“What exactly did you do?”
“Had it baled and sold everything.”
He said it as though he deserved a thank-you.
“How much did you sell it for?”
“Seventeen hundred dollars.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t find my voice.
Two hundred and twelve enormous round bales.
He’d sold them for approximately eight dollars apiece.
Good hay around us was selling for close to seventy dollars per bale.
Tom’s final harvest had been worth almost fifteen thousand dollars.
And Dwayne had practically given it away.
“After fuel and baling expenses, there wasn’t much left,” he continued.
I gripped the counter.
“So where’s the money?”
“Expenses ate it up. Just about broke even.”
Then he shrugged and added,
“Anyway, you’ll probably be getting rid of the cattle before fall.”
I felt something twist inside my chest.
Our herd wasn’t just livestock.
Those forty cow-calf pairs represented years of work, thousands of early mornings, and every sacrifice Tom and I had made to keep our little operation alive.
