CHAPTER SIX
C HAPTER S IX
At seven a.m., Bree followed Matt into the farmhouse kitchen. They would have barely enough time to eat breakfast with the kids, shower, and change into fresh clothes before heading back to work. But the time—however short—was worth it to recharge. When she came home, whatever weight she was carrying always felt instantly lighter.
They were greeted politely by Brody the German shepherd, Matt’s former K-9 partner. Bree’s dog, a big chunky rescue named Ladybug, leaned on Bree’s knees hard enough to buckle them. Bree rubbed her soft ears while the dog grunted.
Bree’s black tomcat, Vader, disapproved of the crowd from the top of the refrigerator, casting glares at the dogs and Matt. Bree left her boots by the door. To prevent Vader from gifting him with a hair ball in his own footwear, Matt carried his boots to the laundry room and carefully shut the door. The cat watched with slitted eyes. Is he plotting? Probably.
Luke and Kayla sat at the table. Luke was plowing through a plate of pancakes, using his fork like a shovel. Kayla drew a syrup smiley face on her much smaller stack. Greetings finished, Ladybug took a position next to Kayla, always ready to catch a dropped bite of food or lick a sticky hand.
At the stove, Dana ladled batter onto a griddle. “Sit down. I’ll get you some caffeine.”
When Bree had moved north, Dana, on the brink of retiring with no post-retirement plans, had joined her. She now served as an honorary aunt and nanny to the kids, for which Bree would be forever grateful. She trusted no one more.
Dana brought two more plates of pancakes to the table. Then she added a cappuccino for Bree and a black coffee for Matt before sitting down to join them.
Bree used as much syrup as Kayla. “What’s on the schedule for today?”
“School shopping,” Kayla said with a happy smile.
“Shopping,” Luke echoed, groaning.
Dana laughed. “I can’t help that you grew several inches over the summer. Your pants are all too short. If you want, you can drive separately to the mall. We’ll do your shopping first, then you can leave.”
Luke brightened. “Really?”
“Really,” Dana said.
“Cool.” Luke finished his pancakes. “I’ll go turn out the horses.”
“I’ll help,” Matt said.
They took their empty plates to the sink. Matt carried his coffee out the back door. Since he’d moved in, he tried to take some of the physical work off Luke’s shoulders. Bree turned to watch them cross the backyard. Luke was only a few inches shorter than Matt’s six three. No kidding he’d grown over the summer.
“We’re going to pick out school supplies.” Kayla was practically giddy. “I’m getting new colored pencils and everything.”
Bree pushed back her plate and took a long drink of her cappuccino. “That sounds fun.”
Dana snorted.
Kayla ate two bites of pancake. “I can’t wait until school starts. Mallory and Emma are in my class, but Harper got Mrs. Snow.”
Kayla’s social circle was ever evolving. She seemed to make a new friend every month. Bree marveled at the change in the little girl. When their mother had first died, both kids—and Bree—had grieved hard. Those first months were a horrible blur of pain. They still had moments, but they were happy more often than they were sad. And raw grief had transformed into bittersweet memories. As a family, they were moving forward.
“I’m going to go get dressed.” Kayla carried her plate to the sink.
“The stores don’t open for hours,” Dana said. “There’s no rush.”
“I want to be ready.” Kayla skipped out of the kitchen.
“Never saw anyone so excited over pencils and notebooks.” Dana scrutinized Bree’s face. “Rough night?”
For a few minutes, Bree had forgotten about the murder. “Very. Double homicide.” She gave Dana a quick summary. “Luke knows the girl.”
“Ugh. Are you going to tell him?”
“I have to. Better he hear it from me than from his friends.” Bree stood. “I’ll do it now. I hate to ruin his day, though. This is bound to bring back memories for him, and he’s been doing so well.”
“He’s resilient, and he has plenty of support.” Dana started on the dishes.
“He does.” But it didn’t sound as if Claire had anyone. She seemed more isolated, like Bree after her own parents’ deaths.
Bree went out the back door. The air smelled of manure, a scent she oddly equated with hearth, home, and happiness. After the age of eight, she’d been raised in the city—and her life before that had been anything but ideal. But it seemed as if the country were bred into her.
Four horses grazed near the gate in the pasture. Bree’s paint gelding, Cowboy, had belonged to her sister. When she called his name, he ambled over for scratches before heading for the hay Matt had tossed into the pasture. There wasn’t much grass left after the summer drought.
Bree found Luke and Matt in the barn. Luke was raking the aisle.
One horse—her brother Adam’s standardbred—remained, his head hanging over his stall door. Bree scratched under his mane. The former Amish buggy horse never complained. His current life must feel like a vacation after being a working beast. “Bullseye isn’t going out?”
“Uncle Adam texted me, asking me to keep him in. He’s on his way over to ride.”
Matt hung a lead rope on a nail. “I’m going to shower.”
“I’m next,” Bree said as Matt left the barn. She turned toward her nephew. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Luke?”
He set aside the rake. “Sure. I’m done anyway.”
“Last night, your classmate’s parents were killed in a double homicide. I’m going to hold a press conference this morning, but I wanted you to have the correct information in case you heard it from your friends.”
