as possible and leave the rest to God.
Micah nursed the remainder of his coffee and, having finished his meal, turned to the pie before him. Despite the meal he’d just eaten, Micah’s stomach gurgled at the tempting scent of warm pastry and jammy blackberry. Unable to resist, he dug in, savoring each bite before he had to make the hour-long drive back to the ranch.
Micah paid for the rest of his meal, slipping a generous tip to compensate for the slice of pie, and ducked out the front door with Finn on his heels.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s go home.” In one leap, the dog jumped through the open car door and crawled to his spot in the middle of the bench seat. When he turned around, his tongue lolled to the side, a wide grin spreading across his face if ever Micah saw one.
For what was hopefully the last time that day, Micah climbed into his truck and started the ignition.
The paved road soon gave way to dirt, and they continued up the narrow, winding valley. With few cars and fewer people, he could finally breathe again. These days, the town held precious little attraction to him, and even less so when the only reason for him going was to sort out his financial troubles.
He’d pray for a miracle every day if he thought it would help. No matter how hard he tried, how many seasons he worked the earth and tended the sheep, he only ever managed to scrape by.
A few years ago, he and his mom had finally surfaced for air long enough to make a few much-needed repairs to the barn and outbuildings. He couldn’t begin to describe the waves of relief he’d felt then. For once, everything was right in the world. His mother was happier than ever, managing almost an entire year without slumping into one of her moods, and he finally had the time and resources to start planning for the future.
All seemed fine until the bank sent him notice that they were recalling the loan.
Apparently, the threat of another drought was enough to make the managers quake in their polished leather loafers. He bet none of them even owned a decent pair of boots or knew a thing about a hard day’s work.
Micah frowned and slowed his vehicle as it rumbled across a series of deep washboards in the road. Finn sat up at the noise and pressed his wet nose against the glass.
Micah released a pent-up breath. At least his mom didn’t have to suffer through this again. Aunt Nora and Uncle Greg had been kind enough to invite her down to their place in Florida. As much as he missed having her around, he knew the distance was good for her. Staying in a guest house on the beach, all she had to worry about would be when to go golfing and which drink to order at the country club.
He almost smiled at the thought. His mom would sooner fight a bear than lug around a bag of irons. But if she was happy there, so was he.
The road smoothed out once again, and they picked up speed on the straightaway. His headache dulled to a faint pulse, likely due to the three cups of coffee he’d downed at the café, and he tried to focus his thoughts on a solution.
He and Caden had a healthy flock of sheep this year, and if things went as planned, they’d also have the alfalfa harvest come October. He could sell off part of the flock and make a decent profit if need be. He’d hate to lose so many good sheep, but they were far easier to replace than land. It might take some calling around, but surely he could find a buyer this late in the year.
His mind flicked back to the series of emails he’d received recently from a company interested in buying a portion of his land. After reading the first one a few months back, he’d forwarded the rest to his spam folder. He’d rather sell his property to the bank than palm off a piece to some unknown corporate entity. Mr. Francis G. Riley could email him all he liked, but that was one thing Micah would not budge on.
He drove past the gated entrance to the Landry's old ranch, the For Sale sign staked into the earth, and a twinge of uncertainty tightened in his gut. If all else failed, he might not have the luxury of that decision.
“Well, Finn.” Micah turned to face his companion. “It looks like we have the next month cut out for us. Do you think we can do it?”
Finn wagged his short tail, and Micah took that as a yes. He smiled. “Look at me, taking advice from a dog. I really must be going crazy.”
Finn barked again, and Micah laughed.
Praying for a miracle, he returned his sights to the upcoming month. Thirty days was more than enough to bring in the harvest, get the sheep ready, and find a buyer. He’d been through rough patches before, and he’d always found a way through. This time wouldn’t be any different. And with Caden’s help, it was as sure as done.
At least, so he hoped.
They crossed the next bridge and veered up the rise when the first raindrop splashed against his windshield.

Order Now!

<< Go Back