Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Is this what money does? Turns scared feral kids into happy children?
Yes, Legion. That's exactly what money does.
The medical team leaves after setting up my treatment schedule. I don't have to stay in bed here, which is something at least. They leave the IV port in my arm for the antibiotics I'll need three times a day, but the current treatment is finished and there are no tubes or wires hooked up to anything.
When I'm finally alone with Savannah and Mercy, I pull back the bandage to show them what's left of the brand. The Badlands B is nothin’ but wound now. If you squint, and use your imagination, you might still see the shape of a B, but they had to cut away too much dead skin to save it.
"Does it hurt?" Mercy asks, leaning in close.
"Nah." Which is a lie. I can't imagine a time when this brand will ever stop hurtin'. "It just itches now. Feels strange."
Like something foreign is growing under my skin.
Like I'm being unmade.
CHAPTER 7
The wealth in this house feels obscene when I think about where Legion came from. Ten days of watching him move through these spaces has been like observing a wild animal in captivity—careful, alert, constantly assessing. When we first brought him in, I caught the flash of disgust across his face before he could hide it. The vaulted ceilings. The hand-carved staircase. The custom stone fireplace that took eight men three months to build.
I saw my home through his eyes for the first time. Not just nice, but oppressive.
By Montana standards, we are the elite of the elite. Most people in Drybone live on the edge of financial collapse, one bad season from bankruptcy. One medical bill from ruin. One drought from selling everything.
But the Ashbys never worry about drought.
I stand at my bedroom window, looking out over our summer pastures—green and lush while the neighboring ranches already show patches of brown. The difference isn't skill or luck.
It's water.
My great-great-great-grandfather bought this land specifically for what lies beneath it—a network of artesian wells that push water to the surface without pumping. While other ranchers drill deeper every year, we have six active wells that never run dry. The paperwork grandfather filed in 1962 secured "first-in-time" water rights that can't be challenged, no matter how desperate the county gets.
The wealth that comes with those rights isn't flashy. It's not diamond necklaces or sports cars. It's the security of knowing your cattle will always drink, your crops will always grow, and your neighbors will always need what you have. In a drought year, those rights are worth more than gold.
I slip a cotton sundress over my head, nothing fancy—just something that will let the summer breeze reach my skin. I've been craving that sensation, wanting to feel alive again after spending so many days in the stale, antiseptic air of Legion's makeshift hospital room.
"Savannah?" Mercy calls from down the hall. "Do you think I can ride Peanut by myself today?"
I smile at her excitement about the pony Cash bought her. I haven't told Legion yet, but Cash mentioned there's an opening at Rimrock Academy outside Glendive—my old day school. The perfect place for a bright kid like Mercy.
Legion will say no, of course. Just because it's Cash offering. But I've seen how Mercy's eyes light up when she talks about the art room and the science lab we toured last week. She'd thrive there.
I push the thought away. That's a battle for another day.
Today is about Legion and me finally getting some time alone. I had to have a careful conversation with Mercy about "grown-up time" yesterday. I've been going absolutely crazy knowing Legion is just downstairs and not up here in my bed. He hasn't been well enough for us to fool around, but after ten days of antibiotics and rest, the color has returned to his face.
Each day has brought visible improvement. That first day, he could barely make it from the ambulance to the front door without pausing to catch his breath. By day three, he was eating full meals on the screened-in back porch, the warm air doing what medicine alone couldn't.
Our walks started as slow shuffles around the garden, then extended to the stables, and yesterday we made it all the way to the creek. His appetite returned first for food, then for conversation, and lately I've caught him watching me with that look that makes my skin feel too tight for my body.
Mercy is still talkin'. I never answered her about riding Peanut, but she doesn't care. That girl talks non-stop these days. She's always got somethin' to say to me. To everyone, really.
I'd never seen Mercy like this. Not that I knew her well, but I did stop by the old trailer on the regular while Legion was inside. She was feral over there.