to back out of the parking spot, Lisa met her own gaze. “At least I know you,” she said aloud. Maybe she should be more like Trudy. Less open.
She frowned. She wasn’t a liar, and wasn’t a lie of omission just as bad? Confused, she put the car into gear and got moving. Maybe a trip up to the mountains would do her good. It would help her clear her mind, and, once Grandpa came down from the hills, he’d help her focus on where to go next. He’d always been a good sounding board for her.
Four hours later, when Lisa finally reached Telluride, she walked between the piles of snow on either side of her grandfather’s sidewalk. Someone with their trusty snowblower had come through here, clearing a path from house to house. Nice of them, since she knew her grandfather didn’t have a snowblower. The mystery scooper had even cleared the walk going up to Grandpa’s front step. Only the last dusting of snow covered the stone.
But where the neighbors’ walks were packed down from footsteps, the walk to Granddad’s was still somewhat pristine. Her footsteps were the first ones there. Halfway up the sidewalk, she reached into her purse and pulled out the single key she kept in the inside pocket. A cowboy-boot-shaped key ring saved it from disappearing into the depths.
She pulled the screen door open and put the key into the lock. The little pressure she used was just enough to nudge the door to creak open slowly. She stared. What the—
Darkness was all that lay beyond.
Stale, closed-up air wafted out, bringing warmth out against the cold afternoon. But it wasn’t the usual warm, welcoming scent of her grandparents’ house. This scent held time in it.
“Grandpa?” she called, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear his voice. If he was in there, with the house shut up like this, so dark and sad, that would not be a good thing.
Slowly, she angled the door just a bit more and called for him again. Still no answer. Then she heard something. Footsteps? Heavy. Quick. Distant. “Grandpa?” She took a couple of steps through the door.
Glass crashed somewhere in the other room. Had he fallen? She rushed inside toward the sound. Please let him be okay. Him falling—even though he was a healthy, agile man for his age—could be disastrous.
She reached the doorway to the living room and stared at the empty room. No one was there. But cold, snowy air was blowing in from the window, making the old-fashioned sheer curtains dance. She hurried over to find the window broken. A movement at the corner of the yard startled her. Someone, certainly not her grandfather, leaped over the back fence. Footprints showed dark across the snow-covered yard.
“Hey,” she yelled, wasting her breath as it fogged in the cold air.
She shivered as much from the cold as the realization that someone had broken into—and apparently out of—Grandpa’s house. Was he okay? Was he here? She ran through the few rooms on the lower level, finding nothing. She hurried up the stairs, checking rooms until she finally reached her grandparents’ bedroom.
It was as deserted as the rest of the house. And cold. The bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in for ages. She frowned, gazing at the old-fashioned dresser and vanity that her grandmother had loved and polished each week with lemon oil. Grandma had been gone over a year now, but that faded sweet/tart scent still tinged the air.
Even though a light coat of dust covered everything and danced in the light that filtered in.
Grandpa wasn’t here. No one was.
But someone, who wasn’t her grandfather, had been.
Hastily, she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. Slowly, checking around each corner as she moved, she went back downstairs and waited just inside the kitchen door.
Near the knife rack.
The dispatcher answered, and Lisa gave the address, telling the woman her suspicions that someone had broken in.
“Are they still there?”
“No, but I’m not sure there isn’t someone else hiding somewhere.”
While she waited on the phone, her mind raced. Where was her grandfather? When her mother had mentioned Grandpa had disappeared again, most likely into the hills, she hadn’t seen the house, hadn’t felt the emptiness that permeated it.
Why hadn’t he let anyone know where he was going? Maybe he had, just not them. She’d have to check with his friends.
What if something had happened to him?
* * *
THE THIRSTY EAGLE SALOON sat smack on Main Street. It faced the ski slopes that dominated the view from all over town. Trey stared out the big plate-glass window at those slopes, wishing he was on his new pair of K2s instead of sitting here counting change.
Last night’s snow had put down a good foot of powder, and even from here, the white plumes flying up behind the skiers were clearly visible.
“Hey, boss,” Gabe called from the kitchen. “We’re low on tequila. And there’s only two cases of burgers left in here.” Gabe’s voice sounded muffled so Trey figured he was inside the walk-in freezer.
Trey sighed. Trey couldn’t do much about restocking. He wasn’t the owner.
Hap Southers was. And while the old man loved the place, apparently being a mayor—or former mayor—and a bartender wasn’t a good mix, even in a wild mountain town like Telluride.
Hap relished showing off and one-upping his cronies, but he was cheap. Before anyone could order supplies, they had to call Hap and ask. Hap refused to give any of the staff a budget or any kind of idea what they should spend.
Trey hated having to ask for anything. He was used to being in control. He always had been on the ranch, and when he’d left Texas and his family’s ranch behind, he’d stopped asking anyone’s permission to do anything.
Until he’d started working here, that was. “I’ll ask Hap about the order after I get back from the bank.” He grabbed the bank bag with the deposit he’d already counted and headed out the door. It was a nice day, and the walk to the bank would be good for him.
Even though the sun was still out, the mountain’s shadow had fallen over the town. Sitting in a box canyon, some part of Telluride was always in the shade.
The breeze cut through the afternoon, and he shivered. Lord, this place was so different from Texas.
His phone rang just then, and he pulled it out of his pocket to look at the screen. The ranch. Just the thought of the home he’d left behind seemed to summon his past. He pocketed the phone again, not even bothering to silence the ringer.
He’d only answered a call from the ranch once, the first week he’d been here. He’d foolishly thought there was some emergency. Someone was dying, maybe. But it had just been one of the hands asking for Trey’s input—and for help getting his father, Pal Junior, to change his mind about something. Trey had hung up.
He’d left that all behind.
He needed a life without his grandfather’s legacy or anyone’s influence. If he was going to build a new life, he had to completely leave the old behind.
And