His eyes saucered, then he frowned. “Who?”
“Claire Mason.”
“Oh, man. That’s ... terrible.” He turned and paced a few steps, then pivoted. “Should I reach out to her? Or do you think that would make it worse for her? We’re not exactly close.”
“Maybe give her a day to collect herself, but she might appreciate knowing you’re thinking of her.” Hopefully, Bree could return the girl’s phone later today.
“I’ll do it tomorrow, then.” With a nod, he left the barn and headed for the house.
Pride bloomed in Bree’s belly. He was a good-hearted kid. Talking to Claire would bring up his own terrible memories, but he’d face them to do the right thing.
Bree’s phone beeped with a reminder. She glanced at the screen. She’d forgotten about her virtual therapy appointment. She quickly sent her therapist a message that she would need to reschedule. The relief that initially flooded her faded in a moment, leaving her with a vague sense of discomfort, like she was a coward for not wanting to face her own issues. Sometimes, she felt less emotionally evolved than her niece and nephew.
She’d begun speaking with a counselor after long-suppressed memories of her mother began resurfacing. She didn’t feel like she was making progress. The therapist warned her that it would take time, and that progress couldn’t be measured linearly. But the therapy itself focused on terrible memories. Bree always felt drained afterward.
She brushed aside her inner debate. She couldn’t spare the hour—or the mental energy—this morning. She had to focus on Claire.
But there was no denying that watching Claire deal with her trauma had stirred up Bree’s own pain, and that the case reminded her of both her sister’s murder and her parents’ deaths.
“Hey,” Adam said as he walked into the barn. Bree smiled at the sight of her younger brother. He looked like the artist he was, a rangy body, shaggy hair, and the tragic hazel eyes all the Taggerts possessed. Did he own any clothing that wasn’t speckled with paint? He might be extremely successful—his paintings sold for eye-popping amounts—but he often looked homeless.
He stopped next to her and greeted his horse with a forehead rub.
Still facing Bullseye, Bree gave her brother a one-armed hug. “Hey, yourself.”
He pushed back. “You look upset.”
Bree reorganized her face. “Is that better?”
“Yeah, no one else will know, but I do.” He scanned her face. His artist eyes saw things other people did not.
“Are you OK?”
“Working a hard case,” she said.
“The home invasion murders?” Adam asked. At her raised brow, he added, “I saw it on the news.”
“Is that what the media is calling it?”
Could be worse.
“Yes.”
Bree sighed. “Their teenage daughter found the bodies.”
“Oh, no.” Adam’s hand stilled, flattening on Bullseye’s forehead. The horse appeared to sense his owner’s shift in mood and rested his head on Adam’s shoulder. Adam wrapped an arm around the long neck. “I never knew horses could be so ... empathetic.”
“They’re like giant dogs.” Giant, expensive dogs. Adam didn’t care much about money, though.
Adam ducked out from under his horse’s head. Snapping a lead rope to Bullseye’s halter, he led him into the aisle and secured him on the cross ties. Not that Bullseye needed to be tied. He loved to be groomed and would gladly stand there all day. Adam plucked a soft brush from the grooming bucket and began sweeping it over the horse’s back.
Bree turned to lean backward on the stall door. “You know, I wasn’t thrilled to move back home. All my life I avoided this place and all its memories. But now, I couldn’t imagine going back to the city. I couldn’t give up the kids, the farm—or our relationship.” Bree and Adam hadn’t known each other very well until recently. Adam had been a baby when they’d been separated. He’d helped Erin financially, but he’d been an aloof introvert, consumed by art that reflected his tumultuous emotional state. But since their sister’s death, he’d stepped up for Bree and the kids. He’d worked hard to be available and responsive. He might not have the horrible memories of their parents’ deaths that Bree carried, but his life hadn’t been easy either. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”
Adam paused and met Bree’s gaze. “Thanks. I appreciate you too. Is everything OK?”
Bree realized that it was, despite her rough night. “Work is what it is, but life? Yeah. That’s coming along nicely.”
He smiled at her. “We’ve come a long way.”
“We’ve run a freaking emotional marathon.”
“It’s hard, but worth it.”
“So worth it.” Growth was work, but the rewards were better than she had ever imagined.
They shared a moment of contented silence.
Adam swept a brush along the horse’s shoulder, pausing to lighten the pressure over a hairless patch where years of harness wear had left their mark.
Bree frowned. “Poor Bullseye saw too many years of hard use.”
“Yes, but he’s getting a nice semiretirement. He seems to enjoy our rides.” Adam touched the scar. The horse didn’t even flicker an ear. “The scars bother us, but he doesn’t dwell on them.”
“I need to learn something from your horse.” Bree half laughed.
“We could all use the reminder to live in the moment,” Adam said in a serious tone. “His past led him to the here and now, and that is where he exists.”
“So Bullseye doesn’t have regrets?”
“You shouldn’t regret things you had no control over. Regrets are for decisions we made, not the things that happened to us.”
“That’s powerful.” And freeing?
Adam exchanged the brush for a hoof pick. “Don’t think of scars as wounds. Think of them as badges, tally marks of survival. After all, the dead can’t heal. Therefore, they don’t scar.”