Hannah stared at the numbers.
Then at the service tag photograph on her phone.
Sixty-one hours.
The transmission was the only reason she had taken the risk.
If the engine had serious blow-by, bad compression, or cooling problems, she was finished.
The next morning she changed engine oil.
Black.
Not alarming.
No metallic glitter.
Coolant looked old but not contaminated.
Air filters filthy.
Fuel filter worse.
She replaced both batteries with used commercial units from the repair shop where she worked.
Her boss charged cost.
That helped.
The exhaust leak came from a cracked flange and deteriorated gasket.
Repairable.
The tire leak came from a valve stem.
Ten dollars.
That felt like winning the lottery.
Hydraulic seep required a hose.
She made one at work.
By Saturday she had spent $846.
Mark appeared carrying coffee.
“Total now?”
Hannah knew he would ask.
“Twenty-three forty-six including purchase and hauling.”
“Still under three thousand.”
“Yes.”
“Have you driven it?”
“Yes.”
“Under load?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know anything.”
“I know.”
Mark handed her coffee.
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Your dad used to decide equipment was good because he wanted it to be.”
Hannah smiled.
“That seems unlike him.”
“You knew older Tom.”
“Younger Tom bought a combine with no reverse.”
“Accidentally?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Cheap.”
Hannah laughed.
“What happened?”
“He drove forward for three years.”
Mark smiled.
“Learn from history.”
The first real test happened on Sunday.
A storm the previous autumn had dropped a large red oak on the back ridge.
The trunk measured nearly twenty-eight inches at the base.
Hannah had already cut the top into firewood but left the main log because her tractor could not safely pull it from the slope.
Now she rigged the skidder winch.
Mark watched from a safe distance.
Hannah had inspected the cable.
She did not trust it.
Several strands were broken.
She should replace it.
That would cost close to two thousand dollars.
Instead of pretending, she cut off the worst section and reduced the available length.
Temporary.
Not ideal.
She used a choker chain.
Set the skidder on firm ground.
Lowered the blade slightly.
Engaged winch.
The cable tightened.
The oak did not move.
Hannah increased tension.
The engine note deepened.
The machine shook.
Then the log shifted.
One inch.
Six.
A foot.
Mud broke beneath it.
Hannah released.
Checked rigging.
Winched again.
The Deere pulled.
The log came uphill.
Not fast.
Not elegantly.
But with the steady mechanical force of a machine that had spent decades doing exactly this.
Hannah felt something in her chest loosen.
She did not cheer.
Mark did.
“Damn!”
She looked toward him.
He raised both hands.