Amy stared at him. Her cheeks flushed and the way her lips had gone white and thin, he knew her anger was whipping up to a frenzy inside her. He braced himself for her retort.
“You’ve gotten two apologies from your mom before today? Two of them?” Her voice was soft, but harsh. Like a pressure cooker letting off a wisp of steam right before it exploded.
“Yeah, two. Which is why I have so much trouble believing her sincerity this third time.”
Amy stood and stalked toward him. “Do you have any idea what I’d have given for my mom to apologize once for what she put my sisters and me through? For what she put herself through? Do you have any idea what that would’ve meant to me?” Her voice was raw with pain.
How could he make her understand when her grief over losing her mom was so fresh? “Amy, your situation and mine are totally different.”
“Are they?”
Before he could respond, his mother spoke. “Amy, let me answer my son’s concerns. After everything I’ve done wrong, I don’t blame him for being skeptical.”
Amy narrowed her eyes at Kellan. “Sorry, Tina, but I can’t stand seeing someone squander the chance to make things right with the people they love, as if they have all the time in the world to waste. I learned the hard way that you never know when an opportunity will be your last.”
Kellan reached for her, but she pulled her hand away and stomped to her seat. His mom patted her knee—a soothing, motherly gesture that stoked Kellan’s disgust. Scowling, he averted his eyes and said, “Give me one good reason why I should believe you this time.”
“Because I’m finally free of your father’s influence.”
He looked at her, confused about what one had to do with the other. “His influence?”
“Declan and I brought out the worst in each other from the start. Never could be around each other sober. This time when he was in jail, I got straight with myself. Clear eyed. That was the last time I apologized to you.”
He remembered all too well the burgeoning hope he’d felt that perhaps the sobriety would stick that time. What a fool he’d felt like when she proved him wrong again.
She turned to Amy. “I had a job for two years cleaning houses. First week Declan was out of jail, I started lighting up again—meth. Second week, I lost my job. Third week, I realized it was him, all this time, bringing me down. Now, that’s not to say I didn’t have any part in it, because I take full responsibility for what I did to myself.”
“And what you did to me and Jake?”
Her lips pursed and her head shook, like she couldn’t decide to nod or shake it. “I know what I did to you two. And it’s a vicious cycle, let me tell you, to have that understanding of the lives you’ve screwed up. Drove me back to the drugs to dull the pain of my regrets. That’s why the program requires us to apologize. We can’t heal unless we own our mistakes, and stop trying to forget what we’ve done wrong. Maybe someday you’ll forgive me, but either way, I can’t stay clean without acknowledging to myself what a mess I made of all our lives.”
Amy took her hand. The sight turned Kellan’s vision red. He tried to breathe deeply, but the room’s stuffy, heated air closed in on him. He dragged a finger between his shirt collar and his neck, but it didn’t help. His watch read eleven-forty. Five minutes until the service concluded. He needed to get out of there, off the church property before he had to confront the gossip-greedy stares of the parishioners again.
He stood, swaying with lightheadedness. Once the dizziness passed, he opened the door and gestured for the women to precede him out. “Okay, you apologized. I’ll drive you to the bus terminal in Albuquerque. Let’s go.”
His mother rose, her spine straight as a rod, and she met Kellan’s eyes with a hard, prideful expression. “Thank you for the offer, but I have a ticket on a bus out of Tucumcari tomorrow morning. I’ll find somewhere in town to stay tonight.”
“The Highway Flyer Motel is a good choice, close to the bus terminal. I’ll drive you there. But we have to get out of here. Now!” He opened the door more widely and glanced at the doughnut table. In a couple minutes, it would be swarming with people.
His mother took a step toward the door, but Amy stood and blocked her. “Nonsense. Tina, you’ll stay at my house tonight. We have plenty of room.”
Panic flared inside him. “Amy, no. She can stay at the Highway Flyer. You have enough to deal with.”
She wagged her finger at him. “You don’t treat family like that—shoving them off in some motel for the night. I’m going to give your mom a place to stay and there’s nothing you can do about it unless you’re inviting her to stay with you.”
