by Mary Burton
“I can’t. Rory’s body was found near my vineyard and he had a picture of us taken at camp on him when he died.”
She paled. “A picture of all of us?”
“Just Rory and me.”
Relieved, Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t know about them, and honestly I don’t want to know. I want all that past junk to stay buried. I don’t want to lose what I have. I met a guy who is so great there are days I wonder how I got lucky.”
A heavy silence hung between them and clearly Jennifer wanted her to leave. But Greer couldn’t let it go yet. “You never think about that time?” She’d not meant to ask the question but it had been a long time since she’d spoken to someone who’d been in as bad a place as she.
Jennifer shook her head. “No, I don’t. I don’t. I have forgiven myself.”
Greer leaned toward her a fraction, genuine curiosity pulsing through her body. “How did you manage forgiveness?”
She frowned and took the question as a challenge. “What do you mean how? I just did.”
Greer shook her head. “I still struggle with it.”
Jennifer shrugged. “I can’t help you. I just know I manage it. The past is the past. End of story. Please.”
Greer searched Jennifer’s eyes for a flicker or a waver that signaled a lie or doubt. But there was none and she was both glad for her friend and a little jealous. “Maybe one day I will find peace as well.”
For a moment Jennifer’s face softened as if she wanted to say more. “Greer . . .”
And then beyond the office door the voices of customers drifted toward them. The front shop-door opened and closed.
Jennifer straightened and the emotional guards slipped into place. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ve work. My customers expect personal attention.”
The moment, the near connection they’d shared closed with the shop door. “Yeah, I have to get back to the vineyard.” The next moments were awkward. A dozen years ago they’d have hugged. Now it didn’t feel right, whereas walking away bordered on cold. She managed a smile and then turned toward the door.
“Elizabeth,” Jennifer said.
“Yes?” She turned, a little hopeful.
“Please don’t come by here again. I’d fix both our pasts if I could. I’d wish it all back, if possible. But I can’t. Now, I’ve a good thing going and I’m going to be married in eight months. My fiancé and his family don’t know about Shady Grove, and I want to keep it that way. Let the dead bury the dead.”
Greer hugged Dog a little closer. “Sure.”
Mitch didn’t much like the black horse, Beauty. Turn your back on her for a second, and she’d find a way to nip at your shoulder. He had a couple of healthy bruises on his shoulder and a couple of times she made him yelp. But not anymore. He might not know all the rules yet, but he was a fast learner. She kept him on his toes. If his mind wandered back to the darkness, she was there to bite and remind she would not be ignored.
As he tossed the hay in her feed bin, he kept one eye on the job and one on her.
The day was hotter than hell, but not as blistering as Iraq. The air in Texas was clean and clear and in the Hill Country free of the Middle East sand lurking in the air ready to clog his throat and nose or burrow under his clothes and irritate his skin.
The first time he’d gotten off the plane the air had been so hot he’d thought the heat had come from the jet’s engines. Sweat-soaked clothes became a matter of course and a good night’s sleep was impossible in the oppressive heat.
Yeah, Texas could get hotter than hell, but it was home and would always beat Iraq.
If only Iraq would stay on the other side of the world. But it had followed him here. Stalked him. If he closed his eyes he could hear the grinding noise of vehicles, the shouts of soldiers, the drone of low-flying planes and gunfire.
He’d remembered when he’d first arrived back in Austin and dumped his bag on the spare bed in his uncle’s rented house. The cool air, quiet, and soft bed had been distracting and for several weeks he’d put a sleeping bag on the floor. He hoped the hard floor would offer a familiarity that might ease the transition home. But when he’d closed his eyes and fallen asleep the dreams began. They’d all been the same, not varying a little.
He’d been behind the wheel of the Humvee. He’d been in the country for a year and grown accustomed to the coiling heat and the weight of his body armor. A battery-operated radio that dangled from the ceiling had been blaring Bruce Springsteen. His buddy Max had cracked a joke about a girl’s breasts. He and his buddies had been laughing.
The mission had been routine. And though they said they were on their toes at all times, familiarity with the job had made them a little cocky. As the driver, it had been his job to avoid the IEDs, to keep the vehicle on the road, and to keep his friends alive.
And then he’d been distracted for a moment by the flicker of a light in the distance, and he’d edged too close to the edge of the road. The next moment a loud explosion ripped through the music and the laughter, shredded his eardrums and battered him about like a piece of meat. Next, he’d been crawling through hot twisted metal, clawing at the dirt as he pulled himself free. He’d called out to his buddies, searched the blackening smoke, but pain and a blow to the head had made the world spin, and then he’d blacked out.
Later he’d awoken in the hospital. Burned on the left side of his body. His first question had been for his men, and when he’d found out they’d all been killed he’d retreated into himself as far as he could go. He didn’t want to be around people. Talk again. Care again. Live again.
He’d thought about ending it all, after the third military funeral. It would be easy enough to let the final darkness take him and make the pain go away.
But as much as he’d thought about it he couldn’t manage it. He was too scared to die and too undeserving to live.
