“I’m not your friend, asshole. Not you or any of your pissant family.”
Garrison locked his mouth shut against a rebuttal. A loaded weapon trumped logic. Besides, even if he could get to his pistol fast enough, Kerr would get shot.
Damn that family. The only thing that would make this better was for their older brother, Tommy Brand, to join the fun. But he was too busy telling his kids to torment Zach.
Son of a bitch, he’d love to beat the hell out of these men. Hank had been nothing but a burr under Garrison’s saddle for the past year. Wyatt had stopped extending credit to the Taggarts at the hardware store. Nothing would relieve stress like a good brawl. But Kerr couldn’t maneuver well off his horse. Fists and threats wouldn’t get them out of this mess. Not today, at least.
“Seems like this is a big misunderstanding, guys,” Garrison said.
“Only thing you misunderstand is basic information,” Hank sneered. “Stay away from our property—we won’t give you a friendly warning next time.”
Friendly, his ass. But don’t split hairs while sitting in the crosshairs.
Hank hawked and spat. “And while I’m thinking about it, stay away from that slut teacher you’re mooning over. She’s off limits.”
It took a lot to get Garrison so mad he couldn’t function. Calling a good person a bad name was one of those methods. His blood pounded in his brain. His ears buzzed. “Ms. Lopez is. Not. A. Slut,” he gritted out. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that again.”
“I’ll call her whatever I like. Just leave her alone.” Hank shifted from foot to foot, still glancing toward his property. Odd.
“You don’t date her anymore. Why should you care?”
“We’re getting back together, ass clown. So that means you’re out.”
“News to me. You must have started dating since I saw you yesterday.”
Stupid to even continue this discussion, given the weapon pointed at his chest, but damn it, Hank’s macho shit crossed a red line three miles ago. His hand twitched with the instinct to break Hank’s jaw into tiny pieces.
No way she could be dating him. Right?
This wasn’t the time to consider Sara’s relationship status. Garrison would rather beat the hell out of the asshole in front of him instead.
When Garrison glanced back at Kerr, his brother shook his head, only a tiny gesture. If they tried anything stupid, one or both of them would get hurt. Like in the song, Garrison knew when to fold ’em.
Hank’s mouth twisted into what generously could be called a smile, and he reset his aim. “See, Taggart, your family took something that was my family’s. And you took something that was mine. So I took it back. But just wait until you see what I’ve been called to do. Now I’m going to—”
“So, Hank, how’s Izzy?” Kerr piped up.
Damn his brother. They should keep Hank going with his crazy talk. It might have given them clues as to why those guys wanted the Taggart ranch and the reason for the equipment on the Brand property.
“How do you know our sister?” Hank shouted.
Kerr raised his hands up farther. “Hey, simmer down. We went to high school together. She was a nice girl.”
“You’re not running around to see our ‘nice girl’ sister, or we’ll kick your ass,” Hank spat.
Garrison’s internal alarm system shot to red alert. His brother was goading the guy. Or trying to distract him. Why?
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Kerr shrugged and brushed his knuckles over his jeans-clad leg. “Kick my ass? Who are you kidding? Obviously, you were unconscious for the past two years and never listened to town rumors. Else you’d know that I couldn’t run around for any reason. Now can I, Wyatt?”
Wyatt’s eyes cut away from Kerr’s prosthetic leg locked into the stirrup.
“Hell, boys, I can’t even kick my own ass.” When he smiled, there was pain behind the jokes.
Wyatt swallowed and dropped the tip of his rifle. “Hank, come on, man, let’s go home. You made your point.”
Hank stared at Garrison down the barrel of his gun for a full minute before taking a step back and dropping the tip of the weapon. “Fine. Just stay away from our property.” He glared at Kerr. “Keep your hands off our sister.” With another hawk and spit, he pointed his chin at Garrison. “And stay away from that teacher. Got it?”
Far be it from Garrison to argue with a loaded gun, but it took an inhuman amount of self-restraint to keep his mouth shut in the face of such an asshole.
