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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2021 by LaQuette
Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Stephanie Gafron/Sourcebooks
Cover images © Marvin Bienaime/The Bienaime Agency, Vanessa Lassin Photography/Getty Images, Evgeny Karandaev/Shutterstock
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Excerpt from Colton
Chapter 1
Mother Davidson’s Pineapple Coconut Cake
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Newsletter Sign-up
Back Cover
To my late grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. James and Doris Davidson, thank you for instilling all those down-home values in this Brooklyn girl’s heart. Thank you for teaching me that family, whether born or made, is a source of strength, and to nurture and serve it is an honorable gift.
To Damon, because forever and always, it has, is, and will be you.
Chapter 1
“Aja Marie Everett, you’d better get your hind parts down here before this food you had me cook gets cold.”
Had her cook? Aja rolled her eyes from the safety of her bedroom. Once finished getting dressed, she rushed into the kitchen to the stove and placed a gentle kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “Morning, Auntie. Smells like heaven in here.” Aja pulled a mug from the cabinet and poured herself a cup of coffee before sitting at the eat-in counter.
As she sipped, Aunt Jo placed a piping-hot bowl of creamy grits in front of Aja. She took a long sniff of the buttery scent wafting up at her and hummed in appreciation.
“I didn’t make biscuits and sausage because you said you had to get an early start.”
Aja waved a hand. “This is more than fine. The girls and I have a lot on our agenda this morning.” That was especially true after yesterday’s collapsed construction scaffold. The shock of how close she’d come to being injured, or worse, made her insides quake with cold. Determined to chase the chill away, she blew on the steaming spoonful of grits and slowly slurped them into her mouth. “I swear you make the best grits in Texas, Auntie.” She let a satisfied moan slip, then tucked into the dish. She was halfway through her meal when she looked up and caught sight of the bright smile lighting up Jo’s face.
“What are you smiling about?”
“You.” The single word spoke volumes. Two years ago, Aja had run from the pain of her younger sister’s death in Brooklyn and showed up on Jo’s doorstep. It had taken three months of Jo’s tender care for her to do more than shuffle from the bed to the couch. “Helping those girls has done you a world of good, hasn’t it?”
“Sure has,” Aja answered with a smile. “And if I’m going to continue to help them, I’ve got to get to my office—”
“You mean that old empty barn?”
Aja smiled at her aunt’s sass. It was no wonder Aja never met a smart comment she didn’t love. Sarcasm was a hereditary trait, it seemed.
“My temporary office. I need to make a few calls.”
“I assume to the sheriff. Has he decided to do his job yet?”
Aja’s spoon was midway to her mouth when her appetite soured. She placed the utensil back in the bowl and sat up straight. Fighting on a full stomach would do terrible things to her digestion, so she pushed the unfinished meal away and decided breakfast was over.
“I called him twice yesterday after the scaffolding came down. He said to make sure I wanted him to come out here, because if he does, chances are any investigation he opens will focus on the two people he believes most likely to be responsible—Seneca and Brooklyn.”
Jo huffed and sucked her teeth before responding to Aja. “That no-count man is unbelievable.”
Aja slumped her shoulders. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice but to deal with him.”
“You have a choice, Aja. You’re just choosing to ignore it.”
Aja pressed the first two fingers of her right hand to her temple and rubbed. She was about to close her eyes to give in to the soothing comfort, but the sight of her aunt fiddling with the frayed edge of a dish towel made her focus sharpen instead. Josephine Henry was the epitome of calm and collected. The only time she wasn’t was when she was up to no good.
“What did you do, Aunt Jo?”
By now she was nearly tearing the poor towel to shreds. “I called Ricky.”
“Really, Aunt Jo?” Aja threw up her hands in defeat. “After I specifically asked you not to?”
“He can help. If the sheriff won’t do his job, Ricky can make him.”
As a Hays County sitting judge, he could. Aja didn’t doubt that. But having her uncle involved meant him coming in and taking over. Aja couldn’t deal with that.
“You know how your brother is. He’s gonna make it worse, Aunt Jo.”
“Chile, somebody seems bent on hurting, maybe even killing you. It don’t get much worse than that.”
“Auntie,” Aja m
oaned.
“He’ll fix it, chile. You’ll see.”
Aja stood and walked around to her aunt. She wrapped her arms around Jo and reveled in the peace one only knew when they were surrounded by love. She may not agree with her aunt’s method of handling things, but she knew her actions came from a good place.
