They had cattle.
Hay ground.
Water storage.
Leases.
Trucks.
Influence.
Garrett did not speak loudly.
He had built his life around making other people lean closer.
“Rough timing.”
Elias looked at him.
“You came to tell me that?”
“Drought’s hard on everybody.”
“Your tanks look full.”
Garrett glanced toward the northern hills.
“I’ve got contracts.”
“So do I.”
“With who?”
“My bank.”
Garrett almost smiled.
Elias did not.
Garrett rested one arm along the window.
“I heard the county reallocated the ditch.”
“They locked my gate.”
“Temporary.”
“That’s what they said.”
Garrett nodded.
“My bottling contract changed my draw priority.”
“Your bottling contract didn’t exist when our grandfathers dug that ditch.”
“Paper doesn’t care when your grandfather held a shovel.”
Elias stared.
Garrett continued.
“Paper cares about what exists now.”
“That water has crossed this farm for three generations.”
“On a handshake.”
“A handshake worked until somebody figured out water was worth more in a tanker truck.”
Garrett’s face barely changed.
But Elias had hit the right place.
Three months earlier, Voss Ranch had signed a supply agreement with a regional bottling company.
Suddenly water carried a dollar value completely disconnected from grass, cattle, or families.
Garrett looked toward Elias’s pasture.
“I’ll make you an offer.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Hundred thousand.”
Elias laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
The farm was worth more than twice that in ordinary conditions.
Garrett knew it.
“You think I’m thirsty enough to forget how numbers work?”
“I think you’re practical.”
“You think I’m desperate.”
Garrett leaned back.
“Not yet.”
The words were quiet.
That made them worse.
He continued.
“Give it a month.”
“Cattle start losing weight.”
“Hay gets expensive.”
“Your wife adds more clinic shifts.”
“Bank notices.”
“Then one hundred starts looking different.”
Elias tightened his jaw.
Garrett put the truck in gear.
“Think about it.”
He drove away.
Ren stood behind the porch screen.
She had heard enough.
That night, Dana Marsh found Elias sitting at the kitchen table with a legal pad.
Her clinic scrubs were still on.
She had worked ten hours.
She set her purse down.
“How bad?”
Elias pointed at the page.
“Rental tank in town is thirty-nine minutes one way.”
“Two trips a day.”
“Diesel alone is stupid.”
Dana sat.
“How long can we do it?”
“Depends what we stop paying.”
She looked toward the hallway.
Ren’s bedroom door was closed.
“Don’t say that where she can hear.”
“She already knows.”
“She’s eight.”
“She knows when we’re scared.”
Dana rubbed both hands over her face.
“What about the lower well?”
“Dry.”
“The creek?”
“Not enough.”
“Garrett?”
Elias looked at her.
Dana understood.
“He made an offer.”
“Hundred.”
“For all forty acres?”
“Yes.”
Dana laughed bitterly.
“He’s disgusting.”
“He’s patient.”
“That’s worse.”
Elias looked at the legal pad again.
“Maybe we should think about it.”
Dana’s expression changed.
“You mean that?”
“I mean I don’t want to lose everything because I was emotionally attached to dirt.”
“It’s not dirt.”