Legacy of Lies

by Jillian David

  Shelby pinched the bridge of her nose, then shot Garrison a nasty look before storming out of the kitchen. Absorbing all of his foul emotions probably made Shelby’s brain feel like it was getting sandblasted with glass shards. At least Garrison’s power worked like an on-and-off switch. Poor Shelby couldn’t pick which emotions bombarded her. When she was tired or stressed, she absorbed all of the feelings around her.

  He wanted to go after her and apologize, but he stayed put.

  Garrison had no time to add her to his to-do list.

  • • •

  Sara’s insides shook like Jell-O as she clutched the front door handle, but she tried to remain polite. No way was she going to give Hank the satisfaction of seeing her intimidated.

  “What are you doing here, Hank? I believe our conversation from this evening already ended.”

  “That’s the best welcome you can give your former ball and chain?” His calm demeanor clashed with the uncontrollable snicker that erupted from his mouth. “Ball and chain, get it?”

  “No, I don’t. And we were only dating, Hank. What do you want?”

  Serious now, his cold stare raked up and down her body. “You’re looking ... healthy as usual.”

  It would be so much easier if he didn’t hide behind this polite veneer, despite the fact his voice was like sandpaper across an open wound. Even when they’d been dating, he always made backhanded compliments about her body. Some things didn’t change. But she couldn’t very well slap a guy making seemingly pleasant conversation, could she?

  And no, she would not tug at her clothing. Instead, she jammed her foot under the inner edge of the door, preventing it from opening any farther.

  “Did you come here to insult me, Hank, or do you have some purpose to this visit?”

  “Insult you? Why would I do that, Sarita? You’re such a special woman.”

  Steam must be coming out of her ears by now. Her full name always slithered out of his mouth. He’d never said her given name in a positive way, ever.

  As for “special”? The only way she’d be special was if she grew a third eyeball.

  “Cut it out, Hank.”

  “Anyone tell you how defensive you are?” His attempt at a handsome, innocent expression never reached his eyes. Those brown eyes remained cold and dull, like mud.

  Damn his emotionless face. Damn his platitudes. “Good night, Hank.”

  When he stopped the door with his hand on the casing, her heart pattered against her ribcage, but she stood her ground.

  “I’m not done.” He flexed his grip on the wood, shoving the door back open. All with a blank smile on his face. If anyone were out on the street, they would hear nothing more than polite chitchat on his part.

  While she came across rude and angry.

  Was he drunk? She inhaled. He didn’t smell like booze. Hank was 100 percent stone cold sober. He stared like he could slice her in half with his gaze.

  And he was calm. Too calm.

  Holy Christ.

  “Friendly warning, Ms. Lopez.”

  Every inch of her skin turned to ice.

  “You will stay away from Garrison Taggart and his family.” His voice crawled over her like a lover’s whisper gone all wrong.

  “What’s Garrison to you?” It took all of her courage to resist taking a step back.

  “Shut up and listen.” He rapped his knuckles on the door casing, and she jumped. “Pay attention!”

  The air caught in her throat as she focused on the man in front of her. Hank scooted his foot into the foyer.

  The hammering in her chest reverberated in her ears.

  “You like your job?” He smiled.

  “What?”

  Stars crowded the corners of her vision. Her job, the students she loved, her loan repayment. Forget the money. Could her career recover if she got fired only a year out of school? Probably not.

  “What?” she whispered.

  He grinned and shifted a hip into the house, leaning on the doorframe. “My brother’s your boss. He’ll do what I tell him. And I hate the Taggarts. You hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, if you get involved with anything to do with the Taggart family, including that giant dickhead Garrison, you can kiss your career good-bye. I will personally see to it.”

  “Why are you doing this? You never mentioned issues with the Taggarts before.”