Headed for her office, Aja stepped out onto her front porch. She closed her eyes and breathed in as much of the sweet country air as she could, then opened them again. The deep-green and earthy-brown hues covering the expanse of her land were breathtaking. Restoration Ranch, or the idea of it, had helped Aja heal when the loss of her sister made her survival in this world questionable. It would soon be finished. She wouldn’t let anyone keep that dream from becoming reality.
“Hey, Boss.”
A year of rebuilding and it was still strange to hear someone call her “boss.” Aja turned her head and watched the two women as they approached.
Brooklyn Osborn had short, pixie-cut cropped dark curls and deep-brown skin with glowing honey undertones. She was a tall, fit Black woman with her lean, tight muscles on display in her A-line T-shirt and fitted jeans. The serious lines of her face were in stark contrast to the woman walking beside her—Seneca Daniels. Like Brooklyn, Seneca was a thirtysomething Black woman. But that was where their similarities ended. Seneca was average height with a curvy build and reddish-brown skin that seemed to radiate in the Texas heat. Where Brooklyn’s steps were even and methodical, Seneca waved an excited arm as she made her way from the side of the house to the front steps and climbed to greet Aja.
“What’s got her so excited this early in the morning?” Aja posed the question to Brooklyn, knowing she’d get a direct answer. She didn’t mind Seneca’s round-the-mulberry-bush method of storytelling, but with her shortage of time and Seneca practically vibrating with excitement as she took her place next to Aja, Brooklyn’s straight, no-chaser reporting style was definitely the way to go.
“You know it doesn’t take much to excite her. But she honestly has reason to be excited today. Let her tell you.”
This was true. Seneca was the bright spot of seemingly unending joy in their makeshift family. As long as she smiled, there was always hope.
Aja smiled at Seneca and gave her a reluctant wave of her hand. “G’on and tell me,” she huffed, feigning lack of interest, knowing full well the sight of Seneca clapping her hands together in excitement pretty much made it impossible to be disinterested at this point. “I don’t have all day.”
Seneca continued to smile as warmth radiated off her and reached out to tug at the remnants of Aja’s somber mood. “While I was working on updates on some external terminals”—she took a deep breath and shared a conspiratorial glance with Brooklyn before she continued—“that contractor in Austin you contacted sent in a bid. It’s under budget, and they can start the job in the next two weeks.”
Aja squealed as equal parts of relief and joy spread through her. Seneca’s announcement was a much-needed bit of good news.
After Earl, their previous contractor, quit in the wake of the ranch’s latest life-threatening accident, Aja worried she wouldn’t be able to keep to schedule if it took too long to find his replacement. But Seneca, in her usual don’t-sweat-it fashion, had curated a list of contractors in the surrounding area for Aja to send queries to last night.
Aja grabbed Seneca’s and Brooklyn’s hands, and they whooped and hollered in celebration. It didn’t matter that the new contractor hadn’t begun yet. Aja’s dream of Restoration Ranch becoming a road to rehabilitation was no longer on pause.
“Oh my goodness,” Aja huffed. “When I sent out those blanket queries last night, I never thought we’d get a response this soon. If this crew can get started in the next couple of weeks, once we vet them, we can still open by the start of travel season.”
Aja pulled the other women in for a celebratory hug before she pulled back and attempted to gather herself again. She needed to focus and stay on task. There was still a lot of work to do.
“Boss? You okay?”
Aja massaged the back of her neck, trying to take it all in. “I’m fine. Just…” She took a deep breath and let her lungs slowly expel it. “It’s really gonna happen, ladies. My dream hasn’t crumbled with that scaffold.”
With a wide grin plastered across her face, Seneca declared, “There was never any doubt.”
Maybe not for them, but Aja couldn’t fix her lips to tell that lie, so she quietly smiled instead as they headed toward the front door. “Go get something to eat. We’ve got a busy day ahead.”
The ladies headed inside and Aja leaned on the railing, letting the good news sink in. Hope filled the center of her chest and spread through her body like the rays of the Texas sun chasing away the shadows. “It’s gonna happen.”
With renewed faith that everything might turn out okay, she walked through the pasture of green grass with a little swing in her hips. Good news certainly could change the outlook of your day.
“Boss…boss!”
