didn’t they?”
Yeah, and it pained Clay to admit it, but he’d actually checked for the feathered critters to make sure they weren’t around before he got out of his truck and went into the house. The chickens weren’t his. They’d sort of come with the property, but as soon as Clay could catch them, he was having a barbecue.
Clay shut the fridge door, hoping it would spur Mick to get back to work, and the man did follow Clay back into the living room. But apparently it wasn’t to work. It was to chat.
“Guess you heard all about Sophie and Garrett having to move back a couple of weeks ago?” Mick went on.
Clay nodded. Hard not to hear what was the number one gossip topic. It had even surpassed Sophie’s jilting and the talk about Sophie showing up at his office and asking him on a date. Of course, it was possible the date-thing was still the hottest topic, but the townsfolk were keeping quiet about that around him.
“I heard the FBI fellas took all their money and stuff.” Mick followed him when Clay went out the back—after he checked for the feral chickens.
Apparently, they were still on the topic of the Grangers, but Clay ignored him and walked to the pasture fence. Now, here was why he’d bought the run-down place that folks called the old Pennington ranch. The land and the barn. No more boarding his horses, Sal and Mal. The pair were in the pasture and looked a lot more content than Clay did at the moment.
But Clay did have plans for the place. Plans that included a house where everything was in the right room. That way he could get on with the peace and quiet part of his life.
Man, he needed it bad.
“Don’t know how their cousin, Lawson, is taking Sophie and Garrett coming back and being right under his nose,” Mick continued. “Guess you heard about all the bad blood there?”
“I heard,” Clay settled for saying, and he hoped that put an end to this conversation.
It didn’t.
“Sophie and Garrett’s great-grandpa was Zachariah Taylor Granger, or Z.T. as people called him,” Mick explained. “Lawson’s great-granddaddy was Jerimiah, Z.T.’s brother. Both of ’em made a fortune to pass onto their kids and grandkids. Z.T’s kin live here on the Granger ranch. Jerimiah’s kin live nearby, but they don’t come into town much at all. The two families own so much land that it almost bumps right up against each other.”
“Are you telling me this for a reason?” Clay asked. He used the same tone he did when interrogating felony suspects.
“Sure am. I’m telling you because there might be trouble with Lawson. Ever since he had a falling-out with his brothers about five or six years ago, he’s been working the Granger ranch on Roman’s behalf. Roman doesn’t want to work it because of a falling-out he had with his mom and on account of him being so busy.” He paused. “A lot of the Grangers have falling-outs.”
“And you’re telling me this for a reason?” Clay repeated.
“Yeah, it could be real important that you get the whole messy picture when it comes to the Grangers. Roman won’t be trouble. He lives in San Antonio and owns a rodeo business. But Lawson’s a different story. He might not be so happy now that Sophie and Garrett are back to take over things.”
Maybe that was true, but Clay still couldn’t find any angle that connected him to this situation. This all sounded like gossip.
“You figure Sophie Granger and you will get back together now that things are off with Brantley and her?” Mick asked.
So, that was the angle.
Clay gave him an annoyed glance. “Sophie and I were never together.”
Mick made a yeah right sound, and Clay didn’t bother to set him straight since it wouldn’t do any good. Because Mick, like most other people, believed that Sophie and Clay had had a “thing,” and that’s why her ex-fiancé had called off the wedding. Apparently, Brantley was still well liked in town, and Sophie was getting the blame for ruining things with Mr. Perfect.
Other than Sophie launching herself into his arms the day of the jilting, Clay had never laid a hand on her. And wouldn’t. Sophie wasn’t exactly the peace-and-quiet-inducing type.
Plus, there were her eyes.
Clay figured a lot of men looked at Sophie and saw an attractive woman. And she was. But Clay just couldn’t get past those eyes because they reminded him, well, of things he didn’t want to be reminded of.
He mentally put those eyes back in the memory box in his head that he’d marked as “shit to forget.” It worked, but in those couple of seconds that it took him to move it there, the images came. He felt the sick feeling of dread in his stomach.
And he saw her.
Hell. He saw her, her face way too clear for just a tiny piece of a nightmare.
“Say, are you okay?” Mick asked.
“Fine,” Clay lied, and he tried to look normal. Whatever that was. Maybe he needed to create a normal box in his head that he could pull out and use to fool people. Of course, it probably wasn’t hard to fool an idiot like Mick because he seemed to buy right into Clay’s “fine” lie.
“They haven’t found Billy Lee.” Mick again. He paused. “Since you’re a cop, you’ll probably know the answer to this, but what would make a fella run off with all that money?”
“Greed.” And you didn’t need to be a cop to know that.
Even though Billy Lee didn’t exactly fit the profile of an embezzler and money launderer. The man didn’t have so much as a parking ticket, and from what Clay could gather from the gossip, Billy Lee had been a father figure to Sophie and Garrett since their dad had passed away about ten years ago.
If Clay were leading the investigation, he would look for mitigating factors. Like maybe Billy Lee was being blackmailed or something, but this wasn’t his rodeo, wasn’t his bullshit to shovel.
Peace and quiet.
And a job where someone around him didn’t get killed because of something he’d screwed up.
He’d trade the adrenaline rush of the rodeo for that.
“Guess you’ll get more horses soon.” Mick again. “Maybe make it the way it used to be.”
“Yes, and that includes not having a toilet in the living room. You need to go take care of that now. I’d actually like to have a finished house before I reach retirement age.”
Mick laughed as if it were a fine joke rather than one of Clay’s genuine concerns. Clay would have spelled out his concerns—in both writing and while using sentences with small words—but the sound of a car engine snagged his attention. He got a jolt of relief then anger when he saw that it was April’s powder blue VW convertible.
She stepped from the car as if all was right with the world, and she wasn’t alone. His two-year-old twin nephews, Hunter and Hayden, barreled out the moment their mom freed them from their car seats, and they ran toward Clay as if he were a major prize at the finish line.
That’s
