Page 148 of Things Left Unsaid

Grabbing the shirt I discarded earlier, I swipe it over my face.

Dropping the plaid again, I toss my cell on top, then get back to work fixing this fence. This time, each hit acts as a release of pressure, and considering I’m close to blowing my lid, this thankless chore comes in handy.

The rhythmic blows of hammer against wood vibrate along the airwaves. I feel each thud in my shoulder—the one I busted when I fell off Fen during a barrel race when I was twenty-five—but it’s a simple job and sometimes, I like the simple jobs.

Even before Zee, my life was complicated.

Now, the responsibility of both the Seven Cs and the Bar 9 starts and ends with me. I love it, but there’s no denying it’s a lot of work so these types of mindless chores are a great escape. Take this morning, I went to HQ at six AM and I’m here now to clear my head.

My cell buzzes, drawing my attention.

Theo: You’ll never guess who arrived at the ER DOA—Lydia Armstrong. Hit-and-run.

When I tap connect on his name, he answers immediately.

“You serious, Theo?”

“Not something to lie about,” he mutters. “The RCMP is here.”

“Not surprising with a hit-and-run. Where?”

“On the corner of Main Street and Pigeon Drive.”

“There’ll be witnesses, surely?”

“I guess.”

“Is it Reilly on duty?”

“Yup. Want me to put him on the line?”

“Please.”

As I shrug into my shirt and grab my tools, I hear Theo’s short conversation with the sergeant.

“Colton?”

“Yeah. Terry, what’s going on?”

“Lydia’s dead.” There’s an awkward silence that hangs heavily between us. I don’t push it, mostly because I know he wants to ask me something and is building up the courage to— “Have you heard from your father?”

“What? No.” I hesitate. “Last I heard he was in Vancouver. But I know Susanne just got off the phone with him.”

“Did he mention his whereabouts?”

“No. She’d have told me if he said he was in town.” His hum doesn’t sound disbelieving, but it still has me asking, “Why?”

“The EMTs are saying Lydia was muttering his name before she passed.”

My brows lift. “You know there’s no love lost between Clyde and me, Terry. Hence the protective order. He hasn’t been to the ranch.”

“The ranch.Doesn’t mean he’s not in Pigeon Creek.”

“No.”

“Not looking good, Colton.”

“No, it isn’t,” I agree, perplexed by this turn of events. “I’ll update you if I hear anything.”

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