Page 81 of Legacy of Lies
He dashed out of the room, the sound of his rapid footsteps fading as he ran down the hall.
Focused on teaching the kids multiplication by fours, she startled when the bell rang a few minutes later. Students chattered, put away their school supplies, and donned coats as they headed to their parents’ vehicles or the buses.
Sara gripped the edge of her desk.
One desk still had pencil and paper on it.
One coat still hung on the wall.
• • •
Garrison’s Monday started out foul and quickly progressed to downright crappy. Never mind that he hadn’t heard back from Sara; he hadn’t slept at all last night to boot. So his attitude had pretty much circled the drain all day long.
In the early morning, while riding out to check the property boundary, Kerr had found footprints leading away from the ranch house, through the edge of a pasture, and into the national forest. There, deep ruts, likely from an ATV, took off up into the foothills.
Unfortunately, they had to stop the search due to the snowstorm that started up around midday. Now a few hours later, the tracks were long covered. Any proof had been buried under the snow.
Garrison would bet his best horse that Hank was somehow responsible, but he had no concrete evidence, same as before.
Son of a bitch.
Even as the issues with the ranch tried to drag him down, his thoughts kept going back to Sara.
The more he tried not to think about her, the more her sweet smile and tempting body intruded front and center in his mind.
Out of his hands now. He’d cope with disappointment in the best way he knew how: hard work. He’d start by feeding the horses and making sure they were safe and warm in the smaller second barn.
If he got a spell of clear weather in a few weeks, he might be able to get the big barn rebuilt, or at least get a shell up that was functional enough to store supplies.
Supplies he’d have to buy all over again.
Damn it. Time and money. Two things he didn’t possess right now.
He needed to check on his dad, too. His old man looked almost gray the last few days. Even though he’d been slowing down for the past year, fighting the fire knocked him down. Might have even hurt him.
Nine in the morning. His father never slept in, ever. He should try again to get him to go to the doctor. If Vaughn were here, Dad would listen to him.
It killed Garrison to watch his dad fade away in front of his eyes.
He peeked in on his father, who snored, his tired face relaxed for the first time in forever. Decision made. Dad was going to get a checkup. If that didn’t work, he’d sic Shelby on the old man. One way or another, a medical professional would evaluate his father before the week was out.
Shelby, too. When he had passed through the kitchen earlier, she looked like manure warmed over. Her wet cough echoed in the kitchen.
“You going to get that cough looked at?” he had asked.
“Stuff it,” she'd said, wheezing on her way out the door.
His sister and father were cut from the same stubborn mold. Fine. Those two could stay in the house and be sick together.
After trudging back through the house, he shoved his hat on and went back out in the cold morning air.
Hours of mindless work made the rest of the day pass in a snowy, muddy haze. He put hay out for the cattle, the herd’s grumpy lowing reminding him that he was late. Thankfully, he’d stored some of the hay in the second barn, but it wouldn’t be enough to get them through this winter.
More money, down the pipe.
While checking on the horses, he looked over Shelby’s horse again. The gelding was singed in a few places, but other than a shorter mane and tail—like Shelby—the horse had escaped what could have been a deadly disaster.
Hours later, with shoulders aching from the endless pile of work, Garrison scowled up into the blank, gray sky. Snow continued to fall. Damn it. Snow wasn’t bad. The fact that snow would slow him down and make more work? That was bad.
