Page 103 of Brighton

“You make me proud, Brighton. Say yes to the horses. We’ll figure the rest out. If we need to erect emergency housing, we’ll make it happen.” Kimp turns to his son. “I raised you better than that. Or, at least, your Mom did. Don’t speak ill of the dead. It’s beneath you.”

“No offense, Pop, but it’s not. Lager made his horses sick and kept them that way. And if you ask me, it was to bait Bright out there so he could prey on her. Like Munchausen’s or something. She told me each time she went so someone knew where she was and carried while on site since she was so uncomfortable.” His eyes spear hers. “I’m glad you’re not in that situation anymore, even if it means a man is dead.”

My hand squeezes hers reflexively. I didn’t know she was carrying when she went or that she was that uneasy. “How many times were you that worried but went anyway because of his horses?” My tone is lethal.

She tilts her head like she doesn’t know, but she won’t make eye contact.

I squeeze again. “Brighton.”

“For a while before we talked about it, I guess. He stood too close and always watched me. He was suspicious of everything.”

“You had nightmares and talked in your sleep the nights you went there.”

Her eyes turn up to mine. “Really?”

“Rich Lager? Why didn’t you tell me?” Kimp has grown four inches during this conversation, and his jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth. Colt puts both his hands on Kimp’s cheeks and says, “Pa-Pa and Cote go.”

“I told Brax.”

“That wasn’t my question, Brighton.”

“There’s been a lot going on, and I can handle myself.”

“That’s not a good enough answer,” Kimp continues. “He preyed on your mama. Had I known he was preying on you, too…”

“What?” Brighton begins, but pauses as I squeeze her hand.

“Let’s take this someplace else. Shall we?” I interject. “No need to air our dirty laundry with witnesses if we can avoid it. Besides, we need to celebrate.”

“Excellent idea,” Willa chimes in. “What can I bring?”

“Our place or Pop’s?” Emberleigh offers.

“Mine.” Turning to Willa, Kimp adds, “Just yourself.” He turns on a booted heel and pushes open the double doors heading for the parking lot. He never looks back as he straps Colt into his car seat in his truck and pulls away.

“Did he just steal my son?” Braxton asks, staring off at the disappearing truck.

“Yup.” I push open the doors out to the dreary day to find the sun breaking through the clouds. “And I quote: ‘I’m his Pop-Pop. Rules don’t apply to me.’”

“When was that?”

“Thanksgiving.” I smack him on the back. “He said it before Layton pulled his crap and you pulled your punches.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are you?” he mutters from behind me.

“Nope.” I extend a hand to Bright. “We’re ten minutes behind you.”

“Ooh. Things I don’t want to know,” Brax whines.

Willa’s rich full laughter fills the air around us as we take the stairs down to our cars.

* * *

Brighton

I back theranch truck up on Lager’s property and Braxton and I jump out, heading for the old stables. I drop the opening of the horse trailer.

“They’re going to need something, Bright.” Brax walks back out into the January sun, his boots squishing in the mud after all the rain. Texas weather—it’s feast or famine, that’s for sure.

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