claim them.
He shut the extraneous thoughts from his mind and concentrated on getting prepared. He took the. 30–30 lever-action carbine from the gun rack on the wall. He didn’t bother to check if the rifle was loaded. It was a tool, just like any other on a working ranch. The magazine was filled to capacity. He tossed four extra boxes of ammunition for the rifle into the carry-on.
Then he was ready.
Rifle in hand, he walked to the light switch and turned it off.
All right, he thought grimly. Y’all bring it.
42
›› Fort Davis, Texas
›› 2113 Hours (Central Time Zone)
“Aren’t you going to come into the house?”
Shel sat in his rental SUV in Don’s driveway and didn’t look away from the basketball goal bolted to the garage. He and Don had hung the goal last spring. He could remember the first game they had played with the kids afterward. He didn’t look at Don, but he knew his brother stood on the porch of the small house.
“In a minute,” Shel said. He absently stroked Max’s head. The Labrador had been tense ever since they’d left the Rafter M.
“There can’t be anything that interesting out there,” Don said.
Shel didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He didn’t know what to say. He was also aware of the faces of the three children pressed against the living room window. Evidently Don or Joanie had made them stay in the house.
Don stepped down off the porch and crossed the neatly kept lawn. He wore slacks and a shirt. He probably hadn’t gotten home from the church more than a few minutes ago.
As his brother closed on him, Shel felt that coming there was a mistake. He should have just taken a room at a motel, then got gone in the morning. He wouldn’t have had to answer questions from Don.
And he could have put it all behind him that much sooner.
Except that running away wouldn’t solve the problems he had now. Even if there was no proof that his daddy had killed a fellow soldier in Vietnam, Shel didn’t know if he should open an investigation anyway.
What good would that do? he asked himself as he sat there.
“Shel?” Don stopped at the window and stared at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Shel whispered hoarsely. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
Shel tried to speak and couldn’t. His eyes burned and he knew he was about to cry. He felt angry at himself for being so weak and foolish. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he felt like he had.
“Shel?” Don came closer and leaned on the door.
“I had a talk with Daddy,” Shel said. His voice cracked. “Had something I needed to work out with him.”
Don was silent for a time. From the corner of his eye, Shel saw the tight lines of fear on his brother’s face as he took in the damage to Shel’s face. He knew instantly what Don feared the most.
“Is Daddy all right?” Don asked in a quiet voice.
“Yeah.” Shel tried to grin a little, but his pulped lips and swollen face made it hard. “Man hits as hard as a mule kicks, but he’s definitely got the mule beat when it comes to stubbornness.”
Don didn’t smile. “Why did you get into a fight with Daddy?”
“He didn’t like what I asked him.”
Don shook his head. “I can’t even begin to guess what you asked him.”
“It’s a long story, Don. I ain’t yet decided what I’m going to do about it.”
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do.”
“Shel.” Don’s voice held more force in it now. “All the time I was growing up, I’ve seen you and Daddy argue and get mad at each other. When Mama was alive, God rest her soul, I think she kept you two from killing each other. Later, after she was gone, I tried my best to do the same.”
“I think you probably did,” Shel said.
“As much as I hated to see you go, I think it was the best thing you could have done at the time.”
“I know.” Shel took a deep breath. His ribs burned with pain.
“That’s why you’re going to tell me what’s going on. Because that’s the best thing you can do right now.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I expect not, but I’d like not hearing it even less.”
“Get in. I don’t want to tell it here.”
“Let me tell Joanie I’ll be back.” Don turned and walked back to the house.
Tired and hurting, Shel leaned his head back against the seat and tried to relax. He wished he hadn’t come. He wished he’d just stayed at Camp Lejeune and left this part of his life alone.
More than anything, he wished that Victor Gant hadn’t made a believer of him.
›› Rafter M Ranch
›› Outside Fort Davis, Texas
›› 2127 Hours (Central Time Zone)
Deputy Sheriff Wayne Hayscott sipped his coffee as he drove the farm-to-market road that went by the Rafter M Ranch. Fifty-three years old, he’d already spent over half his life as a sheriff’s deputy. The county was easy to patrol, and there was little trouble that went on in the area.
He didn’t see the need to cruise by the ranch despite what the sheriff said. Tyrel McHenry was the meanest and orneriest man Hayscott had ever met. Tyrel was an old boar coon. Nobody in their right mind would try to tree him.
The cold coffee tasted bitter. Hayscott hated it even more because he was at least thirty minutes from another warm-up back at the quick stop.
Just be a minute, he told himself. There and back out. No muss, no fuss.
In the distance, he spotted the ranch house. It was dark. That wasn’t a surprise. From what he knew of Tyrel McHenry, the man was up before the sun every day. That meant he’d be early to bed.
Hayscott put the coffee cup back in the holder; then he slowed and pulled the wheel around in a tight U-turn. His headlights swept across the scrub grass and cactus clinging to the side of the hill leading up to the Rafter M.
He was yawning when he saw the light glint on metal. Intrigued, he stopped the car and backed around to use the spotlight mounted by the window. The bright halogen beam pierced the dark night that almost hid the motorcycle that had been left there.
Upon closer inspection, Hayscott saw there were at least three motorcycles there. Warily he reached under the seat and pulled out the sliding rack that held an M4 and a 12-gauge shotgun. He also pulled his sidearm from its holster and dropped it onto the passenger seat in case he had to get to it quickly.
He reached for the handset and pulled it up to his mouth. “Dispatch, this is X-ray 46.”
“Hey, Wayne,” Jenny Wilcox’s silken voice answered. She was a recent college grad who had returned to the town. Her daddy had been a police officer. Now he was a full-time fisherman and she called dispatch on the night shift. “Slow night?”
“It was,” Hayscott said. “I’m at Tyrel McHenry’s ranch. The sheriff said he wanted us to keep an eye on the place for the next few days.”
“I know.” Jenny sounded immediately more interested. “I saw the handout. Supposed to be a threat from some biker gang?”
“The Purple Royals,” Hayscott answered. “I think I’m looking at some of their motorcycles right now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Let me get a little closer and send you some of the tag numbers. We’ll match ’em up and see what we
