“Then we'll bring more bikes.”
She wanted to argue.
Instead she closed her eyes.
“All right.”
Frank smiled.
“Good.”
Within forty-eight hours, the Iron Road Riders had turned Carter's Garage into the busiest shop in the region.
Motorcycles arrived from every direction.
People paid in advance.
Some bought tires.
Some ordered service.
Others simply brought old bikes that had been sitting for years.
Maggie worked sixteen hours a day.
But something had changed.
She was no longer working because she was afraid.
She was working because people believed in her.
The surveyor arrived Friday morning.
He spent six hours on the property.
When he finished, he walked toward Maggie.
“Mrs. Carter—”
“Miss.”
“Right. Miss Carter. Your old survey is accurate.”
Maggie's breath caught.
“But there's more.”
“What?”
“The boundary line the bank is using is wrong.”
Frank stepped closer.
“How wrong?”
“About thirty-eight acres.”
Maggie stared.
Samuel had been right.
The foreclosure could not legally cover land Silver Basin had never held a valid claim to.
But before anyone could celebrate, the surveyor added one sentence.
“You'll need to act quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“Before they record the final transfer.”
“When?”
The surveyor checked his papers.
“Monday morning.”
It was Saturday afternoon.
They had less than forty-eight hours.
Maggie looked at Frank.
He nodded.
“Then we work.”
Saturday night, Maggie closed the garage at ten.
Frank insisted on staying.
“So did Roy,” Maggie said.
Frank smiled.
“Then he had good judgment.”
They sat outside beneath the desert sky.
Stars filled the darkness.
Maggie held a cup of coffee.
“I haven't looked at the stars in years.”
“Why not?”
“Too busy looking at bills.”
Frank nodded.
“I understand.”
“You?”
“I lost my wife.”
Maggie looked at him.
“I'm sorry.”
“Eight years ago.”
“Children?”
“Daughter.”
“Where is she?”
“Colorado.”
“Do you see her?”
“Not enough.”
Maggie smiled sadly.
“Then you're just like me.”
“What?”
“Good at fixing machines. Bad at fixing what matters.”
Frank laughed softly.
“That sounds about right.”
A sound came from the garage.
Metal scraping.
Both stood.
Frank moved toward the building.
Maggie followed.
The back door was open.
A toolbox had been knocked over.
“Stay here,” Frank whispered.
Maggie ignored him.
Inside, nothing seemed missing.
Then she saw the metal box.
It was gone.
Her face went pale.
“They took Roy's documents.”
Frank swore.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
An officer took notes.
“Any idea who did this?”
Maggie shook her head.
Frank gave the description of Wade.
The officer promised to investigate.
But the next morning, things became worse.
Maggie opened the garage and found four motorcycles with slashed tires.
A threatening message had been painted on the wall.
LAST CHANCE.
Tom stared at it.
“That's not a warning.”
“No,” Frank said.
“It is.”
Maggie walked to the wall.
She touched the paint.
Then she turned.