Chapter Twenty-Five
“You know you should be out talking to voters, right?” Weston said, full of disappointment. “The election is nine days.”
“Help me unload the horses,” Travis answered, stepping out of his old beat up truck.
“How many phone calls did you make last week?” Weston called after him as he walked around to the back of the trailer.
“Hundred and fifty,” Travis grunted as he slipped the bolt and swung open the door.
Weston caught the gate, frowning. “This is a close election, dammit. You could win this thing, but not if you don’t ask for votes.”
Travis stepped into the trailer and grabbed Flipper’s halter, turning the mare and guiding her out, tying her to a corral post. “Isn’t that what my mail is doing for me?”
“Of course. But a personal ask is always more powerful.”
Tra
