Page 83 of Cowboy of Convenience
Except maybe putting childproof locks on the house to keep his mother from getting outside that day. It was something he would probably never truly forgive himself for, but not for a second had he ever expected her to lash out like that. He'd been shocked enough at the way she would get so upset with him, because up until the last little bit, his mom was as sweet as they came.
And that was how he was going to remember her. That was the woman he was going to tell Evelyn about when she asked. That was the woman he would tell his kids about, so they grew up knowing what a great woman their grandmother had been.
He gave Lula Bell another pat on the neck, reassuring her, "I'll see you tomorrow," before he checked in on Scout and the rest of the horses and headed out of the barn.
Surprised to see Larry's truck haphazardly parked up by the house as he stepped out, he doubled back through the barn, thinking maybe they'd missed each other somehow. But as there was no sign of the ranch hand anywhere, Grady headed up the way, looking around the yard and the outbuildings as he went.
Still no sign of Larry. But there were plenty of signs of something else: Deferred maintenance was everywhere—glaringly obvious now that he had a minute to breathe. After three years of not enough time to go around, the house was looking a little rough around the edges.
He went up the steps to the back porch, taking stock of all the things that needed to be done. The planks needed a good sanding and staining. The railing was in need of replacement, and the windows were filthy. It was one more thing to feel bad about, and yet another item to pile onto his still overflowing plate.
Because he wouldn't ask Evelyn to live in a house that wasn't everything she deserved it to be.
A little surprised to find the back door already unlocked, Grady entered the house more cautiously than normal. There was an odd, but familiar, feeling crawling over his skin as he stepped inside, and a strange, almost sour scent teasing through the air. He moved through the large kitchen, following the main hall that cut up the center of the house, pausing when the hair at the back of his neck stood up.
Something was wrong. He'd been in enough bad situations that he’d learned to trust that sixth sense. And while it might have been a little bit of a pain in the ass lately, he wasn't quite ready to give up on it yet.
Grady went still, listening for any sign of what was going on. A shuffling sound carried down the stairs, leading him to the foyer. That odd smell he caught a whiff of earlier was a little stronger here, telling him he was heading the right direction.
Or the wrong direction, depending on what was at the top of the stairs.
Habit had his hand moving to his waistband, intending to flip the snap on his holster free, but there was no holster or pistol at his side. All he had at his disposal was experience and the instincts he’d been struggling to get in line.
The rustling continued on the second floor and was now accompanied by mumbling. Someone was in his office, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who it was.
The realization was a punch to his gut. A reminder that while his innate ability might have decided to come back online the past few minutes, it had let him down on more than a few recent occasions.
And he might be adding one more instance to that list.
Grady crept up the steps, years of coming home late after work making it easy to find a silent path that avoided any creaky spots in the wood. When he reached the office door, Larry was still tearing through the desk, oblivious to his presence.
Grady propped a shoulder against the door jam. "Can I help you find something?"
The ranch hand—the man who'd been his father's best friend for so many years—leveled his bleary-eyed gaze on Grady. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I’m going to have to ask you the same question." He crossed his arms, posing his body in a position that conveyed a casualness he didn't currently feel. Like so much else, shifting into work mode was so much easier when he wasn't close to the situation or the people inside it.
And maybe that’s why he struggled so much when it came to reading Evelyn. With recognizing Gram-Gram’s true intentions. He was too attached. Too invested to see clearly.
Just like now.
"Don't fucking look at me like that." Larry's words were slurred. "
"How am I looking at you, Larry?" Grady kept his words as calm and measured as possible.
It could be easy to let the situation get to him—and later it would—but right now he had to get through it. So he leaned into his years’ worth of practice dealing with liars and thieves.
"Like the fucking pig you are." Spittle flew out of Larry’s mouth on the wordpig, making it clear he didn't look at piggies quite as fondly as Grady did. "I should have seen all this coming. You always thought you were too good to run the ranch." He shoved one hand Grady's direction. "You should have been fucking grateful. Happy your family had something to pass down to you. But instead, you walked away like it didn't mean shit."
It was an interesting assessment. It was also incorrect. "I didn't walk away from the ranch, Larry."
"Like hell you didn't." He stood up from the chair he didn't belong in. "And now you and your stuck-up bitch of a wife are going to sell it off and go on your merry little way." He rounded the desk. "Throwing away all your father's hard work over a piece of ass."
"Which is it, Larry?" Grady held his ground, fighting to keep his composure as Larry continued across the office. "Am I abandoning the ranch to be a cop or because of a woman? You're talking out both sides of your mouth." He took a steeling breath. “And both of them are wrong. I’m not selling the ranch. I’m actually moving here.”
Never once had Grady considered selling the ranch. Hell, he worked his ass off for three years trying to keep that from happening, knowing he was only an extended stay in a dementia unit away from losing it all. That was what his ability to keep the ranch came down to.
The care his mother needed was expensive. Between paying Charlene and shelling out for the home health care service that covered the hours she couldn't, he was already plowing through his parents’ savings at an unsustainable pace. If he'd had to put her in a facility, it would've all been gone in under a year.
