Best Laid Plans

by Abbie Zanders

  “Oh, I don’t know. I hear Handelmann’s Hardware is expanding. No more driving down into Pine Ridge for bulk mulch or decorative stone. Imagine the possibilities.”

  Sandy grinned. “Not exactly Fifth Avenue.”

  “No,” he agreed. “But I ask you, would you get a ten percent discount on paint and spackling supplies anywhere on Fifth Avenue?”

  “Probably not.” Sandy laughed. “But everyone knows about Handelmann’s. Everyone goes there. There’s no reason to hire me to create stunning promo. It’s like preaching to the choir. Pointless.”

  “Well, they have been in business since 1902.”

  “Exactly my point.” She sighed. “Don’t you see, Len? That’s part of the problem. Everything around here is already set. Established. When was the last time a new business opened its doors in or around Sumneyville?”

  He thought about that for a moment. “I hear there’s a ranch starting up on the mountain, some kind of riding center for people with disabilities. That’s new.”

  Yeah, she’d heard about that too. The woman who owned the place had been all over the local news a few months earlier and a hot topic at Franco’s. She was the only known surviving victim of the Lonely Hearts Killer. Rumor had it, she’d hooked up with a guy in nearby Pine Ridge and had a disabled son or something.

  “I guess there’s the Sanctuary too,” she admitted.

  Lenny’s face grew somber. “You stay away from those guys, Sandy.”

  “Why?” she asked, taken aback by his sudden vehemence, so at odds with Lenny’s usual easygoing, laid-back demeanor. “Matt Winston is a local boy, and what they’re doing there is a good thing.”

  “Matt Winston might have grown up around here, but he was never one of us. And this project of his, it’s going to bring more trouble.”

  “More trouble? What do you mean?”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Hello? Exploding coffee shop ring a bell?”

  “That wasn’t their fault!”

  “No? How about a suspicious fire in the building where one of them was living? Or stealing a police vehicle? Attacking local officers?” Lenny’s face grew stormier as he went. “They have no respect for authority or the law.”

  Sandy knew what he was alluding to, having heard the scuttlebutt at Franco’s, something about a pasture and a “borrowed” police vehicle. She also knew that no charges had been filed against Matt or any of his guys, but it was obviously a touchy subject for Lenny, so she opted to concentrate on the Sanctuary’s mission instead.

  “They are helping veterans. Men and women willing to sacrifice everything so that people like us can live in freedom. We should be supporting them, not shunning them.”

  “Not everyone can handle serving, and these guys Winston is bringing in, they’ve got issues.”

  “Issues,” she repeated. “You mean, like Trace had issues?”

  “We’re not talking about Trace.”

  “But we are,” she insisted. “Maybe if a place like Sanctuary had been around when he came back, he could have gotten the help he needed.”

  Lenny exhaled forcefully. “Nothing could have helped him. He was too far gone.”

  “How can you say that? He was your friend.”

  “The man who came back wasn’t the same man who’d left. Being in the Middle East changed him. I’m sorry, Sandy. I know you don’t want to believe that, but it’s the truth.”

  Her chest tightened. She welcomed the anger because it overshadowed the grief, at least for a little while. “You’re right; I don’t believe it. Yes, being in the service changed him, but seeing the kind of stuff he had would change anyone. He was my brother, and if there was a chance—any chance—to save him, I would have taken it in a heartbeat.”

  “Kevin’s your brother too,” Lenny said, pinning her with a challenging gaze. “How far are you willing to go for him?”

  She reared back as if he’d slapped her. “That’s not fair. It’s not the same thing.”

  “Isn’t it?” he said quietly.

  Tired of the conversation, Sandy got up and went back into the house, but Lenny’s words stayed with her long after.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heff

  Heff stared out at the drenched landscape, appreciating the rhythmic tattoo of the rain on the trailer’s roof while an app on his phone played songs from the seventies. It was soothing, familiar, reminding him of a time very long ago when he, his mother, his father, and his younger sister had been forced to take temporary refuge in a pop-up trailer.

