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So where did he go from here? And how was he going to convince Lacie that he wasn’t crazy?
His radio went off. Possible poachers. He waited for the address, cringing when it came. He did not need this today. Or any other day, for that matter. With the mood he was in, the last person he wanted to see was his father.
Why’d he have to call while Matt was the only deputy on duty? Couldn’t he have waited a few more hours for the next shift? Sure, it would be dark, but at least he’d have been off the hook.
Bound by duty, he reluctantly responded to dispatch and headed south on Highway 550. God, I’m going to need Your help.
Ten minutes later, his vehicle bumped across the cattle guard beneath the arched metal sign that read Abundant Blessings Ranch. He crept up the long gravel drive, praying that perhaps it had been his oldest brother, Noah, who’d made the call. Yet as he passed the recently expanded stable, his hopes were dashed when he glimpsed Noah tending the horses. He thought about stopping to check, but knew he’d simply be postponing the inevitable.
Approaching the ranch house, memories of that day nearly three years ago filled his mind. All he’d wanted to do was make Mama happy. And he had. For a short time, she’d forgotten the pain and weakness that had plagued her for months.
But Dad didn’t see it that way. Are you trying to kill her?
Ten days later, she was gone. The cancer had finally gotten the better of her.
Just then he spotted his father exiting the new barn his brother Andrew had built over the summer.
You’re nothing but a screwup, Matt. Always have been, always will be.
Clint Stephens’s words didn’t sting quite as much today as they had when he’d first spat them at Matt. And while Matt tried to pretend his father’s opinion didn’t matter, it seemed he’d been trying to disprove his father ever since. Yet for all of his trying, he’d only succeeded in proving him correct.
While Dad looked on, he parked beside the old man’s dually, in front of the long wooden deck that spanned the length of the single-story cedar ranch house. Thanks to Andrew and a good power washing, the place looked almost new. The ugly black buildup from years of neglect had been whisked away. If only the damage to his heart could be so easily erased.
His father was waiting as Matt exited his truck, felt cowboy hat perched upon his graying head, hands buried in the pockets of his Carhartt coveralls. “Wondered if you’d be working today.”
“I am. So whatcha got?” Because the sooner he could get away from here, the better off he’d be.
“A decapitated mule deer.” The old man poked a thumb over his shoulder toward the pasture. “Near Smugglers Bend.”
Matt knew the area well as he used to hunt there all the time. There wasn’t an inch on the ranch that he and his brothers hadn’t explored at some point in their young lives. “I’ll drive over there and walk in from the road.”
His father’s gaze narrowed. “He’s tucked in amongst the brush. Might have a hard time findin’ him, so I’d best take you.”
The dread Matt had felt earlier amplified. Did Dad think he was incapable of finding it? Or that he needed a chaperone to make sure he got things right?
Whatever the case, the old man remained quiet during the ride out there on one of the utility vehicles they used to get around the ranch. Despite an abundance of sunshine, the bitter cold air stung Matt’s face as they thudded over the now-dormant rangeland, carving a path around cattle and the occasional tree.
A short time later, his father brought the vehicle to a halt beside a small wooded area. Scruffy conifers and barren deciduous trees blanketed with underbrush. A hiding place for wildlife. “He was a big fella.” Dad stepped off the vehicle and led Matt several feet into the thicket.
Matt eyed the once-majestic buck. “Yes, sir. But then, poachers don’t make a habit of going after the little guys.” He surveyed the overgrowth around the animal. “How’d you find him?”
“Neighbor called and said I had cows on the road. When I went to get ’em, I discovered somebody had cut the fence.” Dad glanced some hundred yards in the distance. “Wasn’t long after that I saw the blood trail.” He looked down at the dead animal. “Looks like a clean shot, though.” He pointed to the entry wound behind the animal’s left shoulder. “Fella never knew what hit him.”
“I’m guessing they shot from the road.” Matt dared a look at his dad. “Then walked in to claim their trophy.”
Dad shook his head. “Them poachers are the ones that ought to be shot.”
Matt took some photos and jotted down a few notes before following the trail to the road and doing more of the same. “Unfortunately, this isn’t the first incident we’ve seen,” he told his father when he returned. “I’ll hand this information over to investigators, though with little to go on, catching anyone isn’t likely.”
