“The Denver buyer hasn’t been here a single time,” I said.

Luke turned the push mower around at the concrete culvert and shoved hard to get the front wheels over a deep rut.

“He bought it for November,” Luke said loudly over the engine.

“Pheasant season.”

“It’s eighty acres of prime farmland, and he lets it sit empty all summer,” I said.

Luke reached down and shut off the engine.

The sudden silence rang in my ears.

A single crow called from the roof of the red barn.