  Hank curled a hand into a fist and propped it on the door handle. An eerie flash of uncontrolled rage twisted his features. “It’s none of your business. I have a score to settle with Garrison Taggart. He ruined something of mine. So I’ll ruin something else of his.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ve been called to destroy them all, you know.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “In the world? It’s what’s not in the world that’s important. Get it?” He shook his shaggy head. “You wouldn’t understand. No one does. But the Great One knows.” After a big breath, his energy dropped from crazy back to surly. “But you? You’re nothing to me. Nothing in this town. No family, no respect. Your reputation as a thief still hangs on here. All you have is your job. Barely. So you’d better do as I say or that’ll be gone. Hell, I could accuse you of stealing my Kershaw knife collection. Bet the charge would stick, what with your history.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “Guaranteed that law enforcement would find the collection here, too.” His ugly grin held the warmth of a jail cell.

  She whispered, “I hear you.”

  “Good. Now give me a kiss for old time’s sake.”

  Rearing back, she tried to close the door. He shouldered into the entryway, grabbed her neck and jaw in a vice grip, and squeezed hard. Then he put his cold, damp lips on her forehead.

  All while remaining calm. Damn him.

  Then with a nasty smirk and a shove, he was gone.

  She worked her jaw, sore where he’d clamped his fingers.

  The threat was clear. She had a choice to make regarding Zach and also now about Garrison.

  Keep her head down, pay off her loans, and get out of town.

  Or take a stand and risk everything.

  Chapter 8

  “Yep, looks like more damage.” Kerr’s light tone belied the seriousness of the situation. He shifted on the horse like he was born to ride. Nowadays, Garrison’s younger brother moved more naturally on the horse than on solid ground. That damned IED in Afghanistan had taken his brother’s right leg, but it hadn’t taken his tracking skills.

  Or his killer sharpshooting abilities.

  Kerr pushed up the brim of his hat so a bit of curly orange hair, the same color as Shelby’s, appeared. Then he adjusted the scope on his rifle. “I see some people over in that next valley. And cattle.”

  “Our cattle?”

  “Whoa there, trigger. I’m good, but I’m not magic,” he said, while continuing to look through the scope. His slow, shallow breaths sent streams of vapor into the cold air. At least it had stopped snowing this morning, leaving only a few inches on the ground to contend with today.

  Not that Garrison ever worried about getting lost with Kerr around. His brother’s GPS power was an odd gift that served him well on missions in the Middle East. And that ability sure came in handy when he guided clients into the mountains for days or weeks at a time. Always exited the forest right where the trucks and horse trailers were parked. Uncanny.

  He could also disappear. Well, not exactly disappear, but fade away to where no one noticed him. Kerr rarely used that ability. Too painful, he said.

  “You’re not magic? That’s not what I’ve heard from the ladies,” Garrison needled his brother.

  Relaxing away from the gun for a moment, Kerr flashed a rakish grin. “I bet you have heard, Mr. Polygraph. And of all the people on this earth, only you know for sure it’s God’s honest truth.”

  Good to see Kerr finally back to his old randy self. The last two years had been pure hell on him and ro
ugh on the whole family. Kerr’s warped sense of humor had been a big factor in his recovery.

  Garrison snorted. “Humility is one of your greatest qualities.”

  Puffing out his chest, Kerr swept invisible dust from his shoulder. “I resemble that remark.” He winced as he kneed his horse over and blew out a lungful of air. He squinted again into the scope. Brow furrowing, he muttered, “I can’t see the tags or ear cuts on the cattle from here.”

  “Can’t you dial up more magnification or something?”

  “I know they say there are no dumb questions, but man.” He pulled a face and said in a voice that was almost too manly to be believed. “Yeah, you’ve caught me. I’ve been holding out on you. Let me pop my bionic lens into the scope.”

  Garrison growled.

  Kerr scrubbed the orange stubble on his chin and spoke in his normal tone. “Dude. I’m exhausted. After spending ten days up in the high country wiping the hineys of those city slickers from Texas, I’m beat. I can only kiss ass for so long before my lips start to stink. And you know I’m still having those stupid dreams we’re all experiencing. Consider yourself blessed that I was willing to track with you today.” He glared at him.

