Chapter Thirty-Seven
Saturday
Ellen had coffee brewing at four in the morning when Jake came down the stairs after showering, dressed and ready for their trek to the Coulters.
“I drove down to the road this morning,” she said.
He poured himself a mug and sipped. “All good?”
She shook her head. “I thought it would be free and clear—there’s a lot of standing water, though it’s not deep.
But two of those giant ash trees on the southwest corner?
Completely uprooted and are blocking part of the road.
We might be able to get around, but the ditches are still filled with water.
Think the horses can make it across the field? ”
“Yeah, they’re used to the terrain. We’ll take Clover and Stella. Sir Lancelot might have some trouble if we encounter debris.”
She nodded, deferring to her son about anything related to horses.
“Can you saddle up while I check on my patient?”
Jake’s face darkened, but he nodded and walked out.
She went over to where Sam was lying on the living-room couch.
He looked like he hadn’t moved all night, and she worried that he had died.
Though the gunshot wasn’t her fault, she felt a pang of guilt that she had done something wrong.
But when she went over to him she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest, then his eyes fluttered open.
Relief rushed through her. She wanted justice, not vengeance, and was glad he survived the night.
“S-sorry.” His voice was a croak, then he closed his eyes.
“You made it,” she said. “I’ll get you some water.”
She went to the kitchen, got a cup with water, found a straw. Brought it back to Sam and helped him drink.
“I. Feel. Crappy.”
“But you’re alive. As soon as the roads clear, an ambulance will be here to take you to the hospital.”
“Where’s. Rena.”
“She and Brock left last night. I promised to get you to a hospital, and I guess they trust me to do as I say.”
He drank some more, then said, his voice still gruff and unnatural, “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I— They didn’t. Mean to. Hurt. Anyone.” The last word came out as a sigh and he drifted off again.
She checked his vitals. His blood pressure was elevated but his pulse was steady. She gave him another injection of antibiotics, then let him sleep.
By the time she was done, Jake had the horses out front and she pulled on her jacket and boots and went out to meet him.
Sam was in no condition to hurt anyone in the house, but she had woken up Ryan, asked him to stay alert while she was gone.
She would have woken up Avery, but Ryan said he was fine and to let her sleep since she’d had a rough day.
It was quite endearing of the kid, Ellen thought.
Ellen handed Jake a muffin, then mounted Stella, a sweet, sturdy Appaloosa they’d had for years.
The wind and rain had stopped, and the eastern horizon was just lighting up, a deep indigo that was a shade lighter than night.
Jake took the lead because he had the spotlight to guide them through the storm-damaged fields.
Her son was a man. It was bittersweet. She remembered when he was a young boy, excited to learn, eager to please, happy as the day was long.
He followed John everywhere, absorbing not only his knowledge, but his kind, gentle spirit.
She knew all of her children grieved the loss of their father, but it had hit Jake the hardest.
She pulled Stella up to ride side by side.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay to talk about your dad. I miss him, too.”
Jake didn’t say anything, and she didn’t want to push, but he had never talked about losing John. She’d been wrapped up in her own grief for so long and she had never pushed him to talk, then or now.
A moment later, Jake said, “I don’t want to go to college.
I wanted to be a vet because Dad wanted to be a vet, and when I told him I was going to do it, he was so happy.
But if I spend seven, eight years in school, I wouldn’t be able to come back.
There isn’t a great need here, we already have multiple vet practices in the county and it’s not practical.
Which means I’d have to move to Dallas or Houston or some community that has an opening. I don’t want to leave our valley.”
“Maybe you can study something else—” she began.
“North Central Texas College has a two-year Equine Studies program,” Jake said.
“I’d graduate with an AAS in equine science.
I’ve already talked to a counselor and a couple of the instructors and it’s exactly the kind of program I want.
We can expand here, I can breed horses. There’s a market for it, and I love working with the horses more than anything.
Especially training horses for cattle ranching. I can make a good living out of it.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. She was happy and sad all at the same time. “This is what you want?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Okay,” she said.
He glanced over at her and smiled, relief etched all over his face.
“I just want you to be happy, Jake. I didn’t want you to not go to college because you think I need you. I never wanted you to feel obligated or pressured to do something you don’t want to do.”
