Daxton looked at Gunnar, then back to his mom. “You won’t get mad?”
Some of the fear came back to Grace. “No, I won’t.”
“Remember when I stayed at Jimmy’s house? I know you told me we couldn’t ride to town on our bikes,” he looked down at his wet and dirty shoes, “but we did.”
“Do you know why I told you that you couldn’t?”
He nodded. “Because you’re afraid I’ll get hit by a car.”
“Yes. I’m afraid.”
“You said you wouldn’t be mad.” His eyes widened as if he sensed her anger.
She blew out a breath. “I’m not, son. I have a feeling that riding into town on your bike isn’t what’s weighing on your mind.”
Another quick nod and his chin came up. “We went to the ice cream shop and got a cone. Sheriff Cooper stopped to say hi.”
Grace blinked. Here lately she cringed when she heard the name Cooper. “Well, he’s done that before.” She could barely keep the disgust from her voice.
Daxton lifted a small shoulder and let it slump. He twisted his hands against his stomach. “He told me Gunnar would leave soon.” He flicked his gaze over Grace’s shoulder. “Just like dad did.”
Her heart sank. She’d been so caught up in her feelings for Gunnar that she’d forgotten that Daxton was growing closer to Gunnar and would have his own fears. And she had no clue how to answer. She looked at Gunnar who had a narrow eye and tense jaw. They hadn’t discussed their relationship, or where their future would lead. Turning back to her son, she thought over her words carefully. “Dax, you understand that Gunnar is here working. There’s always the possibility that he’ll move on to a different job. A new place, but what happened to daddy won’t happen to Gunnar.”
Daxton dropped his hands, his mouth thinning. “But how do you know? We didn’t think anything would happen to dad either.”
She stood straight. “What happened to your dad was a freak accident. No, we would never have guessed that would happen to him. It was horrible, but we can’t believe, or live in fear, that something will happen to others.”
“Then why won’t you let me do anything like all of my friends get to? They are allowed to ride their bikes and fish alone.” He kicked the toe of his shoe. “You let me play baseball but you’re always afraid I’ll get hit in the head.”
She crossed her arms, not able to argue with her son. “You’re right. I’ve been too protective. You’re the only thing I have, Dax. It’s been the two of us for a long time. Maybe it’s time I gave you more freedom, more responsibility. I’m sorry that I haven’t realized that before now.” Her vision blurred, but she blinked back the wetness, forcing herself to stay calm.
Daxton picked up a stick and examined it. “You haven’t been bad, mom, but I want to ride my bike more.” He looked at her with an innocent expression that cut straight through her. “Maybe other things too. More sports.”
“I think that sounds great. If you’re interested in any sport, you should play. I’ll back you on anything you wish to do.”
He nodded jerkily. “Can I really?”
“Sure can.” She patted his shoulder. “I think you’d be good at anything you put your mind to.”
One corner of his mouth lowered. “Why did Sheriff Cooper say that about Gunnar?”
“He had no reason to say that to you, Dax. At times people will to say things and you should always come to me and ask me questions. I’ll never get mad at you for being honest.”
Daxton tossed the stick into the brush. “I’m hungry. Can we go back home now? Can we have tacos for dinner?”
Grace smiled. “Of course. There’s nothing more comforting than tacos.” Daxton started for the path and, as she brushed past Gunnar, he caught her elbow. She looked up at him, his eyes were a dark, mysterious color. “I’m sorry for the things I said.”
He shrugged. “You were upset.”
“It doesn’t excuse me though. We’ll talk after dinner. Are you coming?”
He gave his head a quick shake. “I have something I need to take care of.”
She squinted. “Does this something have anything to do with seeing Cooper?”
He hesitated. “He needs to know he can’t get by with this.”
Her heart skipped a painful beat. “Let me take care of this, Gunnar.” She feared what would happen to him. Cooper was playing dirty and capable of anything, as she’s seen over the last few weeks.
“I need to handle this, Grace. Trust me.”