Garrison and Kerr turned the horses around and slowly rode away. His skin crawled. At any minute, he expected to hear the crack of a rifle and feel the pain of a bullet tearing through his back. Wouldn’t put it past that bastard.
Hank was cagey. Out of proportion with reality. Paranoid.
Those guys had to be hiding something.
Why did Hank hate the Taggart family so much?
The family quarrel, Garrison could understand. Dad had purchased the ranch back in the day, fair and square, and later found out the Brands had wanted it but couldn’t afford it.
But what else had Hank been about to say? Garrison had taken something of Hank’s, and now the guy wanted to take it back? What the hell was he talking about? Damn it. Nothing came to mind.
Even stranger, he wanted Garrison to have zero contact with Sara Lopez.
What lengths would Hank go to, to make sure his orders were followed? How much danger were Sara and the Taggarts in right now?
What was the connection?
• • •
Sara shut the front door after Izzy left her house. They’d eaten pizza while Sara enjoyed a therapeutic vent session. Okay. Vent session minus a description of the steamy kiss. She wanted to keep that detail as her own little secret, at least for now. Also, her friend was still Hank’s sister, even if their friendship placed Izzy firmly on Sara’s side.
Blowing out a long, slow breath, she dragged herself back to the kitchen to clean up the dishes and pizza box. Once she put everything away, Sara collapsed on the couch, rolling the tension from her neck and shoulders. Even nice company, simple carbs, and oozy cheese couldn’t completely relax her.
God, today couldn’t end soon enough. Last night’s roller coaster hadn’t ended with Hank leaving. Between the hours spent staring at her bedroom ceiling, she managed to sleep a little bit, but her dreams oscillated between hot rancher and creepy ex-boyfriend. Safety and fear. Confidence and humiliation. Desire and repulsion.
Her whole world kept tilting from side to side.
When the two men had finally morphed into one, she had given up and gotten out of bed.
If she had more days like today, her poor performance would attract undue attention. Not only did she nod off during class, but it took more energy to maintain vigilance for Zach’s safety.
With every knock on her classroom door, every flicker of movement behind the school windows when she monitored the kids at recess, she teetered on edge. When would the principal take action and relieve her of her job?
To make matters worse, she wanted to see Garrison again, but not if doing so put him or any of his family in danger. Not if she’d get fired in the process.
Maybe she could go to the police?
What would she say? Her ex-boyfriend came by her house, remained calm, and said some mean things. Impolite behavior, sure, but not illegal. Besides, Tommy Brand, the bully kids’ father? He was the sheriff. Convenient. With the close-knit law enforcement in this area, she wasn’t likely to get a sympathetic ear.
Drawing attention to herself was not an option. Would it be too much to ask to keep a low profile and hush the town rumor mill? Didn’t matter what she wanted. Hank would paint this picture in a way that made him look like a saint.
Would it be too much to complete her contract, move away from this place, and move on with her plans for a teaching career that had nothing to do with Copper River?
Damn. She rubbed her jaw and flinched. The spot w
here Hank’s thumb had pressed into her face last night still ached. Makeup had covered the bruise, but his mark went much deeper than the color. Hurt on a deeper level.
Silence wrapped around her as surely as Hank’s cruel grip.
The still, dark living room brought no peace tonight.
A buzz sounded on the end table behind her, too loud in the quiet house, making her heart rat-a-tat like a snare drum.
The phone glowed. Another voice mail from Garrison popped up on the screen.
Every inch of her body yearned to connect with him again, relax in the strength of his arms encircling her, and taste his heated lips.
What would be the harm?
Ice cold fingers of fear dug into her neck.
Hank.
Her career. Her carefully planned future.
Zach.
Forgive me. I can’t.
She turned off the phone and threw it on the couch.
Even after taking a long, hot shower and changing into sweats and a t-shirt, her eyes still burned. But she couldn’t go to bed and face another night of disturbing dreams. Not now.