Damn it. He gnashed his teeth. Didn’t matter how hard he wished it were otherwise, he couldn’t stop looking like an uncaring coward in front of Amy. But neither of his parents were welcome in his home, even if Amy thought him the Devil for it.
Amy sniffed. “That’s what I thought.” She took his mom’s hand. “Tina, did I understand correctly that your son, Jake, is not expecting you in Los Angeles?”
Shifting her weight, his mother fussed with a button on her jacket. “No.”
“Can we talk about this by our cars?” Kellan asked. “We’ve got to get out of here before the service ends.”
Amy kept her focus to his mother. “Christmas is in three days. Do you have someone to celebrate with?”
Kellan sucked in a pained breath. He was dizzy again, and sweaty. He gripped the arm of the nearest chair. This couldn’t be happening. Don’t say it, don’t say it, he silently pleaded with Amy.
“No one should be alone this time of year. Would you like to stay with my family for Christmas? We can get you a new bus ticket to Los Angeles after the holiday.”
Oh, God. She said it.
Then the sound of doors rattling open gave way to a din of a hundred people filling the courtyard, chatting and laughing. Someone noted the excellent doughnut selection, while another whined about the powdered coffee creamer. A group of men discussed the slate of football games that afternoon.
Kellan closed his eyes. They were too late to escape.
He drove home on autopilot. He didn’t know what to think or how to feel about Amy or his mother. He could only imagine what the people of Catcher Creek were discussing over their Sunday suppers.
He didn’t see Bruce Morton’s truck until he was in the driveway. Morton leaned against the shiny red exterior, waiting. Dread uncoiled in Kellan’s chest, making it tough to breathe. He parked at an angle, blocking Morton’s truck in, and reached for the rifle under his seat. Holding his phone where Morton couldn’t see it, he speed-dialed Vaughn and tucked the phone in his pocket. If Vaughn answered, he might be able to listen in on the conversation and send backup, if need be.
He stepped from the cab, his eyes on Morton, the rifle pointed at the dirt between them. His finger on the trigger.
Morton laughed. “You look like a pussy swinging around that ancient .22 like you’re scared of an old man like me.” The potential for violence radiated from his being and twinkled in his eyes. “How about I even the playing field, just for shits and giggles?”
He reached beneath his shirt and withdrew a black Berretta from the small of his back. “She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” He flicked the safety off and aimed it at Kellan’s front truck tire.
Kellan lifted his rifle in his uncle’s direction. It felt like a child’s toy in his hands compared to the Berretta.
Morton swung the pistol skyward and fired. The boom echoed through the nearby canyons and mesas. Kellan clamped his molars together and did his best not to flinch.
“Fuckin-a, I love that sound,” Morton said with a chuckle.
“What do you want?”
“You’ll never guess what happened to me last night.”
Kellan had a pretty good idea. He held the rifle’s aim steady. “Do tell.”
“FBI showed up at my door, hauled me to Dallas for questioning. Seems they’ve opened an investigation against Amarex.
”
“Guess you should’ve played by the rules.”
“Here’s my question for you, son. Are you recording our conversation right now? Because, let me tell you, I was unprepared to learn that my own flesh and blood set me up.” He trained the pistol on Kellan’s chest.
Run or stand my ground? Run or stand? It was tough to formulate a thought, standing at the business end of a nine millimeter as he was. Staying put seemed like a stupid choice, but then, if he ran, Morton might shoot him in the back. He raised his rifle and looked down the barrel with one eye to make sure Morton was lined up in his sights. Then he locked his eyes on Morton’s trigger finger. One twitch of that finger and he’d shoot his uncle in the gut.
“I’m not recording this, to answer your question. Now I’ve got one for you. You had to know I wouldn’t put up with your bullying of my neighbors indefinitely, so why give me the Amarex file in the first place?”
“You want an honest answer?”
“Might as well give it to me at this point.”
