“Amy.

I’m right in the middle of writing up an order for a combine head.”

“You need to give Kurt Ostrowski back his four thousand dollars,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“And you need to tell him he doesn’t have permission to set foot on my ridge this November.”

Brad gave a short laugh through the speaker, the soft little chuckle he used when a customer asked for a discount on a lawn tractor.

“Kurt and his buddies have hunted those woods three seasons without any trouble,” Brad said.