  Three days of torrential rain had driven them from their low-lying house along the river to higher ground. It was cramped and hot and uncomfortable with nothing but the small radio, a worn deck of cards, and a beat-up old box of Yahtzee to keep them entertained, but he counted those days among his happiest memories. They’d been together. They’d been safe.

  They’d also been blissfully unaware that the flood ravaging their tiny town was only the beginning. That, once the rain stopped and they descended back into the lowlands, they’d find that the river had claimed most of their worldly possessions and left behind a foot of mud and muck to cover what was left. That his father would soon die from the knife wounds he’d gotten in a bar room brawl after some biker talked shit about the music he and his band had been playing. And that everything would go downhill from there.

  He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. Dwelling on the past was pointless. He couldn’t go back and change anything. It was what it was.

  He turned up the tunes, smiling to himself as he imagined Mad Dog’s grumbling. All the guys gave him shit about his music, but he knew they liked it too. He’d seen their toes tapping, heard them humming the songs hours later. Seventies music was as eclectic as the decade itself, crossing cultural boundaries and breaking barriers. His playlists had everything from funk and soul to classic rock and disco. The seventies had had it all.

  For the time being, he had the place to himself. Doc and Mad Dog had gone for supplies. Smoke and Sam were holed up in a hotel while Church and Cage called in favors and tried to cover the fact that they’d gone on an unsanctioned, covert op—a mission that had ended up with Sam’s stalker dead and Smoke with a few more holes than he’d had going in.

  Working an op with the guys again had felt good. For a little while, he’d felt that same sense of purpose that had carried him through his years on the teams. Now that it was over, he was feeling that sense of emptiness blanketing him again, attempting to smother the life right out of him. At least when they were actively working on renovating the resort, he could focus on that. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was something.

  The familiar restlessness that had been plaguing him lately escalated. While being a sniper meant he had the ability to channel the patience of a saint when the situation demanded it, he wasn’t the type to sit around and do nothing if he didn’t have to.

  What he wanted to do was drive down into town and coax Sandy into a repeat. Spending the next twelve hours in a hotel room with her would definitely take the edge off.

  What he absolutely, positively could not do was drive into town and coax Sandy into a repeat. The woman had gotten under his skin, and all this stuff with Smoke and Sam and this love connection thing they had going on was fucking with his head.

  Instead, he threw on some rain gear and grabbed one of the four-wheel-drive vehicles Matt kept around, opting to do a perimeter check along the resort property to stave off some of the jitters. He wasn’t expecting to find much, but there had been minor acts of vandalism over the last few weeks. Nothing major, but some of the No Trespassing and Private Property signs had been ripped down and tossed into the woods. They’d discovered three tree stands too, which had shown signs of recent use. It was probably just hunters thinking they were on state game lands, but it paid to keep an eye on that sort of thing.

  Most of the three-hundred-acre parcel was wooded, which made for a nice drive. Heff kept the windows cracked and the vents
open, breathing in the scents of wet earth and leaves as he scouted for anything out of the ordinary.

  As he looped around the western edge, he spotted a turn-off that looked like it had seen some traffic in the last few days. The dirt tracks were easily visible, and the brush on either side had been cut back.

  Church had mentioned something about an old horse farm nearby under new ownership. At one point, Church had considered buying the place himself but decided he already had enough to take care of as it was.

  Curious about the neighbors, Heff took the turn and rumbled along the dirt road until it became a large, semicircular drive in a clearing. To the left sat a big, old farmhouse. To the right, a row of stables in various states of disrepair.

  A man emerged from one of the stables at the sound of tires on gravel. He was dressed in jeans and a dirty white T-shirt, his hands covered by thick, professional-grade working gloves. His face was shadowed by the long-brimmed baseball cap he wore, but Heff’s trained eye quickly cataloged everything else. Broad-shouldered, thirtyish, in good shape. Heff pegged him as former military based on the way he carried himself.

