Legacy of Lies

by Jillian David

  Legacy of Lies

  Hell’s Valley, Book 1

  Jillian David

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2016 by Jillian David.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance™

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-5072-0180-X

  ISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0180-0

  eISBN 10: 1-5072-0181-8

  eISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0181-7

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © The Killion Group, © Al Voelker/123RF

  Thank you for purchasing a Crimson Romance novel. Please sign up for our weekly newsletter for information on new releases, contests, discounts and more.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  Chapter 1

  The thunk of cowboy boots increased in volume. Bad news heading down the hall.

  Bad news but good memories. Holy moly.

  Sara gripped the edge of the desk and pretended to pay attention to the parents sitting across from her. She managed to maintain eye contact, while inside, her heart rattled against her ribs.

  Come on now.

  She was a take-charge professional, able to handle any curveball thrown her way. And the long day of parent-teacher conferences was almost over.

  Thank God. She’d had about as much as any person could take of polite chitchat, telling parents the good and the not-so-good things she observed in their children, and the silent parental accusations. Because how could someone like Sara Lopez sit there with a straight face and judge their kids? Maybe one day, her faulty parentage, stupid teenage acts, and relationship disasters wouldn’t cling to her neck like cold, heavy chains.

  Until then? Continue to smile until her face hurt. Pretend she didn’t care that most folks in the tiny town of Copper River never left and never forgot anything. Bide her time until she could move on with her life.

  One meeting to go, and it promised to be a doozy. The chill crawling up her spine had nothing to do with the Wyoming mountain weather. Early November. Going to be a long, frigid winter.

  The stomp of leather on linoleum grew louder outside her door. The rhythm of the steps slowed. Air cooled the sweat on her forehead.

  “Ms. Lopez?” Sitting across the desk, the vaguely familiar man in his late thirties shifted in his seat next to his wife and shot Sara a questioning stare behind his thick glasses. Sara knew most folks in town by sight at least.

  They knew her by reputation.

  “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Heat flooded her neck and face. Damn her past, but as the new teacher in town, she needed to prove herself and handle the pressure. These parents in front of her deserved her attention.

  In this small town, any misstep on Sara’s part would travel through town and back before she got home tonight. Always did. Even though she’d grown up for the most part here, her family, or lack thereof, gave her permanent outsider status, and her adolescent hijinks provided the icing on the cake for most folks’ poor opinion of her, despite the years that had passed.

  Hope passed over the face of the father in front of her. “We were asking if Lucas is reading at his grade level. We worked with him over last summer.” The man glanced at his tired wife. She was pregnant with their fourth—or was it fifth?—child.

  Sara swallowed a lump in her throat and deliberately placed her hands on the desk, one on top of the other. Perfect. Now she was relaxed, focused, and most assuredly not distracted by what awaited her outside her classroom.

  Resisting the urge to glance at the door, she responded, “Lucas is a pleasure to have in class. In comparing notes from Mrs. Johnston’s assessment from last year, I see your son has advanced his reading skills to very close to second-grade level. He’s confident enough to read out loud in class now. You’re doing a great job, so keep up the nightly reading—it’s helping.”

  Both parents smiled as their shoulders relaxed. At least these parents were involved. Caring.

  “Our son talks about how much fun he has in school now. We’re so happy. It’s great to have new teachers in the community, even if you’re—”

  His wife jabbed him in the ribs.

  And just like that, her past popped up and pulled an ugly face. With such a small town, even her absence while she attended college hadn’t erased the citizens’ collective memory.

  Suppressing a sigh, she kept her facial expression neutral and gave the man time to recover from the slip.

  He cleared his throat. “Thanks for believing that our son can improve.”

  “Of course. All kids have potential. It’s our job to work together and find out how he’ll learn best.”

  The footsteps in the hallway stopped, and a scuff transmitted through the classroom door. Like the person walking had pivoted. A shadow flashed by the small window in the door.

  Her voice came out too high-pitched. “Well, if you have any other concerns about Lucas, please let me know. We’ll meet again in the springtime. But for right now, keep up the good work with the reading, especially over the holidays coming up.”

  The couple stood and shook her hand. As he exited the room, the man placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back.

  Something unpleasant, like emptiness mixed with jealousy, pinched in Sara’s lower back. She tried to ignore the discomfort.

  But she couldn’t ignore the new hand that caught the door right before it closed. Big, square fingers with trimmed, work-roughened nails blanched as they gripped the metal. A flannel sleeve encased a thick wrist dusted with reddish hair. Sinews flexed as he pushed open the door.

  Hail Mary ... yum.

