I gaped at Jenna Launghall, a barrel racer several years older than me. She was now spending time behind a clerk’s desk at the county jail instead of riding around the arena in sequins. She was now telling me it was going to cost almost half a million dollars to get Cash out of jail. Jenna smiled. “You think he’s got enough in there?” she leaned nosily over the desk. I had checked the balance at home after pilfering from his office. It was the one thing in the locked safe of interest. In fact, he did have that much, and then some, which was mighty suspicious considering I knew he’d burned through his trust fund in undergrad and hadn’t been a doctor long enough to replenish its current state.“Well I guess if it bounces, they can arrest him again,” I retorted sarcastically, flipping open Cash’s checkbook and writing out the check. I ripped it out with a flourish and handed it to her. She took it gingerly and regarded it skeptically.“Um, can you sign Cash’s checks for him?”
What do You think about Home Is Where Your Boots Are?