  “You think I’m lucky, having you here? You smell like armpit and rotten horse.” At the offended gasp from Kerr, Garrison shrugged. “But in all seriousness, thanks for helping out.”

  Yeah, Kerr didn’t have to turn right around and come with him to the back of the property. Damn it, Garrison was running out of options for help.

  Dad had wanted to rest at home. Very unusual for an active guy like his father who rarely missed out on any action on the ranch. Dad had refused to see a doctor, which was typical. But Garrison had caught him shuffling aimlessly and staring into space a few times. Damn it. He needed to get checked out by a professional.

  More items on the to-do list.

  “Not a problem. Happy to help.” Kerr popped his hand onto a hip. “Speaking of body odor, smelled yourself lately?”

  “Fresh as a daisy.”

  “I did notice the thick musk of bad cologne there. So. Who’s the lucky lady?”

  Warmth, like thick, delicious molasses, spread out from his chest. “Uh. There’s no lady.”

  Garrison avoided making eye contact. Kerr couldn’t read emotions, but hiding anything in this family was nearly impossible.

  “That’s not what Shel says.”

  “Come on. When did you two get a chance to talk?”

  Kerr tapped his forehead beneath his tan cowboy hat. “Don’t need to.”

  He turned his upper body square to his brother. “What? Your power changed? You two can communicate mentally now?”

  “Naw, I’m just screwing with you. Shel told me how you’re hot for teacher right before we rode out today.”

  “That traitor.”

  “So, tell me the story, because you smell like a high school dance. All teenage flop sweat and bad cologne.” He sniffed and pretend sneezed. “Holy Axe overload there, Batman.”

  Garrison stopped trying to check his scent when his brother laughed out loud.

  “Whatever, Kerr. Look, there’s nothing to say. There’s no ‘us.’ In fact, I tried calling her last night after I got home from our dinner together. Then I called a few times today, but she didn’t answer her phone or return my calls.”

  “Maybe milady is busy?”

  Damn it, when Kerr started to poke at someone, he never let up.

  That pleasant, molasses sensation in Garrison’s gut congealed into cold, unhappy concrete. “Where else would she be? I left two messages this morning and again at noon. It’s a cell phone. It’s with her all the time. And it didn’t go straight to voice mail, so it’s not like she didn’t know there was an incoming call.”

  “Or twenty calls?” Poke, poke.

  “I’m not that bad. Look, it’s fine. I can take a hint.”

  “Methinks he dost protest too much.”

  Novelty of having his brother back? Gone.

  Thankfully, Kerr must have read the scowl because he backed off. “Okay. Let me get real with you, dude. First, she probably thinks you’re a stalker, calling her right after your non-date and again while she’s at work. So, strong work with the self-restraint to wait the standard forty-eight hours to call her. Second, which really bothers you more: the fact that she didn’t answer you or the fact that she didn’t answer you?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Stand in line and wait your turn like everyone else.” Always a thorn in the side, Kerr. At least he retained his sense of humor and swagger. Garrison couldn’t have stayed positive after losing a leg and almost dying.

  Garrison nodded toward the specks in the distance, trying to get his brother to focus on anything else but his own nonexistent skills in the woman department. “So what do you recommend?”

  “I recommend that you go to this lady’s house and beg her forgiveness for whatever you did to piss her off. Don’t even worry about being specific, just keep saying ‘I’m sorry’ and hope to hell she buys it. If you are exceedingly lucky, she might lay a wet, sloppy one on you. Maybe even on your lips, if you play your cards right.”

  And just like that, with a tip of his hat and an impish grin, Kerr pushed Garrison’s last button. The horse shied under Garrison, and he had to force his hands to relax on the reins. If he didn’t need so much help with the ranch, he would throttle his younger brother.