Morton widened his stance and checked the sights on his pistol. “All right. I hoped you’d join me. I hoped somewhere inside you, the Reed and Morton blood still flowed through your veins. I wanted you to be my partner, not some hillbilly rancher.”
“Your partner?”
“Why do you think I wrote you into my will?”
“I figured you did that because it was a way for you to keep your claws in me.”
Morton huffed. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?”
“You want an honest answer?” Kellan said, echoing Morton’s words.
Shaking his head, Morton dropped his gun to his side. “I never had kids. Eileen saw to that. When you came around, I thought I had a second chance to pass my legacy to a new generation. I tried over and over to bring you into my company, but you never could get on board.”
Taking Morton’s cue, Kellan lowered his rifle and took his first deep breath since arriving. “What happened to Eileen? Did you kill her?”
Morton huffed. “No, I didn’t kill her, damn it. She left me. Took half my money and moved to Hawaii. Told me I didn’t talk to her enough or some such female bullshit. You always thought the worst about me, so I didn’t see any reason to share the truth with you.”
Was that hurt in Morton’s voice? He wasn’t aware that Morton felt any emotions other than greed or menace. “Since we’re on a truth-telling kick, why don’t you illuminate me about why you want the Sorentino property, even though it’s dry and useless.”
“No, it ain’t.”
“Come again?”
“The property’s not dry. Our exploration crews missed a deep pocket of petroleum in the farm’s southwest pasture. Gerald Sorentino found it.”
Surprise rocketed through him. “Gerald Sorentino was in on a scam?”
“He came to me. The scam was his idea. He proposed the two of us go into business on the sly, split the profits fifty-fifty. He had the oil and I had the equipment and know-how. Of course, I talked his percentage down and his investment price up.”
A 50 percent profit was a solid 20 percent higher than the usual home owner rate, and 30 percent over the pathetic contract Gerald originally signed way back when. The thought infuriated him all over again. The whole mess, the ruined finances, the burden he put on Amy and her sisters, all came down to Gerald’s greed. Like Kellan’s parents. And his uncle. He scowled, the taste of disgust like acid in his mouth. “Let me guess, you upped his investment price because you were aware, all along, of the foreclosure clause in the Sorentino contract.”
“I’m no fool. All I had to do was bankrupt him and the oil would be mine. Then, he died.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Hell, no. My life’s been exponentially more difficult since the bastard ran his car off a cliff. I had him exactly where I wanted him. Maybe he knew. Maybe he was stupid enough to think his death would render the contract void. Like I’d leave his wife and kids alone, and ignore the glut of oil sitting beneath their dirt.”
Morton’s gaze shifted to the horizon. He tucked the Berretta beneath his shirt and cursed.
Kellan chanced a look over his shoulder. Dust billowed along his dirt road. A few seconds later, three patrol cars barreled into the driveway. The officers ducked behind their open doors, guns drawn and trained on Morton. Kellan placed his rifle on the ground.
Vaughn’s voice bellowed into the silence from behind one of the cop car doors. “Put your hands in the air. Now!”
Morton took in the scene around him before sneering at Kellan. “You pussy, calling the cops instead of handling your own business. You would’ve made a god-awful business partner. No stones at all.” He raised his arms.
Vaughn rushed forward, his firearm at the ready, motioning for the other officers to follow.
“He’s armed,” Kellan said. “In his waistband. A nine millimeter Berretta.”
One of the deputy sheriffs flipped Morton’s shirt up and seized his weapon. Another was ready with handcuffs.
“What am I being charged with?” Morton sneered.
“Possession of an unregistered firearm within the state of New Mexico, for starters,” Vaughn said. “But threatening a witness in an investigation will probably be what sends you to prison for a good long time, Morton. Then, when you’re convicted of your Amarex crimes, they’re going to throw the key away to your cell, you greedy son of a bitch.”
Two deputies led him to the backseat of their car.
Holstering his weapon, Vaughn nodded at Kellan. “You called.”
