I’m trusting him to do the right thing.
Then came the sentence that explained my inheritance.
I’m leaving you the feed truck because it’s paid for.
It’s probably the only thing on the place that is.
I covered my mouth.
I’d said almost those exact words to Theresa the day I brought the truck home.
Then I read the final lines.
I should mail this letter.
Knowing me, I’ll probably leave it in the truck.
You were the best help a man ever had.
I should’ve told you that while it would’ve meant something.
Dad.
I read those words twice.
Then I tried to read them again.
But tears blurred the page.
Twenty-two years I’d worked beside that man.
Twenty-two springs planting corn.
Twenty-two winters fixing equipment.
Twenty-two years feeding cattle, hauling grain, and repairing fences.
He’d rarely praised me.
