Chapter Twenty-Seven
There had been some tension when Russell brought Eric’s new tires out and Tyson pulled up behind him. Russell would be gracious, but they’d all disliked the Morgans for so long it was hard to accept it all so quickly without looking over your shoulder. Eric could respect that.
“They slashed the tires on Lydia’s car too,” Tyson said as he approached them. “I just got hers changed out. What time did they hit you?”
“About three,” Eric said. “They stole Susan’s car only to drive it to her house and leave it.”
Tyson bit down on his bottom lip. “They have a lot of information then. They know who she is and where she lives.”
“She lives here now,” he said. “She and Bethany. I’m not chancing anyone getting to them.”
Russell grunted as he tightened the nut on the tire, which Eric assumed was on purpose.
Tyson grinned. It must have been very obvious.
“Where are they now?”
Eric ran his hand over the back of his neck. “She had classes. We argued about her going, but she won. Bethany was going to hang out there. They promised not to go to the house unless they had a police escort.”
“I have some friends on the force I could call,” Tyson offered.
“Douglas Brant has their numbers. He’s going to check in with them.”
Tyson nodded. “Good guy. They’re in good hands.”
“I’m done.” Russell stood and brushed the dirt from his pants.
“Thanks. Have you met Tyson?”
There was an unmistakable flash of irritation in Russell’s eyes. But he nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Tyson said. Neither of them extended hands to shake.
They were both in a strange position, Eric thought. These were his brothers and yet they were total strangers, even in blood.
Russell threw the tire iron in the back of his truck. “That fence in the east quad is in need of repair. I’m heading over. You coming?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Without another word, Russell climbed into his truck and drove off.
“He doesn’t like me much,” Tyson said kicking the dirt with his boot.
“It’s going to take some getting used to. Morgan isn’t a name we’ve been known to embrace.”
“Walker at our house wasn’t too nicely met either,” he said with a crooked grin. “Lydia got a hold of the guest list.”
“Anyone we know?”
Tyson rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “Your uncle is there, just as you’d assumed.”
“Figures.”
“Your dad is too.”
Eric snapped his head up. “My father?”
“It’s on the list.”
Eric tightened his jaw. “Who else?”
“Dwight Peterson.”
He thought on the name. “I don’t know him.”
“Are you familiar with Peterson Oil?”
“Of course.”
“Looks like they are coming to dinner. He and his son, who is about our age.”
“We’re not going to find out we have more brothers are we?” Eric joked, but there was some realistic worry in the joke.
Tyson must have thought so too, but he laughed. “I don’t think so. The grandson’s name is Shooter.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Afraid I’m not. But there’s no reason not to assume that this land stuff has something to do with them.”
“If it’s a legit deal, why destroy our properties?”
“I don’t know. That’s what concerns me. Who else is involved aside from Dwight and Shooter?”
“That’s the whole list?”
“It’s all she got.”
“I’ll ask Douglas about it. We have a few days before the dinner. Maybe we can find out more.”
Walker Pride Page 37