  He took a deep breath and blew it out. Nope. Didn’t calm him down. “No, Kerr. What do you recommend? With the cattle.” He slapped his leg, making his horse jump. “And no, I didn’t piss her off.”

  “Doesn’t sound that way to me.” Kerr put a hand on his chest. “And trust me, I know women. It’s best if you start every conversation you ever have with ‘I’m sorry.’ Really sets the groundwork for the makeup sex later.”

  Garrison’s jaw hurt from clamping down on it. “Enough with the advice on women. The herd, man. What should we do about the missing cattle issue?”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He winked. “Let’s fix the fence first and then disappear.” He flipped down the lens cap and carefully stowed his rifle on the saddle.

  “Disappear? Like what you do?”

  “No.” He winced. “Disappear. Like, you know, make a show of working, pretend to leave, and then pop up over there.” Kerr inclined his head toward a high point a mile away just inside their property line, near the national forest. “And see if we can’t get a better look-see.”

  “Sounds good.” Garrison patted the Ruger in his waist holster.

  After an hour of patching the fence for the second time in less than a week, they backtracked toward the ranch house for half a mile and then turned sharply to the north. They rode up a hill that gave a better vantage point over the neighboring valley and property.

  As the horses topped the hill, Kerr raised the rifle and peered through the scope once more. Then he swung it toward the foothills bordering the national forest to their right.

  “What’s that equipment off in the woods down there?”

  Garrison rolled his eyes. “You’ve got the scope. I see nothing but little shapes.”

  “Hmm.” He clicked his tongue. “Looks like a big truck, a metal frame with a conveyor belt, and ...”

  “What?”

  “Holy industrial machinery, Batman. That looks like an excavator. Everything’s been painted dark gray and brown to blend into the hills. But I can see some patches of yellow they missed. Wow.”

  “Okay, that’s interesting. But what about the herd?”

  “The herd. Always the herd. Fine. Cows. So, I could swear that’s our cattle, but without checking tags, there’s no way to be sure.”

  “Do we need to know for certain?” Garrison asked.

  “Probably.” Kerr scanned the valley. “We’ve got a few more hours of light left. Maybe we can work around a bit farther to get a better view.”

  They traveled to the part of their ranch that bordered national
forest land and then passed through a section of barbed wire fence into open mountain country beyond. Years ago, Garrison’s father considered going all free range grazing like most folks in other parts of Wyoming, but issues like this bullshit with the Brands made Garrison happy for the decision to fence their large tract of land, despite the maintenance headache.

  Patches of snow from last night’s squall stippled the ground. More snow was forecast. At least their tracks wouldn’t be as obvious with bare ground today, but that advantage would soon change.

  They paralleled the Brand fence line for another fifteen minutes, the creak of leather and clank of bits punctuating the cold silence.

  “What the hell are you doing?” A voice shot out of the forest ahead.

  Spikes of ice speared Garrison’s neck as he focused on the sound of a gun safety clicking off.

  He stared down the barrel of a rifle and then to the man who held it.

  Hank Brand.

  Glancing behind him, Garrison spied Kerr carefully laying the reins on the pommel and lifting his hands up as another man trained a weapon on him.

  Wyatt Brand. One of Hank’s equally nasty brothers.

  Son of a bitch. Worst-case scenario.

  Chapter 9

  “How’s it going, Hank?” Garrison aimed for a tone somewhere between neighborly happenstance and mild irritation.

  “I’m asking the questions, Taggart. Why are you out here?” His wild eyes darted away, toward the open fields, and then back to Garrison.

  “Us? We’re just taking a nice ride before the snows come.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re on our property.”

  “Actually, Hank, I believe that we’re on national forest property, same as you. Over there”—Garrison pointed to the fence—“is your property.”

  Hank leveled the gun at him.

  Sometimes it was smarter to be quiet rather than correct.

  “I don’t like you snooping around this close to our spread,” Hank growled.

  “There’s no law against us being here, my friend.”