How Two Extra Jobs and Forty Thousand Dollars Bought the Old Miller Farm
My fingers gripped the cashier’s check in my coat pocket so hard the paper crinkled under my nails.
“Thirty-two,” Vance said, his tone sharpening.
“Thirty-three,” Nate said.
“Thirty-five,” Vance barked, getting up off his metal stool.
“Thirty-six,” Nate said without taking a breath.
“Thirty-eight,” Vance said, staring straight at Nate now.
“Thirty-nine,” Nate said.
“Forty thousand,” Vance snapped, folding his arms across his quilted vest.
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