Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“He had more than a few drinks,” Mak counters. “And he’s been known to cause a ruckus. There’s a reason they call him Benny the Hulk when he’s into the hard stuff.”
“What would she have done to stop a guy like him before Tasers was my point,” my father says. “That guy is a giant.”
Mak shrugs. “What would any of ’em have done? It took two male officers to get the cuffs on him. And a threat from her to zap him again if he didn’t cooperate. If you ask me, those Tasers make a lot of sense.”
“Have you seen her, though? Damn. I’d let her Tase me,” Jesse says with a snort, veering the conversation off course.
“That’s because you’ve got shit for brains.” Uncle Wyatt shakes his head as he wanders toward the house, muttering something about his daughter’s taste in men. The others follow, leaving my father and me alone outside.
He flicks the tab of his beer can into the burn barrel. “What the hell was that about with Jon, huh?”
“What was what about?”
He levels me with a flat look.
“I don’t know. Ask your son-in-law. He started it.” I gulp a mouthful of my drink. For a guy who hasn’t had anything remotely beer-like in twenty years, it tastes like heaven, fake or not.
Dad sighs. “I’ll admit, Jon’s an acquired taste. He can overstep, and sometimes he’s a little too enthusiastic. But he works hard and he means well, and his opinion is valued around here.”
“Then we won’t have a problem.”
He opens his mouth but falters. “Good.”
Silence lingers as we each seem to search for a safe topic of conversation. Or an excuse to not continue one.
“Since when did this place turn into the Wild West?” I finally ask, jutting my chin toward his hat. “You used to say only fools wore those.”
“Did I?” Dad reaches up to touch the brim, a smile curving his lips. It’s the first genuine one I’ve seen since he met me outside the prison gates. “Turns out they’re practical. Keeps the sun and rain off my face. Don’t have to listen to your mother yell at me about sunscreen much anymore. Jon got us all hooked. You know he’s from Calgary, right?”
“And he grew up on a massive bison ranch. Yeah, Mom filled me in.” He’s the youngest of four, all of whom are looking to get their hands on the family business. I guess he likes his odds better here.
“Boy came with tons of experience and he loves the industry. He’s educated, and he’s got good ideas. I count on him for a lot, and he hasn’t let me down.” He adds after a beat, “Sure as hell could never say that about your brother.”
That was my dad’s dream, to have his eldest son take over—something Jay had no interest in doing. “You always were impossible to please. That’s why he never bothered trying.”
“Damn it, Logan, I can’t believe you’re still defending him after what he dragged you into.” Dad shakes his head. “And don’t you dare try to pin any of that mess on me, all that psychobabble about your parents not loving you two enough, or me being too hard on you.”
I knew this was going to be a bumpy reunion, but I didn’t think he’d be taking every opportunity to make sure the past was front and center. “I’m not blaming anyone but myself, trust me.” And I’ve gotten pretty good at it.
My father takes a deep breath. “Listen, tomorrow, we’ll get you reacquainted with how things work around here. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starved and beat after all that driving.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” If I don’t run and hide first.
He looks back at the house as the roars of laughter carry through cracked windows. “I guess this might be a lot for you to handle.”
“Something like that.”
He nods. “Well … your mother sure is happy.”
I answer by chugging back a large gulp of my beer, my gaze on the horizon and the expanse of land and trees between me and the dimming sky.
Dad leaves me outside to the chilly air and the peaceful silence, and I quietly thank him for that much grace.
What would happen if I just left? Grabbed a sleeping bag and tent, hopped into one of the trucks, and headed north until the flatlands give way to dense wilderness. Vanish into the trees. I’d lift the burden of my presence from my family.
Would the authorities chase after me? Of course they would. I still have eight years left in my sentence and I practically wear a sign around my neck that says “Cop killer,” even though I never killed anyone. I never even aimed.
They’d never find me. At least, not alive.
A car door slams next door, drawing my focus. Movement stirs on the porch and a moment later, the house lights shine, punctuated by a dog’s bark.