ready built for a family with no mortgage.”
Bitterness tinged her voice. Not that he could blame her. From what she’d told him when they’d arrived at Bull’s Hollow, she and her dad had never stayed in one place for more than a year. He couldn’t imagine having to leave the place with all his childhood memories, spots his father had pointed out that held special memories for him and his mom, even his grandfather’s favorite places. Of course it meant he couldn’t get away from some of his more unpleasant memories. Like his grandparents’ house. And for the past fifteen years, The Hollow.
He opened the front door and looked back. She hadn’t moved from her spot, which his ego found disappointing even though he shouldn’t be surprised. His chest tightening, he said, “I really am sorry, Allie, but I didn’t know of any video and I thought you trusted me enough to know I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to hurt you.”
“You don’t believe there is a video, do you?”
“You know what? I do,” he said slowly, swayed more by the way the defiance that had been in her eyes moments ago had extinguished. She wouldn’t be the first of George Grady’s victims, but hopefully she’d been his last. “I’m going to dig around and see if I can find out anything about it. Make sure it’s been destroyed.”
Because until he proved to both her and himself, it would forever taint their future.
Chapter Three
His body aching from hauling feed bags out of his truck in the morning, helping a crew herd the two dozen cattle that had escaped from a pasture in the afternoon and the mental stress of seeing Allie again, especially with her revelation of a video, Ben had never been so happy to turn off his truck in front of his house. Unlike his grandparents’ angular monstrosity, this place was a home. He loved its screened porches ringing the house, filled with memories of his father sitting in one of the worn rocking chairs brought to Texas by Bull Grady himself, a glass of sweet tea in his father’s hand to keep the sweltering summer heat at bay, the squeak of the chair as it rocked. The pain of losing his father wrenched fresh to remember he’d never again hear his father talking about breeding schedules or telling a joke.
The drought-burned grass crunched beneath his feet as he walked across the front lawn, where the whole family would get together for their Fourth of July barbeques or on Thanksgiving, where they’d play tag football. The home where he would lie in bed, listening to the first birds singing their songs to greet the day, the spring breeze wafting through the open windows. Where his kids could be close enough to their momma or pop to climb into bed with them if they’d had a nightmare. The way he’d done when he was little.
He walked down the central hall, past the stairway, not bothering with turning on any of the lights. He’d grown up in this house, didn’t need lights to find his way in the dark. Once he reached the kitchen, he changed his path and headed to the fridge, its bright light flooding the room as he grabbed a water bottle from its depths. He needed to eat, but frankly he was too damned tired to cook. He twisted the top off the bottle and drained half its contents before heading out to the back porch to flick on the switch for the hot tub.
His clothes in a heap on the deck, he eased himself into the water. A sigh escaped him as he rested his head and closed his eyes. Muscles he’d pushed too hard from all the numerous things he’d lifted and carried and shoved every day, be it cattle or hay or fence lines, whimpered as the jets caressed them. The weight of being responsible for the ranch, for its employees, the three thousand cattle and fifty plus horses, its seventy-one thousand other issues that arose every day had never felt heavier than it had this week.
The traffic on the highway five miles to the south and a train six miles to the north rang clear through the quiet night
Bitterness tinged her voice. Not that he could blame her. From what she’d told him when they’d arrived at Bull’s Hollow, she and her dad had never stayed in one place for more than a year. He couldn’t imagine having to leave the place with all his childhood memories, spots his father had pointed out that held special memories for him and his mom, even his grandfather’s favorite places. Of course it meant he couldn’t get away from some of his more unpleasant memories. Like his grandparents’ house. And for the past fifteen years, The Hollow.
He opened the front door and looked back. She hadn’t moved from her spot, which his ego found disappointing even though he shouldn’t be surprised. His chest tightening, he said, “I really am sorry, Allie, but I didn’t know of any video and I thought you trusted me enough to know I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to hurt you.”
“You don’t believe there is a video, do you?”
“You know what? I do,” he said slowly, swayed more by the way the defiance that had been in her eyes moments ago had extinguished. She wouldn’t be the first of George Grady’s victims, but hopefully she’d been his last. “I’m going to dig around and see if I can find out anything about it. Make sure it’s been destroyed.”
Because until he proved to both her and himself, it would forever taint their future.
Chapter Three
His body aching from hauling feed bags out of his truck in the morning, helping a crew herd the two dozen cattle that had escaped from a pasture in the afternoon and the mental stress of seeing Allie again, especially with her revelation of a video, Ben had never been so happy to turn off his truck in front of his house. Unlike his grandparents’ angular monstrosity, this place was a home. He loved its screened porches ringing the house, filled with memories of his father sitting in one of the worn rocking chairs brought to Texas by Bull Grady himself, a glass of sweet tea in his father’s hand to keep the sweltering summer heat at bay, the squeak of the chair as it rocked. The pain of losing his father wrenched fresh to remember he’d never again hear his father talking about breeding schedules or telling a joke.
The drought-burned grass crunched beneath his feet as he walked across the front lawn, where the whole family would get together for their Fourth of July barbeques or on Thanksgiving, where they’d play tag football. The home where he would lie in bed, listening to the first birds singing their songs to greet the day, the spring breeze wafting through the open windows. Where his kids could be close enough to their momma or pop to climb into bed with them if they’d had a nightmare. The way he’d done when he was little.
He walked down the central hall, past the stairway, not bothering with turning on any of the lights. He’d grown up in this house, didn’t need lights to find his way in the dark. Once he reached the kitchen, he changed his path and headed to the fridge, its bright light flooding the room as he grabbed a water bottle from its depths. He needed to eat, but frankly he was too damned tired to cook. He twisted the top off the bottle and drained half its contents before heading out to the back porch to flick on the switch for the hot tub.
His clothes in a heap on the deck, he eased himself into the water. A sigh escaped him as he rested his head and closed his eyes. Muscles he’d pushed too hard from all the numerous things he’d lifted and carried and shoved every day, be it cattle or hay or fence lines, whimpered as the jets caressed them. The weight of being responsible for the ranch, for its employees, the three thousand cattle and fifty plus horses, its seventy-one thousand other issues that arose every day had never felt heavier than it had this week.
The traffic on the highway five miles to the south and a train six miles to the north rang clear through the quiet night
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