“I had gone by two different times and she and Dad were really going at it. Details really aren't important but… I was just going to warn you, but also ask…”
“There it is, that is what I was waiting for… how is this going to affect Cash? That is the real question.”
“Has Aunt Rhonda said anything to you about it?”
“If you are concerned about it, why don't you call and ask her? Or better yet, talk to Mom yourself.”
“You know as well as I do, Mom doesn't confide in me like she does you… and of course, with Rhonda, she tells everything to her.”
If my mom decided to leave Dad, that was between them. He had never treated her right in the first place and the way Dad “worked.” I was hoping that would get the point across. Mom wasn't stupid, and she was the reason the marriage was still together in the first place.
“You’re no help…”
“Why does this interest you so much? It’s none of your business.” With his questions, he had to be looking out for his own interests. He had always put himself first.
“Just because you don’t live in Houston anymore, and you have given up your inheritance and tried to write us off, doesn't mean the family doesn't need you. Especially if…”
“I didn't give up anything. When I said I wasn't going to live the way Dad and you did, and signed up for the academy, he said I was an embarrassment to the family. Get your facts straight.”
I paused.
“He was the one who said if I walked out the door, he would make sure I had nothing… not me.” I paused. “I will support Mom in any way I can. If you have something to ask her, you ask her.”
“Thanks for the help, Bro,” Cash said, before standing up and walking away as he shook his head.
Complete and utter waste of my time tonight.
Well, except for the woman I met tonight, Breigh.
3
WYATT
Already in a rush walking into the Hilltop Sheriff’s office, my sergeant walked up to me and asked if I would do him a favor. I was barely keeping my head above water performing a juggling act. Being the corporal, which I don't take lightly, I ended up doing a lot of the incomplete work. One of the pitfalls of trying to work my way up, but hard work had never veered me from my goals. I lived to work right now.
“I would really appreciate it if you could run over to this address, and deliver this eviction notice.” He handed me an envelope with a name and address written on it.
“Is this really something I need to do? Can’t you have another deputy take care of this? I am sure my…”
“Yes, I need you to do it.” Sergeant Kevin’s voice was stern and the equivalent to him pointing to the stripes on his uniform, revealing his rank.
“I thought Constable Richards served evictions?”
He shook his head. “And? I need you to do it today.”
“All right.” I looked down at the envelope, surrendering.
“Thanks. When you get back, come talk to me. I need to speak with you about something.”
“Do I need to give this only to him or anyone who is at the address?”
“He won’t be there… and if he is, he will be out cold. Just put the notice up on the door. This guy has had more eviction notices, and disturbance calls, than I have ever had the pleasure of dealing with. I know him so well, you would think he was family.” Sergeant rolled his eyes and walked off agitated, hollering at someone else in the office.
A twenty-minute drive in my patrol car brought me to the address that I was playing delivery boy for. Greg Foster. I’d been working my tail off, putting my time in, apparently to run errands. I was always the guy who did anything that was asked, thinking it would be what helped me move up the ladder, along with my hard work. Sometimes it felt like I was just the guy who got stuck with crap no one else wanted to do. Sergeant warned me when I first moved here, “The hardest working officer will work the most, so don’t be overly eager.” I realized sitting in my car; that was advice I should have taken to heart.
The trailer park had seen better days, and I meant better, probably a couple of decades ago. It was in horrible shape and I wondered why it wasn't condemned.
Greg’s house wasn't as bad as some of the others, but it was bad. The door looked like it had been kicked down a good handful of times, but that was probably the best part of the house. It didn't appear to have locks on the door any longer.
Foil lined the windows, the ones that weren’t broken anyway, were blocked by plywood.
I knocked, irritated and angry I was getting stuck doing this. First, the crap Cash pulled last night and now this.
I knocked a few more times and waited tapping my foot.
“Hilltop Sheriff’s Office.”
The door swung open with a face I was familiar with. “Is it really necessary to knock that many… oh… sorry. I thought it was my … that gets… never mind.” She paused. “Wyatt…”
Her eyes looked just as beautiful as they did last night, but they looked stressed. She had lacked sleep.
I glanced down at the envelope and saw the name typed; then stepped back to look at the number on the side of the falling apart mobile home.
“Does a Mr. Greg Foster live here at this address?”
She smiles at me weakly, hesitant to answer. “Yes, he does.”
“Is he here?”
“No, I don't know where he is.”
Damn she was gorgeous. I knew she was pretty when I saw her last night, but not like this. Her blonde hair sat on her shoulder, holding down her T-shirt