  “Hey.” Heff swung himself out of the vehicle. Thankfully, the rain had stopped.

  “Hey,” the man called back, closing the distance between them. “Can I help you?”

  “Hugh Bradley,” Heff said, holding his hand out. “Everyone calls me Heff.”

  The man accepted his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Brian McCain.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brian.”

  “Same.”

  “This your place?” Heff asked.

  “Yeah, just bought it a few months ago.”

  “Church—sorry, Matt Winston—said you’re going to turn it into a hippotherapy center.”

  Some of the wariness left the other man’s face at the mention of Church’s name. “You’re with the Sanctuary?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great concept, man.”

  “We think so.”

  Brian pulled a bandana from his back pocket, lifted the brim of his cap, and wiped his forehead. “Can I offer you a cold beer? Water?”

  “Water would be great, thanks.”

  Heff followed Brian into the stables just as the rain started falling in earnest again. Brian grabbed two plastic bottles from the massive cooler and then sank down on a stack of wooden crates. Heff followed suit.

  “So, what brings you around, Heff?” Brian asked.

  “Just doing a perimeter check and saw the fresh cuts. Thought I’d come by and introduce myself.”

  “Perimeter check, huh? You guys having problems?”

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” Heff assured him. He looked around, taking in the building, appreciating the workmanship of hand-hewn beams. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

  “No, they sure don’t,” Brian agreed.

  “Are you doing the complete renovation yourself?”

  “Not entirely. My fiancée, Tori, is the brains of the operation. I’m just the hired muscle.” He grinned. “And we’ve got some friends helping out when they can.” Brian raised the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. “Could always use more though.”

  “I hear that,” Heff said. “More hands, more money, more time.”

  Brian laughed. “Exactly.”

  Another vehicle came rumbling up the drive. It had barely stopped when a boy got out and ran over to Brian in a limping sort of gait. “Brian! Brian! Guess what! We just bought a horse!”

  As the kid got closer, Heff noticed that half his face and one of his arms were badly scarred, as if burned. The kid pulled up short when he noticed Heff, his macabre smile fading somewhat as he stopped behind a large pole, shielding his damaged side.

  Brian’s eyes shifted from the boy to the woman getting out of the truck. The look of total adoration on Brian’s face sent an odd pang of longing through Heff’s chest.

  She came to stand next to Brian and met Heff’s gaze. “Hi. I’m Tori, and this is Danny.”

  “Hugh Bradley,” he said, nodding to the woman and to the boy, currently peeking out at him from behind the big pole.

  “Hugh’s with the Sanctuary,” Brian said.

  “The Sanctuary! It’s a great thing you’re doing,” she said, her eyes softening as she turned her gaze away from him and looked up at Brian with the same kind of adoration Heff had seen on his face.

  “You too,” Heff said.

  “So, a horse, huh?” Brian said.

  “Yep,” she said, matching Brian’s look with one of her own. “A draft horse cross.”

  “Belgian or Percheron?” Heff asked.

  “Belgian,” Tori answered, her eyes widening. “You know horses?”

  “I know some,” he told her with a grin. “I worked a few ranches when I was younger.”

  “Want a job?” She laughed.

  “Got one,” he said, smiling back at her, “but I wouldn’t mind helping out a couple of hours a week.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.” The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. He’d always enjoyed working with horses, and it would give him another reason not to drive down into Sumneyville when he started feeling anxious.

  “That would be ... well, great actually,” she said, exchanging a glance with Brian. “Thank you.”

  “Much appreciated, man,” Brian told him.

  “No problem.”

  “I picked up some groceries while I was in town. Would you join us for lunch, Hugh?”

  “Thanks, but no. I should be getting back. Nice to meet you, Tori, Danny.” He shook hands with Brian and Danny.

