N. Walters - Strands of Love

“I’m sorry, Sam, but the bank is not willing to loan you any money at this time.” Karen Simmons peered over her thick bifocals, a false expression of sympathy on her face. “Your best option is to sell. The farm is too much for you to run on your own. From what I hear you’ve already sold off all the livestock. Sell before it gets so bad you lose everything.”

Samantha Calloway was shaken to the core of her very being, but outwardly she projected the calm, in-control persona she always did. No way did she want Karen knowing how deep her words cut. The old witch had never liked Sam or her family anyway.

Slowly she stood and gave the loan officer a curt nod. “Thank you for your time.” She turned on a well-worn bootheel and walked out the office door, needing to get away from the annoying hum of the computer and the stale air. She needed to be outside where she could breathe, where she could think.

Sam yanked her father’s old John Deere hat out of her back pocket and pulled it on, yanking the brim low. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. The low hush of the bank lobby set her nerves on edge and she had to fight the urge to stand in the center of the room and scream.

Like that would help. The manager Augie Rawlins would only call for the sheriff. Then Sheriff Pritchard would have to drag her off to jail and cite her for disturbing the peace. Wouldn’t that set the tongues to wagging in this town?

No, better to keep quiet for now. She could do all the screaming she wanted as soon as she was home.

Home . If the bank had their way, Calloway Farm would soon be no more. How had it come to this?

Head down, Sam left the bank behind and hurried across the parking lot to her beat-up truck. It was only half past nine, but it was already hot. She’d lost the better part of the morning for this appointment and there were chores waiting to be done.

She ignored the twinge of pain in her chest and wondered how much longer she’d be doing them. How much longer until she lost the land her family had farmed for three generations.

No, she would find a way. There had to be some other solution.

“Sam.” A male voice, one she easily recognized, called out to her.

Her steps slowed. He was the one person in this town she’d stop for no matter how foul her mood. Taking a deep breath, she halted and turned toward the tall, lean man who came up beside her. “Hey, Tim.” Tim Lannon was her father’s best friend and the closest thing to an uncle she’d ever known. And right now he and his wife were the only family she had left.

“Well, what did they say?” He jerked his head toward the bank. He knew all about her meeting with Karen. She’d talked with him about it, wanting his take on things. She often turned to him now that she was alone.

Sam shook her head and Tim swore under his breath. He stopped halfway through his tirade, his face turning red. “Sorry about that, Sam. You didn’t need to hear language like that.”

Impulsively, she reached out and hugged him. “It’s exactly what I needed to hear,” she assured him. Having someone upset on her behalf made her feet not quite so alone.

Tim’s strong arms tightened around her. “We’ll figure something out, girl. Come over tonight and have dinner with Mary and me. You haven’t been over in ages and she misses you.”

Mary was Tim’s wife of thirty years and a surrogate mother to Sam. As much as Sam loved both of them, right now she wanted to be alone to think. She pulled away and shook her head. “Tell her thanks, but another time. I’ve already lost the morning and I’ve got a ton of things to do today.”

Tim scowled, giving his bearded face a fierce expression. If she didn’t know him, she’d probably be half afraid of him. In fact, many folks in town were. But she knew his rough exterior hid a heart of gold for those he cared about. “I won’t be able to hold her off much longer,” he warned.

Just the thought of Tim’s tiny wife bullying her into coming over for supper made her smile. And she’d do it too, because when Mary Lannon put her mind to doing something, it got done. “Okay,” she relented. “I’ll come tonight.”

Tim’s weather-beaten face brightened as he smiled. “That’s a promise I’ll hold you to, little girl.”

Her heart ached at the term of endearment. Her father had always called her his little girl and Tim had picked up the nickname early in her life. Didn’t matter that she was a fully grown woman and stood five eight in her stocking feet.

“I gotta get going.” Sam whirled and walked as fast as she could without running. She could feel Tim’s worried gaze on her as she climbed into her truck and headed out of town.

The window was cranked down and the hot Texas air buffeted her skin as she drove down Main Street. She passed the town limits and hit the single-lane blacktop that led toward home. At this time of the morning, this road was fairly empty. Anyone running errands in town was already there and everyone else was working their spreads—either farming crops or raising cattle.

She passed one lone driver and he raised his hand in greeting. She tooted her horn in return. Everyone knew everyone around Mission Gulch. Like her, many of her neighbors were hanging onto their homes by a shoestring. It was tough all the way around.

She pulled off the road and onto a dirt one, signifying she was home. Her grandfather Horace Calloway had started Calloway Farm back in the fifties. His only son Calvin had taken over in the early eighties. It was supposed to be her brother John’s turn next. But a war and a roadside bomb in Afghanistan had ended that dream.

Sam parked the truck in front of the white clapboard house and stared. What once had been a home, ringing with laughter and voices, was now silent. A house, not a home.

After John’s untimely death, her father had worked himself even harder. Worked himself to death as far as she was concerned. He’d had a massive heart attack six months later and dropped dead in the middle of the wheat field. She’d gone looking for him when he hadn’t turned up for supper and had found him there. It had been too late to save him. He’d been dead for hours.

Her mother, already battling cancer, had given up the fight. Sam had buried her eight months ago.

“Thinking about it doesn’t change it.” She spoke aloud to give herself a pep talk. It didn’t work. Still, she’d had a work ethic drilled into her from the cradle. There were chores to do and sitting here thinking about them wasn’t going to get them done.

She climbed out of the truck and drank in the silence that surrounded her, the peace of the land. It was so quiet here now. She’d sold off the last of the cattle and the horses just after her mother’s death. The medical bills had almost broken her. But she’d found a way to keep her home. The farm had shrunk from five hundred acres to one hundred after she’d sold off some of the land. The price hadn’t been as high as she’d hoped, but it had paid off the worst of the bills and kept the creditors from the door.

Sam didn’t bother going into the house, but headed for the barn instead. She was already wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe she should have dressed up to go to her meeting at the bank, but she hadn’t seen the point. Those who worked there knew most of the money in the area came from farming of one kind or another.