“I want to be here; it’s in my blood. There’s no other place I want to put down roots. Like Dad always said, grow or die. Adding horse breeding to our farm will help us grow, just like the pecans, just like the vineyard, just like the sunflowers.”
Jake was right. John lived on in his son, and Ellen felt an odd peace fall over her. She glanced behind her and saw rays of light breaking across the horizon as a thin red line told her dawn had broken.
Twenty minutes later, they reached the Coulters’ ranch. They rode around the property to make sure no one was there. It was empty. Brock Jones’s big truck with Louisiana plates was parked near the house. He hadn’t lied about that.
“Jake,” Ellen said, suddenly nervous.
“Hmm?” He turned off the light since visibility was getting better by the minute.
“Brock told me last night that Robinson has cameras everywhere. That’s how he knew George gave me a copy of the contract.”
“Cameras?” Jake looked around, squinting to see in the distance. “Where? His property line is a half mile away.”
“I don’t know, but I assume all along his perimeter. So, we need to be quick.”
“I’m going to take care of the bulls and chickens since I don’t know when I’ll be back today. I’ll be fast.”
“I’ll search the truck.”
If Mitchell or one of his people were monitoring the cameras now, he’d see her. She didn’t know how much time she’d have once he knew. Would he confront her? Would he know what she was doing?
She had to assume he’d know this was the truck of the man he’d hired to steal the contracts. She wanted to leave as soon as possible, but she also wanted the evidence that Brock claimed he had left in his truck.
Ellen tied Stella to the horse rail next to the porch and strode through the mud to the truck.
Based on the tracks and mud, many vehicles had come and gone, and maybe she was too late.
Maybe Mitchell had already found the evidence.
The thought made her sick to her stomach.
He needed to pay for what he’d done to her neighbors—and as far as she was concerned, Mitchell Robinson was as guilty as Brock and Rena for Greg Baldwin’s shooting.
The truck was unlocked, and Ellen hoisted herself up into the cab. There were no keys in the console or ignition or glove box.
She shined her flashlight around. There was blood in the back, and she shivered, thinking of Sam being shot on Thursday night.
She hoped Greg Baldwin survived, because otherwise Sam’s life was over.
He would be charged with murder. If Greg survived, Sam might get out of prison in ten or twenty years.
Maybe.
She searched everywhere she could think of. There were no copies of anything. No papers. No documents. No contracts. Had Brock been lying or had Mitchell Robinson gotten here first?
She hit the steering wheel. “Dammit!”
Jake approached the open driver’s door. “Nothing?”
He didn’t sound like he expected a different outcome.
“Mitchell took them,” she said.
“Or the criminals lied. Because that’s what they do.”
Maybe, but Brock had no reason to lie because he was already leaving. He didn’t have to say anything to her. She had felt at the time that he was angry with Mitchell for getting him and his family in the middle of this mess and wanted to stick it to him.
Jake walked around to the passenger seat and climbed in. “Okay, he said he had copies of everything—maybe he did. Where else could he have hidden them?”
She thought. “I looked in the obvious places. Maybe under the bed liner?”
“They’d get wet. There’s no lockbox.”
“Under the seats? I checked, but maybe there’s something taped to the bottom?”
They looked under the seats; there was nothing taped to the underside. They looked behind the seats. Looked for seams that had been sewn closed.
“We have to go,” she said. “Robinson could be watching us now.”
“Hold on,” Jake said.
He had pulled up the heavy-duty floor mat, which protected the carpet. The carpet had a seam that shouldn’t be there, and Jake said, “Someone cut this.” He felt around and pulled out a cracked cell phone.
“It’s almost dead, five percent, but there’s no passcode.”
He flipped through the device, turning it so Ellen could see.
“He took pictures of every contract, I’m assuming these are what he stole,” Jake said.
“Take the phone, we’ll charge it at home and look at everything more closely. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
Mitchell stared at the coffeepot, willing it to brew faster. His housekeeper didn’t work weekends. He needed to fire her and bring in a full-time, live-in maid. He didn’t like making his own coffee, and he hated cooking.
It was five in the morning and he had slept no more than two hours.