But did she? Could she trust anyone? Trusting meant opening up completely and she didn’t know if she was ready. However, maybe she already had. She knew she loved Gunnar, but had never really thought of what their future held. It was high time she told him how she felt.
****
Gunnar didn’t see an ounce of surprise in Branson’s expression. He was sitting on the porch to his one story house. He let his feet drop to the wooden planks with a loud clank and scrubbed his chin. A grin curved his lips, but it didn’t reach the cold recesses of his eyes. “Well, well, decide to pay me a visit did you? You have bigger balls than I thought.”
“It always amazes me how men like you relate everything to the size of a man’s balls.” Gunnar shook his head, stopping at the first step. “I’ve always believed if a man was brave, he never needed to bully people around him.” He wasn’t pulling any punches. He was sick and tired of the sheriff’s underhanded ways.
Branson seemed unfazed by Gunnar, except for his middle finger tapping the arm of the chair as if on its own accord. Gunnar had lost most of his anger driving into town, but still some remained. Grace had warned him that the sheriff was unpredictable, but Gunnar felt confident that he could control his temper, yet he had a feeling the other man had a short fuse.
For a long second, they stared at each other. Gunnar waited to see what response the man had. Men like him always had something to say. “You’re still sore about the dog. I did you a favor. That scrawny thing wasn’t worth the dog food you were feeding him. Probably why the owner dumped him in the woods.” The tone of his voice made it sound more like a joke than a humane action.
“And you just happened to run across the dog when you were in the woods, right?”
A flicker of surprise crossed Branson’s face before he reeled it in. “You think you’re clever.”
“I saw your footprints and I’m not here about the dog. I’m here because you upset Daxton.”
Branson’s sneer put Gunnar on edge. “That really ain’t none of your business. Since when are you the spokesperson for the Atwell family?”
“It became my business when you made it my business.”
The sheriff moved to the edge of his chair. “I’m getting real tired of you, boy.”
Gunnar didn’t like the tone of Branson’s voice, but Gunnar didn’t allow it to steer him from his focus. “I understand Trace was your best friend and you have a desire to take care of his family. I can respect that. I’d do the same. Yet, I had nothing to do with Grace not wanting to take things to the next level with you. And what I can’t seem to figure out is why you’d want to hurt Daxton out of some spiteful cause for revenge. That’s where you’ve overstepped a line.”
“And who the hell are you?” There went the tapping of his finger again—a tic.
“A friend of Grace and Daxton’s.”
“Oh, so now you’re a friend. Interesting.”
Gunnar said nothing.
“Don’t you mean you’re fucking Grace?” Gunnar clenched his hands into fists and started to take a step, but calmed himself. He couldn’t let this man with a vengeance for hostility push him over the edge. The man was a challenge of wit, and Gunnar was certain he could outwit Branson any day. “I wonder what Grace would think if she knew you and Trace were pen pals?”
Gunnar blinked. How did he know? His mind scrambled back to the day the dog was shot. He found the sheriff coming out of the office…he had been alone…and he’d acted suspicious. He’d looked th
rough my things. His heart kicked up in beats.
“Just as I thought. She doesn’t have a clue that you’re working on the farm under false pretenses. So, what kind of a man would lie to a widow to get into her pants? You’re one sick son of a bitch, aren’t you boy?”
“The name’s not boy. It’s Gunnar. Or preferably Knox to you.”
The sheriff stood up so fast he sent his chair against the house, putting a small crack in the window. “You act like you don’t have a care in the world, but I’m afraid your time here in Buttermilk Valley has come to an end, boy.” He put great emphasis on the word ‘boy.’
“And this is a free country, sheriff.”
“Hit the road or I’ll tell Grace just who you are,” the words dripped like acid from his lips.
“Do what you gotta do and we’ll leave it up to Grace on how she feels. But just so you know, if you think you’ll ever have a chance with her, you’re wrong. Your little stunt with Daxton sealed your fate. And over my dead body will I let you hurt either of them.”