  Sara blinked hard. Stay professional. She needed all her faculties with her today. She knew a little about Garrison Taggart’s life since he graduated high school five years ahead of her: his wife, his son, the sudden breakup and divorce. Heck, she had appreciated that the people in town had someone else to talk about for a while there.

  All day, she’d wondered how it would go, meeting her adolescent crush, all grown up. A rush of terrified giggles threatened to burst out of her lips.

  Get a grip on yourself. He had no clue about her teenage infatuation and didn’t deserve to walk into a parent-teacher meeting where the teacher was all aflutter. Besides, both of them were older, hopefully wiser, and world-wearier. She had that po
lice record and a less-than-respectable family background. If the gossip could be believed, Garrison now had his own demons.

  A colleague had warned her about Garrison Taggart’s unwilling participation in parent-teacher conferences. He disliked meetings, he didn’t have time for teachers, and he resented anything that took him away from his ranch. And God help anyone who said a critical word about his kid.

  Odds were, he wouldn’t like what Sara had to say.

  The man filled the doorway, blocking the light behind him for a moment. As he entered the room, he removed his tan cowboy hat, and short, wavy hair the color of burnt sienna became visible. Beneath thick slashes of reddish-brown eyebrows, his amber-colored eyes took her breath away as he broke eye contact long enough to dip his head in a curt nod. He raised an eyebrow and waited.

  Her dry tongue unstuck enough to form words. “Please come in, Mr. Taggart. You’re right on time.”

  “Of course I am.”

  She flinched. The frigid tone rivaled the wind chill outside and made her glance at the clock on her wall: 4:22. She had run two minutes late for his time slot.

  He crossed the worn linoleum floor in three strides, bringing with him scents of horses, hay, leather, and hardworking male. She inhaled, triggering fond memories of watching rodeo competitions featuring a certain steer roper.

  Too bad her pleasant thoughts didn’t jibe with the scowling man standing next to the chair.

  Keep it professional. Stay cool. You can do this.

  Sara wiped damp palms on her black slacks and stuck out her hand. “Mr. Taggart, I’m glad you were able to take time to meet about Zach.”

  His strong hand wrapped around hers.

  Rough skin against soft. His ruddy, weathered skin against her light olive tone. Opposites all around, but damned if their hands didn’t look perfect together.

  Seriously? She slid her hand out of his grasp, trying hard to ignore the zing of excitement traveling up her arm.

  “Garrison.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Call me Garrison. When you say Mr. Taggart, I start looking around for my old man.”

  Garrison Taggart was anything but old. He must be, what, a few years past thirty now? Other than some weatherworn fine lines around his eyes, nothing else about his fit physique indicated he was anything but in the prime of his life.

  When a twinkle lit the gold flecks in his eyes, her neck warmed up. Her thick hair, worn down today, had been a bad idea, if the heat building up at the nape of her neck was any indication.

  “All right, then. I’m Sara.”

  “Didn’t you go to high school with my kid brother and sister?” His low voice flowed over her like wind blowing through pine trees, and she inhaled, despite herself.

  “Kerr and Shelby? They were a year ahead of me.”

  “Thought so. Most everyone in town knows everyone else, one way or another. It’s a small town.” He pinned her with an uncomfortable stare.

  “Sure is.” If he didn’t name her past missteps, no way would she serve up the bait. “Kerr and Shelby might not remember me. Um, I kept mostly to myself. But, yes, I was acquainted with them from school.”

  “You were acquainted with the Wonder Twins, you mean?” When he smiled, honest-to-God smiled, all of those harsh lines morphed into a handsome, wry expression that made her weak in the knees. Wow. For a moment, this grinning guy was the Garrison she had pined after in high school. Laughing, carefree, confident.

  “Your siblings were nice. Kids liked them.”

  He mumbled something and fell silent, staring at her. His brows drew together, and the light, smiling demeanor bled away. Just like that, the illusion of the high school Garrison dissolved, leaving a tired, bitter man.

  The conversation dropped like a dead fish on the desk between them. Small talk, done. Message received.

  Pulling a file from the stack, she opened the cover. “So, anyway. Um, let’s get to work.” Holy rosary, could she be any less smooth?

  He relaxed into the seat across the desk from her. The chair next to him remained conspicuously empty. When he rested a dusty-booted ankle on his knee and balanced his Stetson on his solid thigh, she sighed and made a superhuman effort not to stare at the taut denim covering his ...

  Wow, she needed to stick with the parent-teacher routine and ignore how the guy made her ovaries tremble with excitement.

  A stormy expression settled on his brow. “I agree. Is this going to take long? I have to get back to work.”

