Page 10 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
“Sounds like he had it rough in the lap of luxury. No wonder he ended up in prison.”
“He told me his father paid him to take the fall for his right-hand man. Said he couldn’t run his organization from behind bars if his best guy got locked up, too.” She was watching Uncle Garrett’s face as she spoke. “That sound plausible to you?”
“Keep talkin’. I’ll let you know.”
She nodded, then pushed off with her feet to roll her chair toward the donuts. “He says he got very well paid to plead guilty. His old man promised he’d get off with little or no time, got him a good lawyer, too, but he got sentenced to five years. His father stopped payin’ the lawyer and the boss he was doin’ time for stopped takin’ his calls.”
Nodding slowly, Uncle Garrett said, “That would explain why he turned on his father.”
She nodded. “He gave evidence on the organization that the DA didn’t already have, and they let him out. Then his old man died in prison and left Jeremiah completely out of his will as one final smackdown.”
“He left everything to Ethan,” Uncle Garrett said. “But Ethan didn’t want it.” He shook his head slow. “That man messed his boys up about as much as a man could. Too bad Jeremiah’s mamma didn’t know about our doorstep.”
Yeah, Willow thought, but then he’d be her cousin as much as Ethan was, and that would make things weird.
“And we know the rest,” she said.
“Yep. He came here, found his brother, and carried my backside out of a burnin’ buildin’,” Garrett said.
She sighed, lowering her head. “He’s not like our Bubba, though, raised here, by good people. Jeremiah was raised in a snake pit by God only knows who.”
Her uncle was watching her closely. “I’ll ask you again, has he done somethin’ to make you suspicious of him, Will?”
She pressed her lips to remove the memory of Jeremiah’s kisses. “Naw, not a damn thing. He’s lookin’ for…I don’t know, closure I think. Wants to know about his father’s time in Quinn.”
Garrett’s face turned a little darker. “I can tell him all about that.” Then he frowned. “But he might not be ready to hear me share recollections about the time I put his old man away for the rest of his life.”
Willow helped herself to a donut, eliminating one of Uncle Garrett’s options. He quickly took a glazed with no filling, and bit into it like he’d found nirvana.
When he’d finished chewing and taken a swig of decaf, Uncle Garrett said, “Actually, I put everything on paper at the time. Everything about the investigation, including all the things I learned afterward. The computers were new to the department and I hated ‘em.”
“You’re joshin’ me.”
“They’re in my personal files, in the office. I didn’t want ‘em where anyone could get at ‘em. Ethan’s past is his own business, you know?”
“Is that legal?” she asked, flipping his earlier question back on him.
He caught it and grinned at her. “It’s…a gray area. I’ll get you the files.”
Chapter Three
That weekend, Willow and her mom walked down to the stream that bordered the meadow where the mares grazed on Saturday mornings. This morning was no different. Well, slightly different. As always, Taylor brought a thermal coffee container and a pair of mugs. Ceramic, because coffee didn’t taste the same in anything else. As always, Willow brought the snacks—a pair of cinnamon buns she’d picked up in town for just this occasion. And as always, the air was warm with a dry breeze, and the stream was cool and babbling, and the mares grazed, barely noticing them, peace emanating from their very pores.
But one thing was different. Her mom knew about the lava bubbling just beneath the surface between her and the Gringo. And Willow wasn’t ready to discuss it. She didn’t even know what to make of it.
Her mom had chosen a spot, sat down on a boulder, and was pouring coffee from the Thermos. She filled the first mug and handed it to Willow, who took it and remained standing, despite a nearby fallen log.
“Do you miss teaching, Mom?” she asked after taking a sip, just to start the conversation off on a safe topic. Her mom’s recent retirement from the university seemed like a good one.
“Not a bit,” Taylor returned. “Guest-lecturing a couple times a month is plenty for me. But I do miss the digs.” She pushed off her fawn-colored Stetson and let it hang down her back.
Willow noticed more silver in her long, dark hair than had been there in the spring. “I bet you do.”
“There are still opportunities, though. I might go on one next May. Rumor has it this Native site might be a thousand years old.”
“That’s exciting!”
“It is,” she said, and the sparkle in her eyes proved it. And then she sipped from her mug, and went quiet.