Tec had given him a roof and a bed. But it was clear his uncle didn’t know what to do with him. Hell, Tec was a goddamned legend in the Rangers. He’d pursued outlaws, faced human traffickers, and been in a couple of gun battles. He’d walked away from it all unscathed with no lingering regrets.
Maybe Mitch was too much like his own mother. Well-meaning but simply weak.
A sharp pain dug into his shoulder and he whirled around at Beauty’s braying. He rubbed his shoulder, annoyed at her but angrier at himself. “Damn it, girl. Can’t you lay off for a minute? Shit, there won’t be a bit of my flesh left at the rate you are going.”
The horse neighed.
“Yeah, you are the smart one. You got all the damn answers. Just like my uncle. You think you know.”
The horse did not move or look away.
“You think because you outweigh me that I can’t take you? Think I won’t haul off and deck you if you bite me again?”
The horse cocked her head as if bored.
Mitch sighed. “Shit, I’m out in a damn corral having a conversation with a stupid horse.” And again for the fifth time today he wondered why he’d taken this job. He had his Marine pay to tide him over. A buddy of his had told him he could get a job on the oil rigs in a matter of hours. But here he was with a bitch of a horse, making crap wages and sweating his ass off in the afternoon heat.
The rumble of an old engine had him turning toward the cloud of dust kicked up by Greer’s old black truck. She’d said she’d go into town today for feed, and he was glad she’d returned. Beauty was cranky on a full stomach but when she thought she was going to miss a meal she was hell on wheels. Not that he blamed her. It was clear she’d not been fed too well the last year. She was pushy for her food because she was a survivor.
Buttercup’s tail twitched as she too spotted Greer’s truck. She was more laid back than Beauty, but she stuck close to her when she pushed for the next meal. Buttercup knew enough to know she’d get her fed.
The old nags had been at Bonneville merely days and already the animals knew Greer would somehow make their lives right.
An
d somehow he’d had the same sense when she’d walked into that bar and offered him this job. He’d been suspicious and wary of all other forms of help, but in Greer he’d sensed a survivor and a fighter. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d sat across from him. And she hadn’t begged or pleaded with him. In fact, he had the sense she didn’t want to do him the favor. But she’d offered, and he’d realized she was his lifeline.
Greer’s truck came to a stop by the storage shed and she got out, cradling a small creature close to her belly. She was also talking real soft and slow. Beauty and Buttercup’s ears perked as Greer approached.
Mitch didn’t say a word as she approached, her ball cap covering her hair and her dark mirrored sunglasses tossing back his reflection. When she was several feet from him a small head popped up from under her arm and barked at him.
He shook his head. “If that’s a dog, it’s the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”
Greer covered the pup’s ears. “He’s smart, and he knows when you are making fun of him.”
He couldn’t help a smile. “He does?”
“I kidded with him about his mug on the ride home and that annoyed him.”
“Really?” He waited for the punch line.
Her expression remained serious. “Honest. He’s smart.”
The dog opened his eyes, well, eye, and yawned. He sniffed the air and glared up at Mitch as if he were some kind of squatter. “What’s his name?”
“Right now it’s Dog. That’s what they called him at the feed store.”
“That’s not a name. It’s a noun.” Shit, the animal deserved a name.
“I know. I’ve been trying out names all the way here but none fit. A cute name really doesn’t work with that face.”
“He was born without the eye?”
She stroked the dog between the ears. “From what I hear.”
“He’s lucky his mamma nursed him. Most will nudge out the offspring that ain’t right.” The boss had found herself another outcast.
“Guess if he wasn’t so smart he’d not have survived.”
He scratched his head. “You have an attraction for the broken. Me, the horses, this dog. What’s it with you?”
She scratched Dog between the ears. “Takes one to know one, I suppose. Someone helped me once. Now I’m paying it back or forward, I guess.”
“I read about you on the Internet.” When Tec had tossed a couple of warnings his way about Greer he’d done some digging. Tec was a man of few words and when he spoke, Mitch listened. “You’ve been through it.”
Her fingers stilled. “So have you. So have the horses and so has this little guy. None of us has a corner on pain and suffering.”
The counselors had tried to talk to him over the last month or two, but he’d never wanted to talk to them. They were good, well-intentioned people but their questions made him mad. Greer never asked questions. As long as he was working, she left him alone. If she saw him sitting, she found a task for him to do.
“So how did you do it?” he asked.
She tilted her head back and his reflection caught in her mirrored sunglasses. “Do what?”
Emotion threatened to break his voice and he paused until he had his voice under control. “Pull yourself up?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I came out here to live with my aunt and she told me to put one foot in front of the other. But those first days, the idea of one or two steps exhausted me. But she kept giving me chores, forcing me to keep moving.”
“You do that to me.”
“I know.”
“So when did you turn the corner?”
“Honestly, Mitch, I think I’m still searching for that corner. I still don’t think beyond one step at a time.”
“But you plan ahead for the vineyard. I heard you talking about the harvest. You are going to build that winery. You are living.”
“I still believe I’m living for Jeff and Sydney. To squander my life would be an insult to them.” She drew in a breath. “And I’ve fallen for the vineyard. I didn’t expect to but I did. The grapes are like Beauty. They don’t care about my sob story. My emotions. All that matters is to keep working so that the vineyard doesn’t turn on me.”