Branson’s laughter was full of hatred, probably stemming from his childhood if Gunnar had to guess. “We might just have to make that a reality. I’d do that for my old buddy Trace’s family.”
Gunnar started to respond, but held his tongue. His mind whirled…Trace being shot. Branson’s need to be with Grace. Shooting the dog in the head. How easily he threatened those around him. Trace had written in one letter that friends couldn’t be trusted. Sweat beaded on Gunnar’s forehead. “Why did you do it?”
Branson blinked. “Why the hell what?”
“Why did you shoot him? Why Trace?”
The man went as pale as a ghost, his mouth thinned and he flexed his hands. That was enough answer for Gunnar. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” The words were forced through his tight lips.
“I know when a man’s been caught in his own pickling juices. How could you? He was your friend and he was a good man.” He went further out on a limb. “It wasn’t just so you could be with Grace, was it? He had something on you. Something big” Gunnar realized why Trace was going through a bad time, full of turmoil and disappointment. Why hadn’t Gunnar put the pieces together sooner? Branson was a mad man and definitely headed down a path of destruction.
Cooper stepped down the steps, slowly, keeping his gaze on Gunnar. Branson came to stop inches from Gunnar. “Listen here, you punk! You don’t know what in the hell you’re gossiping about. Talking that shit will get you into trouble—trouble you won’t be able to get yourself out of. You’ll be pleading to head back to Iraq and deal with the enemy because that’ll be child’s play compared to the hell I’ll put you through if you breathe one word to Grace…or anyone on what you think went down with Trace.”
“He was your buddy, and I owe him.”
“If you care for Grace and Daxton as much as you say you do, you’ll keep quiet.”
And there was the threat that made Gunnar’s blood run cold. His stomach dropped into his boots and his ears stung from the acerbic words the other man had spoken. He took a step back, turned on his heel and headed for the truck. Cooper yelled out, “Mark my words. You hear?”
Gunnar drove blindly through town. He had no proof that Sheriff Branson had shot Trace. Would anyone believe Gunnar? He doubted it. This was a small town that protected each other and Gunnar was a stranger.
He needed something…he searched his brain…and then it struck him. Branson hadn’t killed the abandoned dog with his work issued Glock. He’d used a Ruger. How had he missed that detail? It could be easy to miss things when a man’s emotions ruled.
He struck the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. The first time he saw Branson he carried a Glock in his holster, not a Ruger. So why have a different gun while on duty?
Gunnar let out a long sigh. The truth smacked him in the face. Branson needed to be prepared that day at the office. He would have shot Gunnar with the same gun that killed Trace. Although far-fetched, it could have been mistaken as a design by the killer to get rid of the only witness—Grace. Instead, there was an encounter with the handyman. Branson had every intention of killing Gunnar. If Grace hadn’t come home when she did, things would be very different now.
In Branson’s adrenaline rush, and getting caught coming out of the office along with Grace showing up, he’d made the mistake of using his gun to kill the dog.
The sheriff was crazier than Gunnar had first thought—a danger to everyone around him.
Gunnar had to move fast to stop Branson before Grace, and even Daxton, was hurt.
He grabbed his cell from his pocket, hitting a number on speed dial. On the second ring the line was answered. “Dalton, I need a favor.”
Chapter Fifteen
“He’s not back yet?” Grace asked Daxton as he came in from playing outside with Jessa.
He gave a quick shake of his head, sending his hair down onto his forehead. “No.”
She wrung her hands together. “Daxton, stay here with Jessa. I’m running over to the office for a few minutes.”
“Okay, mom.” He plopped down on the couch with a bag of chips.
Grace had tried to call Gunnar, but he wasn’t answering. Worried sick, she needed to know if he’d taken his phone with him or not before she went searching for him. She knew he should have never gone to talk with Cooper. He was a man that wouldn’t be swayed by anything Gunnar had to say.
