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With the cattle killer out of the picture, Grady opted to move to the guest house. He had enough food there to nuke something for his supper, so he packed what he’d brought to the house into his duffle and tossed it in back of the Gator. Derek had left to spend the evening with Sabrina, and Grady preferred to be in his own space. Not that he didn’t like the perks of staying at the ranch house—with the abundant food supply and a television set—but there was usually someone trying to make conversation. And with conversation came the opportunity to let something slip.
No, he’d stay in the guesthouse with his books and his secrets. Although the lock on the front door was a piece of crap, he felt more comfortable with that tiny bit of security between him and whoever might be on the other side.
The envelope Cecily had brought him contained what the inventory sheet had said, with one major exception. Still shoved into the spine of his copy of Dune, he found the fine gold chain with the antique gold heart his mother had given him. A rare show of affection from her. Or was it to assuage her guilt for the way she treated him?
It belonged to my grandmother, who gave it to my mother, and since I don’t have a daughter, I’m giving it to you. There’s a story behind it—something about an aristocrat or royalty in Europe somewhere. A prince, maybe. A lord? Or was it a duke? Anyway, my grandmother wasn’t part of his social status, and they had to keep their love secret. He gave her this necklace to remember him by.
She’d shrugged and laughed her unique laugh—a harsh sound, never cheerful. I have no idea if it’s even true. Maybe someday you’ll find the right woman and give it to her.
It was the only thing of value he’d taken when he’d left. If nothing of hers was missing, he figured she wouldn’t bother trying to find him.
Many times, he’d considered pawning the necklace—she’d said it was valuable for more than its sentimentality—but he never had. So what if he went hungry, or had to sleep in the cold a few times? He would put it in the strongbox along with his other treasure.
Instead of heading straight to the guesthouse, he stopped in the barn and checked on Ginger. The mare nickered when she sensed his approach, a sound Grady found comforting. She struggled to her feet and lowered her head over the stall door. He felt bad he’d disturbed her, when it was obvious it was an effort for her to rise.
“You expecting a snack, girl? I came to say goodnight.” Grady scratched her head between her ears. “Well, I suppose one little apple slice won’t hurt you.” He ducked into the tack room and fetched a treat for her.
As she lipped it from his palm, he enjoyed her velvety muzzle with its bristly whiskers and her soft whooshing breath. “You don’t ask questions, do you? A little scratching, a treat, and you’re happy. Maybe tomorrow I’ll give you another rubdown with the liniment stuff.”
Before leaving, he wandered the barn, peeking in on the other horses. Most looked up when he passed, a few ignored him, but Zephyr, Derek’s big black badass of a horse, gave him the horse equivalent of the stink eye, snorted, and stomped his hooves.
“Goodnight to you, too,” Grady muttered. “And, for the record, that’s not the way to ask for treats.”
From the beginning, Zephyr had sensed Grady’s fear, and Grady wondered why that one horse had picked up on it so much more than the others in the string. Was it because Grady feared Zephyr more than the other horses? Why? Was it one of those chicken-and-egg things, that went round and round, their fears and distrust feeding off each other’s.
No matter. Grady hopped in the Gator and drove to the guesthouse, looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow. Derek had said the cowboys weren’t going to be working cattle, so it would be okay if Grady showed up later for his morning chores, and he’d have the rest of the day off until it was time to bring the horses in for the night.
First order of business was checking his intruder alert in the closet. His scrap of paper was where he’d left it. He unpacked his duffle and went to the kitchen to appease his growling stomach. He reheated a portion of spaghetti and meatballs, washed it down with a glass of milk, and took care of the dishes. Next, he stripped off his dirty clothes and tossed them into the closet where they joined an accumulating pile. Pretty soon, he’d have to take them to the ranch house and get them washed.
He showered off the grime, standing under the spray, letting the hot water ease sore muscles. If his mother could see him now. He wondered which would upset her more, the fact he’d been living with a bunch of other runaways, or that he was doing manual labor—and dirty manual labor to boot.
He shut off the water, and stood there, transfixed, as the memories slotted together like the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He couldn’t have been more than three, but the images hung in front of him. Not crisp and clear. Like viewing them through the steam of the shower. His mother had another one of her potential Daddies for him. She told Grady to be very good, and maybe there would be ice cream after an exciting adventure.
Potential Daddy number who-knows-what had been a very rich man. A catch, Mama had called him. They’d gone for a long car ride, and Mama said someone Very Important would be taking pictures. She put him on top of a huge black horse and told him to smile at the nice man with the camera. A light flashed, and the horse reared up and Grady flew off. He’d landed in some loose dirt and straw, but he’d been terrified. Mama had scolded him for crying. There had been no ice cream.
The room closed in around him. With quivering knees, Grady stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel. He made his way to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, refusing the tears that threatened.
Suck it up. Now that you know why you’ve been afraid, you can go tell old Zephyr to fuck off.
He’d long since given up crying about his crappy childhood. It could have been worse. They hadn’t been poor—most of the time. Generally, the men in his mom’s life ignored him. He’d been old enough to run when he found out—the hard way—his latest stepfather was a pedophile.
Suddenly cold, Grady pulled on a pair of sweats, a tee, and a hoodie. He padded out to what passed for a kitchen and nuked a packet of hot chocolate. Curled up in the corner of the sofa, his hands cupping the mug, absorbing its warmth, he stared into nothingness for a good, long time.
Until the door burst open.
Grady jerked, dropping the mug, which shattered, spilling the undrunk chocolate. Hadn’t he locked the door? Damn, he couldn’t remember doing it. Not that it would have mattered.
The two silhouettes standing in the doorway were unmistakable. A locked door meant nothing to them. Enrique and Xiang had found him.