  The kid beamed and had a strong grip.

  Heff looked back in his rearview mirror as he drove away, his spirits improved from when he’d first arrived. He was looking forward to working around horses again. Riding and caring for them had always calmed his mind, helped him focus.

  As he circled his way around the top of the mountain, heading back toward the Sanctuary, Heff started thinking that maybe, instead of rebuilding the stables at the resort, they could work up some kind of agreement with Brian and Tori. Working with horses could be therapeutic. Cathartic. Lots of vets could benefit, and it would be one less thing on their to-do list. He made a mental note to mention it to Church the next chance he got.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sandy

  Sandy sat back from her laptop and exhaled heavily. She no longer held out any spark of hope that her father was coming back for Kevin. In fact, it didn’t appear that he would be going anywhere anytime soon. According to Lenny, he’d been arrested for racking up a substantial debt on stolen credit cards and was being held without bail in Atlantic City. No luck in locating Kevin’s mom either.

  With only a few days to go before she was supposed to start her new job, Sandy had whittled her available options down to two: take Kevin with her to New York or kiss her dream job good-bye and stay in Sumneyville for the foreseeable future and hope that, someday, she might get another chance.

  She thought about her small loft. Cozy for one, but it would be suffocating for two. Even if they could manage it, it wasn’t as if she could leave him alone all day while she went to work, especially to a job that promised seventy- to eighty-hour workweeks. The city did have day care centers, but they were expensive.

  Staying in Sumneyville, as unpalatable as it was, was at least financially viable. Lenny wouldn’t have a problem with her staying in the house, and the rent she was paying him was a fraction of an apartment in the city. Plus, she had her job at Franco’s, and Lenny told her they’d hire her back at the township building in a heartbeat. Apparently, Mrs. Delvecchio saw the front desk as more of a social position than a secretarial one, and many of the locals were grumbling.

  The town hall conference room was usually empty too, which meant she could take Kevin with her until she found another solution, and there was Mrs. Mitchell for her evening shifts at the restaurant.

  There really is
only one feasible option, she realized bleakly.

  Not for the first time, she felt a wave of frustration rise up inside her. Through no fault of her own, she was being forced to put her carefully crafted plans back on hold. Plans that had taken years to build were now gone because of her father’s thoughtless, selfish actions. The man truly was a menace, creating messes and leaving others to clean up after him with no thought to how it would affect their lives.

  Then, she looked at Kevin, and some of the anger drained away. None of this was his fault.

  It couldn’t be easy for him either. Outwardly, he didn’t look any different than he had before she told him their father wouldn’t be coming back. His expression was as neutral as ever as he sat quietly, sketching more horses in his book.

  But something had changed. Kevin was staying closer to her now than he had been, and there was no mistaking his increased anxiety the last couple of times she’d left him at Mrs. Mitchell’s house. It didn’t take an expert to put the pieces together and see that Kevin was afraid she’d be abandoning him soon too. He’d probably overheard her increasingly desperate phone calls and nightly conversations with Lenny over the past few weeks. He might be autistic, but he wasn’t deaf or stupid.

  Kevin deserved better. They both did. Unfortunately, life was sometimes about what you were dealt, not what you deserved. The important thing was, they were family, and family stuck together when things got tough.

  She shut the laptop down and summoned a smile. “I have to run some errands. We’re nearly out of coffee and Cheerios. Want to come with me?”

  He gave no indication he’d heard her.

  “We could stop at the arts and crafts store and pick up some new drawing pencils while we’re out.”

  Kevin stopped sketching.

  “Or charcoals, whatever. Maybe a new sketchbook too. Looks like you’ve just about used up all the pages in that one.”

  Immediately, Kevin began putting his things away, methodically sliding each pencil back into the box, and then he put that and his sketchbook into his backpack. He stood and shifted his weight back and forth.