Barefoot, she wandered through the living room and flipped on a lamp. She rearranged the few knickknacks on her bookshelf. She didn’t want to watch TV, didn’t want to curl up on the couch to read. In no mood for cleaning, instead she floated past a faded picture on the kitchen wall. And stopped cold.
Her own smiling seven-year-old face, full of hope and joy, pressed next to her mother’s face. Only her mom’s eyes didn’t sparkle with happiness; they stared, glassy and fearful, into the camera. Her mother’s smile came across as more of a frozen grimace.
The rest of the image wasn’t visible in the picture, but Sara remembered this moment. Christmas. No decorations, no presents. But there was a new boyfriend to hurt her mother.
And a one-way trip to Copper River for Sara to stay with her aunt and uncle waited on the horizon, only she hadn’t known it.
The last day she saw or heard from her mother.
Merry freakin’ Christmas, Sara.
When she blinked, the sting under her eyelids didn’t go away.
Tears now, after all these years?
Garrison’s gold-flecked gaze overwhelmed her mind’s eye.
She touched her lips.
Her jaw throbbed where Hank had grabbed her.
Hot, wet tears gathered, floodwaters behind a dam wall seconds before it burst.
Absolutely not. She would not cry.
After putting the picture back on the counter, she sank to the kitchen floor and sat cross-legged, her forehead in her hands, breaths coming harsh and rapid in the quiet house. The hard refrigerator surface provided her unyielding support.
With an ear-splitting crash, glass exploded from the window.
Chapter 10
Stupid move, coming here.
Gravel popped under the tires as Garrison parked his truck a hundred feet up the street from Sara’s small, one-story bungalow. One advantage to living in a place like Copper River? Easy to find out where people lived. Tonight’s data on Sara’s house location came courtesy of Shelby and her excellent memory for town gossip.
Disadvantage? Everyone would know about this visit before he got back home.
He threw his hat on the front seat and pushed the truck door closed. Hesitating next to the vehicle, he peered a few houses down to Sara’s home. Stars twinkled in the cloudless sky. Maybe 8:00 p.m. had been too late to come calling.
A yellow glow from Sara’s living room window crept out into the cold, clear night air, like a beacon drawing him to a sanctuary.
When he took a few steps closer, he stopped in his tracks. He shouldn’t be here. His mouthy brother had been right: Garrison had turned into a stalker.
But, son of a bitch, he wanted to make sure he hadn’t upset Sara. Had he moved too quickly when he kissed her last night? Or had he become so starved for female attention that the first polite and eligible woman he met had him instantly whipped? Same leash, different master. What a joke.
What about the idea that she could keep an eye on Zach? Not to protect his son from bullies, but to be on alert for any emerging powers. If Garrison could get close to Sara, she could provide the objective assessment needed.
So, what, now he was a stalker who wanted to use her for his personal gain?
Pretty much.
An ethical man would turn around and leave. A smart man wouldn’t have come here in the first place.
Didn’t matter. Even if he was relationship challenged, after the bizarre conversation with twitchy Hank Brand today, Garrison had to make sure Sara was okay. Once he completed that task, if she didn’t want to see him again, he’d respect her wishes and leave her alone.
A high, tinkling crash stopped him in his tracks. Glass? The cold, clear air made it easy to get a direction.
Sara’s house.
As he rounded the mailbox in a dead run to the porch, a deep engine rumble emanated from the alley behind her house, followed by a clatter of what sounded like gravel beneath spinning tires. The sound of a vehicle faded into the night.
Then silence.
Sara.
The blood froze in his veins.
He reached her front door in two steps and pounded on the door.
“Sara? It’s Garrison. Are you in there? Are you all right?”
A small yelp was followed by a thud.
He rattled the door handle. Locked. Shit.
Air caught in his chest as he strained to listen.
“Sara,” he called again.
A distant voice came through the door. “Just a minute.”
What the hell?
“Who is it?” came her muffled voice, louder now.
Her voice. Thank God. He sagged into the doorframe, but he jumped back when the porch light came on.