They again climbed on the UTV and started back to the ranch house in silence. Matt took the opportunity to survey the land he loved so much. He gazed at the river as they passed, wishing he could spend more time there. How he used to enjoy walking the property, communing with nature, hunting, fishing... Except now he felt like an outsider. Unwelcome in his own home.
“Well, I suppose you need to get on, don’t you?” His father stopped the vehicle in front of the house. “Probably have reports and such to take care of, huh?”
If Matt were anyone else, Dad would have offered him a cup of coffee. But he wasn’t anyone else. No matter what he did, he was a disappointment to his father. The son who was arrested for underage drinking, then let his parents down by joining the navy without ever consulting them.
“Yes, sir.”
The old man followed him to his Tahoe. “I’ve been hearing rumors that you’re directing your mama’s play.”
Matt’s entire body tensed. “Yes.”
Hands shoved in his pockets, the old man rocked back on the heels of his worn work boots. “I gotta say, I’m kinda curious as to why you decided to do that.”
Turning, he looked at his father. “They were talking about canceling the play and I couldn’t let Mama’s legacy die.”
“I can appreciate that.” Dad nodded, his lips drawn into a thin line. “But don’t you think it would have been better to leave it in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing?”
Matt’s blood boiled. The old man would never cut him any slack. “Why? Because you think I’ll screw that up, too?”
When his father didn’t respond, Matt turned on his own booted heel. “I’m out of here.” He threw himself into his vehicle, fired up the engine and exited the ranch at a much faster pace than he’d arrived.
As far as Clint Stephens was concerned, his middle son had no redeeming qualities. Just wait until he found out about Kenzie. The fact that Matt had fathered a child out of wedlock would only amplify the old man’s belief that Matt was nothing but a failure, unworthy of his father’s love. And as much as it killed Matt to admit it, even to himself, that’s the one thing he desperately wanted.
Chapter Five
Matt could not be Kenzie’s father. That’s all there was to it.
Darkness had already settled over Ouray as Lacie stood at the stove in her mother’s kitchen, stirring noodles into the beef Stroganoff, its savory aroma filling the air. While she welcomed the opportunity to cook for more than just herself and Kenzie, the task did little to distract her from the annoying thoughts that had plagued her brain all day. How could one brief meeting have Matt believing he was Kenzie’s father? Talk about nerve.
“I’m hungry.” Kenzie approached from the living room, where an educational cartoon had held her attention for the past twenty minutes.
“I know, sweetie.” Lacie put the lid on the skillet, annoyed that she’d wasted most of her day, mentally rehashing last night’s conversation with Matt instead of interacting with Kenzie. “How about a piece of string cheese to tide you over until Grandma gets home?”
“Okay.” Her niece beamed at the prospect. “Can I play with my ponies?”
Lacie opened the refrigerator and grabbed a cheese stick. “You like those, huh?”
“Uh-huh.” Kenzie nodded, accepting her snack.
She had to hand it to her mother, she’d done a good job anticipating what toys Kenzie would and would not like. “Then yes, you may. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
“Okay.” She grinned up at Lacie with a smile that reached her big brown eyes. Eyes not at all like Marissa’s or even Grant’s. Instead, they reminded Lacie of—
No. She shut the refrigerator door with a little too much force, rattling its contents. She wasn’t going to go there because it wasn’t true. Grant was Kenzie’s father, even if he was a deadbeat dad.
While Kenzie played and they waited for Mom to get home from the shop, Lacie seized the opportunity to focus on something besides Matt. She crossed to the table and opened her laptop to check those job listings she’d planned to research last night before she’d been so rudely interrupted. Yet even as she stared at the computer screen, her thoughts kept returning to Matt. To the pain and conviction in his dark eyes.
She let go a groan and returned to the stove to give the Stroganoff another stir. This was ridiculous. If Matt had been Kenzie’s father, Marissa would have told her. There were no secrets between them. They—
She froze. Kenzie’s birth certificate. She had Kenzie’s birth certificate in her files in the bedroom. Strange that she thought to keep it close by in case she needed it, yet had never taken the time to look over the document.
Quickly replacing the lid, she set the wooden spoon on its rest and started down the hall. Grant would be listed as Kenzie’s father on the birth certificate, putting this nonsense to rest once and for all.
Inside her old bedroom, she opened the closet door and grabbed the plastic file box that contained all of her and Kenzie’s important documents and set it on the bed. She lifted the plastic lid and fingered past shot records, guardianship papers and tax records until she located the folder labeled Birth Certificates.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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