The key had turned in the farmhouse door with a stiff, protesting click, a sound that carried farther in the quiet valley than it should have. Shane heard it from down the path, where he’d been half-heartedly kicking at loose gravel instead of heading straight to Joja like he was supposed to.

So it was real, then. The old place wasn’t going to sit empty anymore.

He’d known the grandfather. Everyone had. Lewis adored him, Marnie also did. The man had worked that land like it owed him something, hands always dirt-stained, boots always caked in mud. Shane remembered being younger, dragged along to town events, watching the old farmer laugh too loud at the saloon, swearing the soil out there could grow anything if someone cared enough.

Then the letters had stopped. And the fields had gone wild.

Now the weeds swayed waist-high around the mailbox, and the porch sagged just enough to make a bad first impression. The valley wasn’t kind to abandoned things.

Shane approached slowly, boots pressing into grass that hadn’t been cut in years. The air smelled like pine and turned earth. The farmer, the new one, stood in the yard, staring at the chaos like it was a puzzle instead of a warning. Like it meant something other than a legacy buried beneath too many weeds.

Most people would’ve looked overwhelmed. This one looked… determined. That unsettled him more than panic would have.

He stopped a few feet away, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, gaze flicking briefly to the crooked fence line before settling back.

“The old man used to say this place could give you a good life,” he muttered, voice low, unreadable. “Hope you know what you signed up for.”