“Some.”
“My warehouse delivery is stuck outside Kearney.”
“How much inventory?”
“Maybe enough for regular customers another day.”
Emma stared at the wall.
All the laughter.
All the jokes.
Garbage.
Ruined.
Green cows.
Her father would have known better.
Now Earl wanted the same grain.
“How many farmers calling?”
“Twenty already.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Not victory.
That surprised her.
She expected this moment to feel good.
It felt terrifying.
Twenty farms.
Hundreds of cattle.
Her grain could not solve that.
“Earl.”
“Yeah?”
“My grain isn't commercial stock.”
“I know.”
“I tested samples, sorted it, dried it.”
“I know.”
“It still needs blending.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
He hesitated.
“People talk.”
Emma almost laughed.
Of course.
“I'm keeping enough for our herd.”
“You should.”
“After that, maybe I can spare some.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
Earl exhaled.
“Anything.”
Emma looked out the window.
The county had mocked her for three months.
Now the county was hungry.
Not people yet.
Animals.
But animals did not know who laughed.
That mattered.
“We'll inventory when the storm breaks.”
Earl said quietly:
“Thank you.”
Emma ended the call.
Caleb stared.
“He asked for Garbage Grain?”
“Yes.”
Caleb grinned.
“This is the greatest day of my life.”
“No.”
His smile faded.
“What?”
“This is bad.”
“For Earl.”
“For everyone.”
Emma pulled out the notebook.
“We need numbers.”
The storm weakened late on December 20.
Still cold.
Still dangerous.
But visibility improved.
County crews opened one road.
Farmers used tractors to clear others.
Emma and Sarah inventoried everything.
Hay.
Grain.
Mineral.
Diesel.
They calculated minimum reserve for their own thirty cattle.
Then reserve if the cold lasted two more weeks.
Then emergency reserve.
What remained was not much.
Enough grain supplement for maybe several neighboring herds for a few days.
Not salvation.
Time.
Sometimes time was enough.
Harold arrived first.
Old tractor with chains.
Small gravity wagon.
He climbed down.
His beard was white with frost.
Emma met him near the shed.
He looked at the labeled bins.
“Garbage Grain.”
Caleb had never erased it.
Harold smiled weakly.
“Kid got jokes.”
Emma asked:
“How many cattle?”
“Forty-two.”
“Hay?”
“Found six bales under snow.”
“Good.”
Emma calculated.