Making her way toward the office, she unlocked the building and hurried inside. Upstairs, in the small apartment, she glanced around the neat and tidy space. The bed was made. Nothing looked like it had even been moved from before he had come. She guessed his tidiness had a lot to do with being in the military.
She stepped over to the dresser, scanning the organized items on top. Cologne. A stack of quarters. A belt buckle. But no phone. So was he just not responding to her calls? She turned on her heel and her foot struck something solid. Gunnar’s backpack, open, on the floor. She started to move around it when a familiar dove grey colored envelope caught her attention. Trace had the same envelopes. They were special order, a gift from her years ago.
Kneeling, she took the envelope out and her stomach twisted. Written on the front was Gunnar’s address overseas and the return address was Trace’s. The envelope was postmarked the day after his murder.
Her fingers shook, her head swam as she stood, staring at the envelope. Why? How?
Going to the bed, she sat, carefully pulling the stationary from the envelope. Spreading the paper open, a picture dropped onto her lap. A family picture taken when Daxton was little. The edges were tattered and the color was worn and faded. Confusion spiraled through her. Question after question surfaced.
Setting the photo aside, she recognized Trace’s handwriting…
She read his neat penmanship.
Dear Gunnar,
I hope my letter reaches you well. Unfortunately the news here covers much of the turmoil and death in the Middle East. I know from your last letter you are not doing well. Know that I pray for you and your safety. Whether you understand where your connection in life is, know that God watches over you. When you’re time is done there, I wish to extend the invitation to come here to Buttermilk Valley and visit. It will be nice to put a face to the name. Realize that no one is perfect, not even a man who professes to those around him that he has the strength of faith. I fear that I’m failing my wife and my son as I’m spread thin. Recently, I learned that friends can’t be trusted. I often envy those, like you, who are strong. Until next time.
Your friend,
Pastor Trace Atwell.
Tears filled her eyes and she dropped the letter. It floated to the floor and she stared for the longest time, filled with a mixture of emotions ranging from anger, loss, and then betrayal.
Why hadn’t Gunnar told her the truth?
Why had he pretended to be looking for a job?
****
Gunnar sat in the truck for the longest time, staring down the lawn
to the house with all of the lights on. His knuckles were white as he squeezed the steering wheel in disbelief. He rubbed this forehead with his fingers, but the dull ache threatened to implode into a migraine as he pondered the predicament he was in.
He hoped his marine buddy, Dalton, would be able to help him. They’d been good friends in Iraq, and now his friend worked for the FBI in the forensics department.
Gunnar eyed his stained hands. Dirt was caked underneath his nails from digging. He had uncovered the abandoned dog’s body, taken Dalton the bullet from the dog. One of Dalton’s people had met Gunnar just outside of town and he’d handed it over. It could take days to hear anything, but this is what must happen to prove Branson was a killer. Local law enforcement couldn’t be trusted while Branson played a role there. Until things unraveled, Gunnar would have to keep a close eye on things around the farm—especially Grace and Daxton.
How could the truth have been dangling there all along?
What if Gunnar would have left after finding out Trace was gone? Branson would have eventually lost his head. Dalton told him that Grace had seen the killer, but not his face and couldn’t identify him and that’s why the case had grown cold. But if Branson would have suspected for a second that she remembered anything familiar, she would have been at the mercy of a cold-blooded killer. Now the evidence was in the right hands. Gunnar had no doubt the bullet used to kill the dog would match the one in Trace’s murder.
But there still remained a big question. Why did Branson kill Trace?
They lived here in Buttermilk Valley where crime was virtually unheard of. People didn’t even lock their doors at night. What had Trace found out that made Branson turn into a murderer? Would they ever know the truth?
Branson no doubt wanted Gunnar out of the picture. That would free Grace up, but Branson had to be scared that Gunnar would see something that everyone missed, especially after reading the letters from Trace. He never spoke outright about what happened or Branson’s betrayal, but the words were there, subtle hints.
Unexpected Hero (Buttermilk Valley Book 1) Page 15