Kellan removed his cell phone from his pocket and hit END on the call to Vaughn. “You came. Thanks. I don’t know if Morton would’ve shot me, but I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.”
“You and me both.” They shook hands. “Now for the not-so-fun part. You get to ride with me to the stationhouse to answer questions and make a statement.”
“Any chance you recorded the phone call?” Kellan asked.
“Every word. Makes me wish Gerald Sorentino was alive so I could arrest his ass too.”
Kellan rubbed his arms. “Are you going to tell Amy, Rachel, and Jenna the truth about their father?”
Squinting into the sun, Vaughn sighed. “Not before Christmas, that’s for sure. But they’ll need to hear it from one of us before it comes up at Morton’s trial.”
Good call. “After Christmas, I’ll tell them. Hopefully, it will be the sisters’ last piece of bad news for a good long while.” He and Vaughn started for his patrol car. Kellan made a detour for his rifle. He nearly put it in his truck, until he realized that concealing a weapon without a permit in front of six police officers was maybe not the best move. “I’ll be right back,” he told Vaughn before jogging into his house.
All the officers but Vaughn had driven away by the time he returned.
“There is a silver lining to this story, you know,” Vaughn said.
Kellan climbed into the passenger seat of the patrol car. “What’s that?”
Vaughn started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. “If Morton was telling the truth, then Sorentino Farm has enough oil underneath it to sustain them indefinitely. No bankruptcy, no foreclosure. That ought to bring the sisters some piece of mind.”
“And, with any luck, a shitload of money to go along with that piece of mind.”
“Amen to that, brother. Amen to that.”
The next morning, the day before Christmas Eve, Amy battled the pull of grief by working through kitchen prep on an elaborate Christmas meal. She held out hope that Kellan would join them, but doubt had taken root in her mind. He hadn’t come to visit that morning, but sent his Slipping Rock workers to manage the farm chores for Rachel. By midmorning, he still hadn’t called.
Could he possibly be that upset with her for taking in his mother? Well, she was mad at him, too. His behavior toward Tina at church had been appalling. After they’d maneuvered their way through the post-service masses, he hadn’t said a word to
her or Tina before speeding out of the parking lot. She understood that his actions stemmed from a place of profound hurt, but still, giving her and Tina the cold shoulder was inexcusable and uncharacteristically immature.
For her part, Tina had been a quiet, unassuming guest at Amy’s home. After a low-key Sunday supper, she’d taken a several-hour walk over the dirt roads of the farm and had generally stayed out of everyone’s way.
This morning, she’d meekly asked if Catcher Creek hosted any AA meetings. Amy and her sisters shrugged, but Mr. Dixon knew all about the daily meetings at the VFW. He was twenty years sober and happy to escort her, he announced, which is where they’d disappeared to a few minutes before Matt Roenick pulled his dusty, red SUV to a stop in front of the house. Amy, Jenna, and Rachel watched from the porch. Sloane and Tommy had retired to the kitchen to bake cookies for an afternoon snack.
Of the three sisters, only Jenna had spoken to the lawyer, so Amy had no idea what to expect before his door opened. He was as tall as Kellan, but slim beneath his white dress shirt and charcoal slacks in a marathon runner sort of way. He offered the sisters an immediate, genuine smile, which earned him tons of bonus points in Amy’s book.
“Well, Jenna,” Amy said under her breath. “Does he look like he sounded over the phone?”
Jenna tilted her head. “Cuter. Way cuter.”
“Oh brother,” Rachel added.
Rachel led the procession into the dining room. While Matt shuffled through papers in his briefcase, Jenna took his drink order.
“I was surprised you were willing to make a house call this close to Christmas,” Amy said, sliding onto the bench across the table from him.
He shrugged. “House calls are my style. I primarily work with home owners who are experiencing problems with oil companies. Not only are people more comfortable talking to me at their homes than driving to my stuffy little office in Santa Fe, but then we can actually go outside and look at the land involved in the home owner’s legal issues.”
The Trouble With Cowboys Page 25