She stopped, turning to find Brooklyn running toward her. Her long legs and easy gait ate up the ground between them in a flash. “You left your phone in the kitchen.”
Aja patted her back pockets, realizing Brooklyn was right. “Thank you, doll. It would’ve been hard to make all the calls I need from the barn with no landlines out there yet.” She took the phone and slid it into her pocket before turning away. “Don’t take all day in that kitchen—we got work to do. We’ll be holed up in the barn until lunch.”
As she walked away, Brooklyn called, “You’re turning into a hard-ass tyrant. It’s too pretty outside to be cooped up in the barn all day.”
Aja kept walking but tossed over her shoulder, “Just for that, we’ll work through lunch in the barn. How’s that for a tyrant?”
She stopped for a brief second to see the scowl she knew Brooklyn was probably wearing when the sound of breaking glass pulled her attention away. Aja stepped forward when she felt the ground rumble beneath her and a loud boom cracked the air, making her eardrums vibrate painfully. Before she could cover her ears, a blast of pressure knocked her off her feet.
She fought to orient herself while the smell of burning wood and smoke assaulted her. Her chest tightened with fear as she struggled to breathe through the soot-tinged air. She couldn’t tell up from down, and no matter how hard she tried to stand, her legs wouldn’t work.
You gotta get up, Aja.
She tried to summon her strength and lift her head. When she moved no more than an inch from the ground, sharp pain sliced at the top of her forehead, forcing her to press her head into the cool grass, searching for relief.
The gray-black clouds of smoke hovering over her were getting fuzzy, and the only thing she could hear was ringing in her ears. Her senses were overwhelmed with panic, and she was pretty certain she was about to pass out soon.
“Boss? Boss?”
The sound of a voice vibrating in and out of focus—loud then soft, close then far, with a disorienting echo clanging around in her head—made it hard to tell who was speaking.
“Hold on. I got you.”
Strong hands hooked themselves under Aja’s arms and pulled. The dirt and rocks hidden among the blades of grass scraped against the backs of her thighs and calves through the heavy denim of her jeans. When the movement stopped, she could see sunlight breaking through the billows of black smoke, and the air didn’t smell as strongly of acrid and dense dust and ash.
A fuzzy shadow edged into her line of vision. The closer it came, the sharper the image appeared, and soon Brooklyn’s cynical face was filling her sight.
“Boss,” she called. “With the barn in flames, I kinda think your plans of us working all day in there are shot to shit.”
Aja blinked slowly as the pins and needles of numbness prickled her extremities, marking the return of feeling in her body
. “Yeah, Brooklyn.” Aja’s voice cracked halfway through the woman’s name. “I think you might be right.” She tried to take a deep breath in, but her lungs protested and she coughed, making the pain in her head throb harder. “But”—she coughed again—“I think there’s something much worse than the barn burning down.”
“What?” Brooklyn asked.
Aja took a slow breath, determined not to let it disintegrate into a coughing fit. “I think Aunt Jo is right. Someone might really be trying to kill me.”
Chapter 2
Jackson Dean made his way inside the Texas Rangers’ headquarters and headed straight for his office. It was early in the morning, and he wanted nothing more than to still be in his bed. Unfortunately, a call from his boss, Major Hargrove, had put the kibosh on that plan.
He twisted the knob and switched on the light, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness flooding the room. He remembered how happy he had been to get an office of his own. The room was nothing much to speak of. A typical windowless space in a government building made of white concrete walls and filled with metal furniture. But no matter how bland it was, he was still proud to have his name etched on the door because it came with his promotion to team leader eight years ago.
Today, it looked almost exactly the same as it had when he’d first been given the keys. But at the moment, when sleep hadn’t completely let loose its grip on him, boundless pride wasn’t the emotion he was experiencing. No, it was more like annoyance and frustration grating on his nerves at having to come in early after working in the field late last night.
He dropped his bag on a nearby chair and headed straight for the coffee maker on top of a metal filing cabinet. Fresh, frequent, and plentiful caffeine would be the only thing to keep him from getting an insubordination write-up in his personnel file, so he opened a couple of bottled waters and poured them into the machine.
A tap on his door grabbed his attention. He glanced up from it, rested his eyes on the yet-to-start-dripping coffee machine, and groaned.
“Someone must want me to get a write-up.”
Another tap and he pushed away from the filing cabinet and opened the door.
Jackson Page 1
