Page 103 of Roaring Fork Wrangler

Once outside,I spotted him right away, headed into an outcropping of trees. “Hold up,” I hollered. He spun around, and when our eyes met, he stopped walking.

“Anyone else I would tell to fuck off,” he said when I got closer to him. “What I don’t get is you’re the only one, at least so far, who has a right to be as angry as I am.” He studied me when I didn’t say anything. “Except you’re not. You’re rambling some bullshit about Mom wanting you to forgive her.”

“Not just me. All of us.”

Buck weaved his fingers in his hair and bent at the waist, almost as though he was going to be sick. “This is fucking madness.” He straightened, and his fists clenched at his sides. “Did you know it was her all along?”

“No. I found out the same way you did.”

“I don’t fucking get it, Cord.”

“There’s something I need to tell you that I think will help you understand.” I motioned to a picnic table in the shade under a tree. He followed me over and sat when I did.

“As you know, they arrested the kid who tried to kill me.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Yesterday, Decker and the East Aurora PD were able to get a confession from his accomplice.”

Buck’s eyes opened wide.

“It was his mother.”

I told him the same story Decker had told me, except this time, without the benefit of alcohol. With the exception of his eyes darting back and forth, Buck remained still.

“Mom was pregnant when she left East Aurora. Her brother was trying to force her to get an abortion.” There was no easy way for me to tell him the rest, so I pulled out my phone and swiped the screen. “We believe this man is your father, Buck, and until yesterday, he was completely unaware of your existence.”

He studied the image, then stood and walked over to the tree. He leaned against it and lowered his head on his folded arms.

I couldn’t predict how he was feeling or what he was thinking. Most likely, he didn’t know himself.

When he pushed away from the tree and walked toward the hotel’s entrance, I followed.

We returned to the suite, but no one, including Buck or me, said a word when we retook our seats at the table.

“It’s time to head back,” said Hammer, looking between my brother and me. We all stood and left the suite, and still no one spoke.

The same was true when we arrived at Six-pack’s office.

“Cord,” he said, approaching me. “It’s good to see you here. I hope?—”

“Save it,” I snapped.

When he nodded and stood behind his chair, I felt like crap for cutting him off, but I was in no mood for small talk.

After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat and switched on the recording device that sat in the middle of the table. First, he said the names of eachperson in attendance and that the purpose of the meeting was for the official reading of an additional codicil to the Roaring Fork Trust.

“The third codicil reads as follows,” he began. “The Roaring Fork Trust further stipulates that Porter Hayes Wheaton must report within twenty-four hours to the Morris Ranch, located on Highway 47 in the town of Parlin, Gunnison County, Colorado, and reside on the property for a period of three-hundred and sixty-five consecutive days.” The lawyer reached into a large manila envelope and pulled a second smaller one from it, then slid it across the table. “You’ll find the remainder of your instructions in what I’ve just given you. You are forbidden to share its contents with anyone, including your attorney.”

Porter, unlike Buck or me, had no reaction beyond grabbing it from the table, pushing his chair back, standing, and leaving the room.

“My year isn’t up,” I said.

“It makes no difference,” Decker answered before Six-pack could. “There’s nothing in the trust or the documents themselves that states the codicils have to be assigned or completed consecutively.”

“Does the forty-eight-hour rule apply?” Holt asked.

“I can’t answer that,” Six-pack responded.

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