Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(39)

Finally, Wes smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Wes didn’t start flirting up a storm, but he did relax into the seat while Mack drove them into Garrett. Mack waved out the window at a few people on the sidewalk. He knew everyone in town, or at least knew their faces. Hard not to when the population seemed to shrink every damned year. Garrett needed an influx of cash somehow, or they were facing bankruptcy. Soon, not even the taxes the ranch paid in would be enough.

He didn’t have any new ideas on how to save the town while Dr. Weaver took a look at Wes’s ankle in the exam room. Mack stared around the small front office, decorated to appeal more to children than adults. A weathered poster of a cartoon cowboy in full chaps and spurs caught his attention. The cowboy had the “about to attend a shoot-out” stance, and it tickled something at the back of Mack’s mind. All of the old Westerns he’d ever seen on TV, with the gallant hero facing off against the villain, who’d either robbed the town bank or kidnapped the female love interest.

This is useful, but how?

The ghost town.

Ghost towns all around the West were used as tourist attractions. Some simply held tours of the aging buildings, and others did complete historical reenactments on the grounds. They could use the ghost town to bring life back to Garrett—not only with tourist dollars, but also by employing more people.

Mack started bouncing on the balls of his feet—not easy to do in cowboy boots, but his excitement had to go someplace. He had no idea how much it might cost to get a project like this up and running, but what was the expression? You gotta spend money to make money? Totally by accident, Wes might have discovered the way to save Garrett from becoming yet another abandoned rural town.

When Wes exited the exam room with a less pronounced limp and a newly bandaged ankle, Mack nearly swept him up into a hug. Wes froze in place, and Dr. Weaver nearly walked into his back.

“What?” Wes asked. “You look like a dog who just got his favorite bone.”

“I’ll tell you in the truck,” Mack said, unable to keep his exuberance out of his voice. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.”

“He had a sliver of wood still in the wound,” Dr. Weaver said. “That’s what was causing his pain and irritation. I removed it, cleaned the wound, and did two small stitches that his regular doctor can remove in a week. I’m also writing a prescription for antibiotics to be on the safe side.”

Wes made a face that clearly said he thought the drugs were overkill, but Mack would abide by the doctor. Non-liability clause or not, the last thing he wanted was for Wes’s ankle to get worse because they didn’t follow doctor’s orders.

“We’ll fill it before we leave town,” Mack said. He paid with the ranch credit card. “Thanks, Doc.”

“You thank me by coming in for your yearly physical,” Dr. Weaver replied. “None of you boys up there at the ranch come in like you should. Especially that stubborn mule of a grandfather of yours.”

Mack chuckled. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

Outside on the sidewalk, Mack asked, “You wanna wait in the truck while I get this script filled for you? No sense in walking more than you have to.”

“Actually, I feel loads better now,” Wes replied. “It’s amazing how much a tiny piece of wood can fuck with your nerves. I’d much rather see more of the town.”

“Suit yourself.”

Mack led him down the cracked sidewalk, past the barber shop that was only open two days a week, the post office that was open three hours a day, weekday mornings, and past the long-empty storefront that had once housed the town’s soda shop/pharmacy. The current pharmacy was now tucked into the back corner of the general store.

Wes gaped at the place when they went inside, and yeah, it wasn’t what city folk were used to seeing. They didn’t have miles of fresh produce like Aldi, or freezers full of organic, gluten-free, non-dairy, vegan shit. This place sold plain old food for plain old folks, and had one ancient cash register at the front of the store.

“Close your mouth before you catch flies,” Mack faux-whispered.

“Sorry. It’s very...quaint.”

Mack snickered. “It is, but it does its job.” He let Wes wander while he took the script to the back counter for filling. The pharmacist said it would only take a few minutes, so Mack tried out a few more thoughts on that ghost town.

The old buildings could be restorable, but they’d need to get a contractor out there to take a look. Colt could give them a rough idea, though, because he’d grown up in a woodworking family, and he’d done construction during the summers between college semesters. This was right up his alley. The possibilities were endless, especially if they could get any information about it.

“Hey, Petey?” Mack asked. The grizzled old pharmacist had once owned the soda shop, and his family had been in town for generations, like Mack’s. “You ever hear of there being a town on the far northern edge of our property?”

Petey popped his head around the counter, wire-rimmed eyeglasses low on his beaked nose. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard such a thing. But that part of the land is undeveloped, right?”

“Right. No one ever goes back there.”

“Then hard to say what you might find if you decide to go digging.”