Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“Honestly, Logan, I don’t know. I can’t go anywhere near this investigation, and Terry’s not bending the rules on that. He’s doing the right thing by keeping me away.”
“I didn’t even know Jack went back to the Bale House that night. I thought he went home after he dropped me off.” And he didn’t mention it while we were fishing.
“Yeah, he was there. His truck is hard to miss. It pulled back into the lot around ten, after he dropped you off. He sat at the bar, watching a late hockey game. He ordered Cokes. And then he left. Nothing about it looked suspicious.” Her breath skates over my bare chest. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
I’ve got plenty else to worry about. “What about you? What’s your boss gonna do?”
She pauses, seeming to give it some thought. “He can’t get me on misconduct for this because I formally recused myself from the case. He can try to make my life hell. Start fishing around my detachment, looking for ways to write me up. There’s already that complaint from those hockey parents sitting with PSB. Get a few more logged and he could build reasonable grounds for a suspension, at least to start. That never looks good on someone in my rank.”
“Doesn’t he have more important things to do?”
“Yeah, but all some of these guys have is their ego, so I wouldn’t put anything past him. He already doesn’t like me. He can still do his job while retaliating, and if he thinks someone else would do better for Cold River than I can, he’ll see it as his job to make that happen.” She sighs heavily. “At this point, I’ve started to make peace with it.”
Maybe she has, but I haven’t. “I’m sorry.” This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I came back.” That’s what I did. None of this would be happening if I’d gone to a halfway house somewhere far away and left everyone to continue on with their lives.
A stretch of silence answers, and then her slender, naked body shifts to drape over me. Her lips hover inches from mine in the darkness. “And I wake up every morning so thankful that you did. Got it? We all do.” She punctuates that with a deep kiss that distracts me from my brooding.
But this sense of foreboding lingers, still.
“There!” Jon points to the far corner of the pasture, for both my benefit and Egan’s. The boy has been spending most of his days with us while my mother juggles the others and the coming busy season and Sarah lies in bed, designing marketing plans for the next ten years while she waits to go into labor.
I squint against the bright morning sun to follow his sightline.
Jon shakes his head. “You know, that hat I gave you helps.”
“It looks so good on my wall, though,” I mutter—my standard answer every time he brings it up—as I search the pasture until I spot the newborn calf wobbling on its legs.
“Baby!” Egan declares.
“Yeah, buddy, that’s brand new. Born within the last half hour, probably.” To me, he says, “Another one for Mak to tag.”
“That guy is certifiable.” The lanky ranch hand approached a newborn calf to tag it the other day, and I said a little prayer that I wasn’t going to watch a man get gored or stomped by the mother hovering next to it.
“You won’t see me doing that,” Jon agrees with a chuckle. “Mak and Holt used to tag all of them by hand, back when the herd was smaller. Now, it’s better to do it during spring checkup when we’ve already got them in the chute.”
“What’s the red dog count at now?”
“Thirty-four. None stillborn yet.” He knocks on the nearby wooden fence post.
“And what’s the pool at?”
“Almost a grand, with two three-way splits. What do you say, Egan? You gonna win again?” He tickles the little boy’s stomach.
I smile at the childish laughter as the bisons’ tails swish.
“Hey! Look who’s coming!” Jon juts his chin behind me, adding, “Haven’t seen Holt on a horse in years.”
Sure enough, Copper canters toward us, with my father in the saddle.
“Grampa!” Egan exclaims, struggling to be free of his father’s arms.
“Nice try.” Jon holds tight as he calls out, “Another red dog!”
“That’s great.” But nothing about my father’s expression says that. His eyes settle on me. “You were right, Logan. Wyatt just called. Cops showed up with a warrant for Jack’s boat and truck.”
Chapter 45
Emery
Little green tips poke out from the cold earth in the border garden that runs the length of the front porch. My mother planted those tulips and daffodils. Each year they multiply, and I hear her voice reminding me that I should dig them up, divide the bulbs so they’ll thrive. But I don’t.