The pain in his shoulder had been Beauty’s reminder for attention. He was silent for a moment watching as she scratched the pup between its ears. “So the pain never goes away?”
“Not totally. But it lessens a little bit every day. At first it feels like a boulder on your shoulders. And then one day it feels like a handful of rocks. And then pebbles. Always there, but it becomes manageable.”
She wasn’t feeding him rainbows and happy endings. Just honesty. “I’m not sure I want it to go away completely.”
“Me, either. I never want to forget the people I loved.”
A heavy silence settled and for a moment neither spoke. Then he studied Dog. “Shit, that’s an ugly dog.”
She covered the dog’s ears and nodded. “Shh.”
The one-eyed dog stared at him as if challenging his right to be here. “It wouldn’t have lasted a day in the shelter. People want cute and easy.”
“I know.”
“Folks were kind of like that with me when I came home from Iraq. Everyone wanted the war stories. They wanted the glory. But when I tried to tell them it was dirty and ugly and painful, folks just walked away.”
She was silent for a moment. “I have a knack for scaring people off, too. No one knows what to say to me. Hell, I don’t know what I want to say to me.”
Greer wasn’t afraid of scars. Maybe because she was brave or maybe she had so many of her own she didn’t notice them too much anymore.
But he did know she hadn’t walked away from him, those damn horses, or the ugliest dog in Texas. And that counted for something.
“I don’t know why you don’t kill her now. I’m so tired of waiting.”
Jackson hated her voice’s constant buzzing in his ear.
Kill her. Kill her. Buzz. Buzz.
With eyes still pressed to the binoculars’ eyecups, he watched as she handed a mangy dog to her new farmhand. “I just took care of one.”
“But she wasn’t her.”
“It’s not time for her.”
“How do you know it’s not time? My God, all you done is talk about Greer. Elizabeth. Greer. I get sick of hearing about her.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore her. With an effort, he kept his focus on Greer.
He knew a lot about Greer Templeton.
And not simply the information anyone could read about on the Internet. He knew her current daily routine as if it were his own, and he also knew her hopes, fears, and dreams.
He’d come to learn Greer rose at five every morning. She rarely varied her wardrobe, choosing a Bonneville T-shirt, jeans, and the same scuffed boots. He liked the jeans and the way they showed off her narrow waist and hips that rounded just right.
Meticulous watching had taught him her daily order of business was to dress and then to take her first coffee onto the small stone patio adjacent to her house. Overlooking her vineyards, the patio caught the morning sun. Rarely, did she miss a sunrise or raise her cup to it before she took her first sip.
After her coffee, she headed out into the fields to check on her vines and to meet with the farm manager, José. Together the two rode up and down the rows, inspecting branches, the leaf canopy, or sampling grapes. No detail was too small for Greer. She clearly loved Bonneville.
Once her grapes were inspected she returned to the small ranch house she’d shared with her aunt for over a decade and enjoyed a small breakfast. Her tastes were simple, usually toast and an egg. And then it was off for more meetings or trips into the fields. Afternoons were spent working on the books. Last year she’d overseen the building of the new tasting room with the dedication she gave to her vineyards. And now that laser attention would shift to her new winery.
Her days often didn’t end until eight or n
ine when she’d drag herself back to her home and eat a small dinner. She ate lots of salad, always a side of bread with a little butter and a glass of wine. Merlot was her favorite.
Her routines followed the seasons and this season, summer, was her busiest. Soon the grapes would peak and the harvest would commence. She’d harvest with care, only taking the grapes that were ready, and always patient enough to leave the others behind until they’d ripened.
He was very much like Greer. He understood the best harvester was patient. Like her he understood the best grapes were those that had suffered some hardship, for it was the hardship that truly formed great taste and character. Greer and her grapes weren’t sickly sweet because they’d been tested and tried.
“So when are you going to kill her?”
He lowered the binoculars from his eyes. “Greer, like her grapes, is nearly ready for harvest.”
“What difference does a day or two make?”
“It makes all the difference. It’s the difference between perfection and swill.”
Soon Greer would be ready. Soon he’d harvest her like the others.
Chapter Fifteen
Saturday, June 7, 7 A.M.
An Austin police patrol car spotted Sara Wentworth’s car parked in an industrial lot along the river in East Austin, five miles from where her body had been discovered. He’d called the find in at seven, the very end of his shift.
Bragg had been at his desk when the call had been received. He’d grabbed his jacket and hat and headed out.
As he drove, he realized this had been the first “normal” morning he’d had in months. Mitch had been up early and eager to get to Bonneville, and so Bragg had left with him right after dawn. Before Mitch, he’d worked long, sometimes crushing hours, but since Mitch’s arrival, he’d lingered in the mornings or gotten home earlier. For the first time, his personal life had elbowed ahead of his professional life.
But today, he had his old schedule back. And to his surprise, it didn’t fit as well as it once had. A bit tight and restrictive. Since he’d arrived this morning, he’d not only wondered how Mitch was managing, but Greer as well. Several times, he’d had to resist the temptation to drive out and check on them both.