  Hard muscles tightened the fabric of his checkered work shirt and worn jeans. Every inch of him brimmed with rugged vitality and scents of the outdoors.

  This man was the opposite of Sara. Although she had participated in the occasional teenage bonfire in the summer, no one could accuse her of being an adventurous sportswoman. Her idea of roughing it involved sleeping in her house with a window open.

  With effort, she tore her gaze away from his gold-flecked eyes and said, “Uh, well. This time is yours to do with as you wish. But I’d like to discuss Zach.”

  “What about him?” That calm, low voice switched to knife-edge sharp in the space of a second. A warning.

  She flipped through the papers, cursing under her breath as one page floated to the floor. With fumbling fingers, she retrieved the paper and pulled out her evaluation.

  “So, Zach is a very bright young man. I’m sure you’re proud of him.”

  A grunt. Possibly the Garrison equivalent of approval.

  “He’s above grade level in math and reading ...”

  A square finger flicked the worn leather hat brim.

  “And, ah, he gets along with most of the kids.”

  “Most?” Garrison leaned forward and narrowed his gaze at her.

  Stop it, she commanded her tapping foot. “Yes, he has some friends, and they get along well.”

  His glare hit the balance between cold assessment and irritation.

  Sweat collected between her breasts, and she prayed the dampness wouldn’t show through her pink button-down shirt. She tried not to pull a chicken-wing move, but paranoia and warmth were pretty good reasons for the deodorant to fail.

  This man had her tied in more knots than a macramé hammock.

  “But?” he said.

  Damn her pounding heart, she hated confrontation more than anything—practically had a Ph.D. in avoiding it, for all the good that had done. Heck, she’d rather dust off her treadmill and jog a few miles than share unpopular information with this big, grumpy man.

  “You and Zach live on the ranch.”

  “Yeah, so?” His response hit quick, like the lash of a whip.

  She swallowed. “Are things, um, pretty okay at home?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is his mother involved at all?”

  “Number one, this is a small town, and unless you’ve been under a rock, you know damn well she left us last Christmas. Number two, my personal life is no one’s business.” He paused to take a breath. “Why? What are you getting at?”

  She flinched. “Look, Garrison, I understand about your situation. It’s just that some kids come from homes where the parents are separated—”

  “What’s that have to do with the price of cattle?” His jaw tightened as his mouth pressed into a hard slash. No more a handsome man, his face had darkened like a thundercloud about to burst.

  And Sara stood right in the path of the storm.

  “No, what I mean is, sometimes children in families without a parent present have a hard time processing things emotionally. Sometimes those kids might act out. They don’t know how else to express their feelings when they’re upset.”

  “My son misbehaving?”

  “More like he doesn’t know how to handle certain situations. When stressed out, like if another child teases him, Zach overreacts.”

  “How?”

  “Well, he yelled at one of his friends the other day and shoved another kid. And this isn’t the first time he’s lashed out at a classmat
e.”

  He snorted. “Must’ve had a good reason.”

  “Possibly. I do think there is some bullying that’s part of the problem, but Zach’s reaction is why I’m asking about his home life, so I understand how best to help him. Sometimes things going on outside of school affect my students. Does he act out at home at all?”

  “No. He knows the rules and follows them.” A hard, blank expression descended upon his face. The emotional shutters were firmly closed.

  She’d bet her left shoe that Garrison didn’t tolerate anyone who didn’t follow his rules.

  Well, rough terrain ahead.

  “So then, is his mother involved?”

  Fwap, fwap. He flicked the edge of the hat brim. “You asked that already. It’s not your business. But, no, she’s gone for good. I thought people in town knew everything about everyone else’s business.”

  She ignored the implied jab. The folks sure knew about her family and her mistakes. “How did he react when you and his mother split up?”

  “What’s it matter?”

  That bead of sweat on her chest tormented her. “Because I think that’s part of the problem.”

  “We split up almost a year ago.”

  If Garrison kept tapping on the hat, she’d have to reach over the desk and grab his hand. Everything about this man drove her to madness. Even worse, she swore he could tell and did the action just to be annoying. She rolled her hands into fists on her legs.

  Keep going.

  “Was it a rough separation?”

  “Again, what does it matter? Ancient history. Everyone has a past they’d rather not remember. Wouldn’t you agree?” His amber stare pinned her in place.

  So, to answer her question, yes, he knew about her poor choices, probably every one of them. Copper River being a small town and all.

  Fair enough. He had a right to be irritated when someone invaded his privacy. But he didn’t get to shrug off his son, no matter how many buttons Garrison and Sara both ended up pushing.

  She struggled to keep her comments to herself.

  Trying a relaxation technique, she clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. It failed.