Page 7 of Legacy of Lies
Chapter 2
Garrison squeezed the handle of the open truck door like he clutched a roped steer. The familiar scents of the ranch welcomed him home. Dirt, hay, fresh air, and the sting of frigid air that heralded the cold front coming in tonight.
The Gros Ventre mountains with their snow-topped peaks reached up to the heavy, gray skies. Snow due tonight. Too early this year.
Shit. He had way too much to do before winter hit. The fresh air soured in his chest, and he let it out with an unhappywhoosh. Outside waited cold and endless work. Inside the sprawling ranch house, with its large, handcrafted logs and glow of light, were more tasks he would rather avoid.
What the hell was he supposed to do about Zach? Was his son starting to manifest an ability like Garrison’s? Damn it.
He lurched out of the truck and slammed the door, resting his forehead on the icy metal.
Son of a bitch, he didn’t have time for psychology mumbo jumbo. Any rational human could see that Zach was perfectly fine.
Anyone but his nosy teacher.
Worst of all, he’d bent his own rules today and used his ability to detect the truth back in that classroom—the same ability he should have fully used on his ex-wife last year. But who would have thought his wife would betray him?
The same guy who thought his son’s teacher would lie to him.
Hell, he didn’t care how bad Sara’s and his heads had ached afterward; he needed to know if she was telling the truth about Zach and about her relationship with the Brands.
Damn it all if her aura didn’t glow a bright, confident pink. Not lying. Utterly sincere.
Sara Lopez. From the hint of a mischievous dimple in one cheek down to her ample curves, she personified everything Garrison wasn’t.
He had no rounded edges. No gentle approach. No soft touch.
And he’d hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.
Wretched power. Good only for invasion of privacy and continuous paranoia. Great.
So Sara was completely correct: What she did in her spare time was none of his goddamned business.
Even if he found himself a little curious about her personal life.
But not jealous.
He curled his hand into a fist and pressed it into the icy metal of the truck.
Bottom line: he had doubted someone. Again.
Sparing a brief glance at the cloud-covered mountains to the north and west, he pushed off the truck. On his way up the steps to the porch, he paused.
Instead of enjoying the clean mountain air and the lowing of distant cattle, instead of appreciating the handcrafted knotty wood beams and soaring roofline, all he saw was the looming to-do list from hell. And problems. Craploads of problems.
Stomping up the front porch steps, he pushed open the heavy wood door.
“Dad!” Zach slid on socked feet as he tried to stop near the front door but missed and bumped into the opposite wall. Seemingly unaffected, he bounced back in front of Garrison and grinned.
How had he not noticed that his son’s curly, red hair had grown into an unruly mop? Time for a haircut.
Add another item to the to-do list.
An invisible vice clamped onto his heart and squeezed. His son wasn’t something to check off a list.
Zach chattered away as he held on to the living room doorjamb and ran in place on the smooth floor. “Did you meet Ms. Lopez? Isn’t she nice? Did she tell you I got two stars on my art project? Did she?”
Garrison eased the door closed, placed his hat on the hook, and took a deep breath. An eight-year-old with unlimited energy was a force to be reckoned with. What he’d give to harness that exuberance.
