had rented it for a corporate festival.
I had been gone nine days.
My mother had undergone knee replacement surgery in Kansas City, and I had stayed with her through the first week of recovery.
My hired hand, Tyler Grant, had been working the soybean fields on the western side of the property.
The north cornfield was ready for harvest, but moisture levels had been slightly high before I left.
I had planned to check it when I returned.
Apparently, while I was gone, somebody else had made plans for it too.
The woman with the vest walked toward me.
“You need to move your truck now.”
I stepped out.
She stopped when she saw my work boots and dusty jeans.
Maybe I didn’t look like the festival crowd she had been expecting.
“I live here,” I said.
Her smile disappeared.
She studied the farmhouse.
Then me.
“Oh.”
“Who hiredFor