The door opened a few inches, revealing her bloodless face and wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you all right? I heard a sound.”
“How did ... What are you doing here?” Her voice wavered, too breathy, as she darted glances past him, toward the street. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“What’s going on in there, Sara?”
He wanted to move heaven and earth to erase that frown.
“Nothing.”
“I heard a sound. Are you hurt?”
That dazed expression on her face? Not good.
“Glass. From a window. The window. You know, the window in the kitchen.” Her hand shook as she rubbed the front of her neck. The door opened a few more inches. “And the picture’s broken. All broken.”
The lost look on her face, her dilated pupils. Was she in shock?
“What happened? Sara?”
“I don’t know.” She swallowed convulsively. A strand of damp hair clung to her neck.
Gooseflesh prickled along his spine, and he whispered, “Is someone in there?”
Licking her lips, she pinned him with a haunted look. “I don’t know.”
When he glanced around her into the house, dark shiny smears dotted the hardwood floor. “Shit, are you bleeding?”
When she lifted her foot, blood dripped from the sole. She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Her dry lips paled, and her eyes rolled back in the sockets.
He shouldered his way into the house and grabbed her before she hit the floor. Kicking the door closed with one boot, he half carried, half dragged her limp frame to the nearby couch and eased her head onto a cushion.
Propping her feet up on a pillow on the arm of the couch, he examined the cut sole. A piece of glass protruded from a two-inch gash that oozed blood. He’d take care of it as soon as he made sure she was otherwise okay. At least when he placed a hand on her sternum, her breathing was even and her heartbeat steady. Maybe she had passed out from the sight of blood or pain?
But what about the fear etched on her face? Embedded glass didn’t cause fear, did it?
Not wanting to leave for long, he hurried to follow the blood t
rack to the kitchen, searching for supplies for her foot. Frigid air drifted into the house, thanks to a shattered window over the sink. A faded photo of a woman resembling Sara and a young girl lay on the floor within a broken picture frame.
More glass crunched under his boots as he grabbed a cup of water and a towel.
As he turned, his foot bumped an object on the floor. He used one of the cloths to pick it up. A melon-sized rounded stone, like from a river, with a dull metal chain lashed around it. What the hell?
At a soft groan from the living room, he dropped the rock on the table, rushed back to Sara, and knelt next to the couch.
The wings of her dark eyelashes swept shadows over her tan cheeks, tempting him to rest his lips on the flawless skin. Other areas of his anatomy decided to use this inappropriate opportunity to take notice of her lush curves as well. Damn his starved libido; this was not the time.
Her head lolled toward him, her eyes fluttered open and widened, and she gave out a strangled cry.
“Sara, sh. It’s Garrison.” He patted her shoulder closest to him.
“What?” When she tried to sit up, her foot hit the pillow. “Ow! Crap.”
“Yeah, looks like you got some glass in there, honey.” He sat up straight, ready for her gratitude. Maybe she’d give him a kiss for his gallantry.
“You have to leave.”
What?
His puffed up chest deflated. Just like that, he went from hero to stooge. Not the reception he’d expected.
“What?”
“It’s not okay for you to be here. My—” She pressed her trembling lips together.
Like a man slowly drowning, reality dawned on him.
Of course. How stupid could he be?
In his companionship-starved brain, Garrison had built up their dinner and sexy kiss into something it wasn’t: a date. He’d never thought to ask about Sara’s relationship status; he had assumed she was single.
She had a boyfriend.
He gritted his teeth and studied the green-and-brown cloth pattern on the couch.
Second best. Again. Son of a bitch.
Story of his entire life.
He should leave. Now.
His gaze locked onto Sara’s shimmering eyes. She was in pain. He might be the perennial runner-up, but Garrison wouldn’t leave her injured. Wait. No. If she had a boyfriend here, why hadn’t he come running to help her? The situation made no sense. Shoving his pride to the side, he kept his hands to himself and stared at her, not certain what to do.
Legacy of Lies Page 8