Page 17 of Deadly Vendetta

It was two miles away by car, but just over a mile as the crows flew. Breeze-tossed branches blocked the view of his house, save for an occasional twinkle of light that might have been the security lamp set high above the barnyard.

“Who was that guy, Mom? I saw him looking at you sorta funny.”

“Just an old friend from long ago.” That didn’t really encompass the long-term effect Zach had had on her life, the weeks and months and years when she’d done her best to forget him, but none of that mattered now. “He didn’t live here very long, though. Just during his senior year. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Too much cola?”

The moonlight silvered his red hair as he gave his head an impatient shake.

“Busy day,” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

“We got a good load of hay in. Thanks for all your help.”

He lifted a shoulder, mimicking his late father. “Gotta be done.”

“How are the weanlings coming along?” Alex worked with them every day. In return, she paid him twenty-five dollars a head when they were finally halter broke and gentle.

“Four of the older ones were real good today. Banner’s filly and those two paint colts are still real spooky, but they’re better. Rowdy still goes berserk when I turn on a pair of clippers.”

“You’ve got your dad’s touch, though. I swear, he could have gentled a tornado.”

Alex stiffened. Fell silent.

“Come sit with me,” she urged, patting the cushions next to her, but he stood at the railing with his back to her, resolute as ever. “We can move Gabe over a bit more. Please?”

“Guess I oughta get back to bed.”

“What have you been thinking about?” she asked gently.

He stared up at the stars, then sighed heavily. “Nothing that makes any difference.”

She wanted to pull him into her lap as she had when he was a young child, dusty and bruised from his latest fall off a calf or his latest escapade on his old mare. She wanted to smooth back his hair and kiss his forehead, and tell him his heart would heal, in time.

But beyond shouldering a man’s load on the ranch—far more than she had ever asked of him—he remained as remote as he had the day state troopers came to their door.

Molly had cried over her father’s death. She’d been angry and hurt, and for a few months, she’d had nightmares about terrifying car accidents. But she’d also talked about her feelings night after night, tearfully railing against the unfairness of it all, and in a year’s time she had moved past the worst of her grief.

Alex had barely said a word.

Knowing that he was suffering and unable to get through to him, the weight of the past few years settled like an anvil in Dana’s chest. As his stepmother, she was failing at this. If his mother hadn’t died years ago, would she have been able to reach him?

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Dana whispered gently. “It’s time to get this out in the open and find a way to heal.”

Turning away without a word, he went back into the house. Minutes later she heard his slow, measured footsteps ascend the stairs.

Though he no longer talked about his dreams of becoming a lawyer someday, he’d finally showed more interest in activities around him during the past year. His grades had climbed back up to solid B’s.

But Dana couldn’t remember when she’d last heard him laugh.

---