Tyranny by William W. Johnstone

somebody was watchin’ us, too.”
    â€œLike maybe the IRS?”
    â€œI can’t see any reason why they would,” G. W. said with a frown. “But at the same time, you can’t really put anything past those ol’ boys. They play fast and loose with the truth and the rules, and they’ve been doin’ that ever since somebody decided workin’ for the government means workin’ for the Democratic Party.”
    â€œStill, skulking around a ranch doesn’t seem like something the IRS would do,” Kyle said. “Do you have any other enemies?”
    â€œNot that I know of, but I’ve always been plainspoken enough that there’s no tellin’ who might have me on a list somewhere.”
    Kyle knew that was true. Growing up in a suburb of Dallas, he’d been surrounded by liberal attitudes all his life, and naturally he had accepted most of them. When he was young, his grandfather’s opinionated personality had rubbed him the wrong way on many occasions.
    It had taken being out in the real world and seeing how things actually worked to open Kyle’s eyes to the facts. He had worked construction during the summers while he was in high school, and that had taught him as much as any classroom ever could.
    â€œYou think it’s safe for me to go back out and get my duffel bag from the truck?” he asked.
    â€œYeah, whoever it was, they’re gone.”
    â€œBut they’ll be back?” Kyle guessed.
    â€œMore than likely.” G.W. had a thoughtful look on his face as he went on. “But now that you’re here, maybe whatever’s goin’ on, we can put a stop to it.”

Chapter 12
    T he rest of the day passed uneventfully. G. W. didn’t press Kyle for details about what he’d been doing since he’d seen him last, and Kyle didn’t volunteer any. He just told his grandfather that he’d been drifting around, seeing the country.
    Basically, that was the truth. When he was in a city big enough to have a day labor center, he picked up odd jobs that way, and when he had enough money for a bus ticket and to take care of his other needs for a while, he moved on.
    Several times he had been approached by guys who wanted him to stand on a street corner with a sign saying he was a homeless veteran—which was technically true, Kyle supposed—and beg money from people who drove by.
    Kyle had turned down every one of those invitations, and none too politely, as well. Whatever he had, even though it wasn’t much, he worked for it. And when he couldn’t get enough work, he did without.
    He was perfectly willing to accept G.W.’s hospitality, though. Family was family, after all. And Kyle was willing to do whatever he could to help out around the place, too, and pay his grandfather back that way.
    That evening G. W. fired up the grill on the back porch, and when he had the bed of coals the right shade of red, he wrapped two potatoes in aluminum foil and put them down in the coals, under the rack. Then two thick steaks from the refrigerator went on the grill, too.
    Kyle thought it all smelled wonderful.
    â€œI don’t suppose we’re going to have a salad with that,” he said.
    G. W. snorted and said, “If you want rabbit food, there’s the makin’s for it in the icebox. Help yourself.”
    Kyle had to laugh.
    â€œYou’re a living, breathing time warp, you know that, G.W.?”
    â€œNot sure what you mean by that, so I reckon I’ll take it as a compliment.”
    â€œThat’s fine. That’s pretty much the way I meant it.”
    When the food was ready, they sat on the back porch with their plates in their laps and longnecks on the floor beside them. The mountains rose before them, with a rosy glow from the fading sunset behind them.
    The scene was such a peaceful one that it made Kyle angry to think that the government wanted to force G. W. off his land. His