Floyd’s first stop was Pine Bluff; a small town nestled in the Oregon woods.

  There was a cabin listed for sale—an old one, sitting on twenty acres of forested land. The listing had caught his eye.

  Not far outside town, he passed a pickup truck pulled onto the roadside shoulder, hood up, a man leaning over the engine.

  Floyd slowed and stopped.

  “Need a hand?” he asked.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a 3/8th socket wrench handy?” the man said, looking up.

  “Not today. All my tools are back home. Want a lift?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind. Only two miles up the road to my workshop. Name’s Oddball, by the way.”

  “Floyd,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. They climbed into the cab and set off.

  “You just passing through?” Oddball asked.

  “Here to look at a property.”

  “Oh! You must be the guy looking at the old Stephenson place. Sue mentioned it in the bar last night. Sue’s the realtor.”

  Floyd raised an eyebrow. “Small town, no secrets around here?”

  “No sir,” said Oddball, grinning. “That’s for sure. What brings you out this way? It’s pretty quiet around here.”

  “Glad to hear it. That’s what I need.”

  “Sick of the city, huh? Well, we’ve got the basics—post office, general store, a bank, two bars, and a filling station.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Floyd replied.

  A couple of minutes later, they pulled into Oddball’s yard.

  Floyd glanced up at the workshop sign:

  Oddball. Custom Cycles & Bodyworks

  “I guess you’re the local mechanic?”

  “Yessir. Opened up last year. Won’t be a minute.”

  Oddball came back with the socket wrench in hand.

  “Let’s stop at Sue’s place,” he said. “She’ll take you up there. That cabin’s been on the market for about eighteen months. Might be worth asking for a discount—old man Stephenson died in hospital down in Eugene. His daughter inherited it.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  Sue’s office was a small building with property photos in the windows on either side of the door.

  Sue Riordan was pleasant and professional, in her early thirties. After introductions and the usual greetings, they got down to business.

  As they were leaving, Oddball said, “Drop me at my truck on the way. I’ll follow you up. Haven’t been up there in a while—wouldn’t mind another look.”

  “Fine by me,” said Floyd.

  After dropping Oddball off, Sue turned the vehicle onto a road that wound uphill.

  “It’s just over two miles out of town,” she said. “Not great in the snow. I see you’ve got four-wheel drive—you’ll need it.”

  They passed a large granite boulder beside the road.

  “The property starts just past that rock,” Sue pointed out.

  They crossed a narrow bridge. “A creek runs through the land.”

  A few minutes later, they turned onto a forested track. The house came into view—a tired-looking cabin beneath the trees.

  As Sue had warned, the place needed work. The roof, for one, would have to go.

  “Why do things always look better in photographs?” Floyd muttered to himself.

  Water wouldn’t be a problem, but there was no electricity. Still, he got out and started walking around.

  Behind the cabin, a wide grassy area sloped away—then stopped, abruptly. There was a ten-meter drop down to the bottom. Floyd heard splashing and moved closer.

  The creek flowed over the edge of the drop and became a small waterfall, tumbling down into the valley. Beyond that, the mountains rose like watchmen along the horizon.

  Sue joined him. “The cliff is the rear boundary. You’ve got about four acres on the right-hand side of the creek.”

  Floyd checked his watch, then looked at the sun.

  “Good. The rear of the house faces south. Ideal for growing fruit and veg.”

  Oddball arrived and wandered the site.

  “Great view,” he said. “Shame about the state of the house.”

  “Yes,” Sue nodded. “Nice up here in summer, but it can be bleak in winter.”

  “It can drop to -30°C in town if the winter’s bad,” Oddball added. “A couple degrees colder up here, easy.”

  There were two outbuildings. One looked in better shape than the house itself.

  “I could live in one of those for a while,” Floyd thought.

  Down by the creek, an idea came to him. He turned to Sue.

  “Could you find out if there’d be any issue with me building a weir across the creek?”

  Sue thought a moment. “I know someone at the Department of Fish and Wildlife. I’ll ask him.”

  Oddball raised an eyebrow. “What do you want a weir for?”

  “I’d install a water turbine. Generate my own electricity.”

  “That’s a lot of work. You know how to do all that?”

  “I didn’t spend thirty years in the Corps of Engineers not learning how to build things.”

  “No shit,” said Oddball. “I might be able to help. I’ve got a small water turbine—brand new, still in the crate.”

  “Seriously? Where’d you get that?”

  Oddball gave him a knowing smile. “I didn’t spend thirty years in the Air Force for nothing.”

  Floyd laughed. “A good answer. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a fellow thirty-year man.”

  “Chief Master Sergeant Matthews, United States Air Force, retired,” Oddball said, with mock formality.

  “Command Sergeant Major Bradshaw, United States Army Corps of Engineers, retired,” Floyd replied.

  “To brothers in arms,” Oddball said, extending a hand.

  “Roger that, brother.” They shook hands.

  When Floyd had finished looking around, they all returned to town.

  “I’m heading up the road now,” Floyd told Sue. “I’ll call in a few days about the weir. Would the owners be open to moving on the price for a quick sale, maybe Friday?”

  “I’ll ask them tomorrow,” Sue said. “They’ve been out of town, should be back tonight. Leave me your mobile number?”

  “I don’t have one,” Floyd replied.

  “What?” she blinked. “You’re just like Oddball. Are all you ex-military like that?”

  Floyd smiled. “Security, ma’am. Location trackers, spammers, thieves... I don’t need that crap in my life.”

  He said his goodbyes and headed north.