The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(61)

His dad grimaced and rubbed a hand over his thinned-out gray hair. “The truth’s that I couldn’t take care of myself back then, much less you. No way could I have handled a dog. I’m sorry, son.”

Garrett shook his head. “What are you really doing here? You need money?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just here to—”

“Make amends. So you said.”

His dad met Garrett’s gaze. “I realize you have no reason to believe me, but I’ve changed.”

“Save it,” Garrett said. “I’m not interested. Feel free to go back to wherever you’ve been living since you got out, which I’m sure is better than Wildstone, where everyone remembers you as the town drunk.”

“I was also a handyman, and a damned good one,” his dad said, with a mildness that Garrett actually admired, because he was feeling anything but mild.

“Do you know what I remember most about my eighth birthday?” Garrett asked. “You picking me up after school, having come straight from the bar. On the way home, you drove off the road, through a front yard, and into someone’s house. That one put you away for a year and was the first time I ended up in a foster home, and not a good one.” Actually, it’d been the kind of place that nightmares and horror movies were made of, but he didn’t want to think about it, much less discuss it.

His dad swallowed hard, but didn’t break eye contact. “Shit, son. I’m so—”

“Sorry. Yeah, I know. You got out of prison at Christmastime. You realized you didn’t have any money, so you decided to rob a liquor store that time. Later you told the judge it was a twofer: you thought you could get presents and booze at the same time. I didn’t see you again after that, so I’m going to take a hard pass on this family reunion you’re looking for, thanks.” He turned to go back to cleaning his tools.

“I actually did see you again,” his dad said.

Garrett looked back. His dad lifted a shoulder, his expression dialed to regret and guilt and possibly shame. “When I got out, I came to Wildstone. You were here, playing dodgeball with some of the other kids. You were smiling. Happy.” He paused. “I’d never seen you look like that before. Seemed like you had a real good thing you had going, you know? I didn’t want to blow that.”

“Not even to say hi? Or make sure I really was okay?”

Shame crossed his dad’s face. “Look, I was an asshole, all right? We both know that you were far better off without me.”

“So you thought me being raised by someone else was for the best.”

“Ann was a good woman.”

“She was amazing,” Garrett agreed. “She gave me my first real home, my first unconditional love. She was my foundation. She was everything a parent should be.”

His dad winced, but still held eye contact and nodded—and hell, that was actually something Garrett respected him for. But it took a back seat to the piles of resentment built up inside him, eating at him ever since his dad had knocked on his door yesterday morning.

“Didn’t you get my letter?” his dad asked. “Explaining why I was leaving you here?”

“You mean the Dear John note? Yeah, I got it.” And he’d burned it. Ann had helped him work through some of his anger, and with time he’d learned to let it go. He’d done his best to be a big brother to the other kids in the house, gotten close to the family next door—the Lemon sisters—and learned early on how to be a good caretaker. Growing up, he’d translated that into coaching and mentoring other kids like him, kids who otherwise might’ve slipped through the cracks and been lost. He’d stayed in Wildstone because he liked it here, because the place fulfilled him. He loved the wide-open spaces, the beauty of the hills and the ocean. A man could actually hear himself think here.

His dad didn’t say anything more, and Garrett didn’t look at him again. A few minutes later, he heard the truck start up with some coughing. The old man needed spark plugs.

Then there was nothing but his dad’s dust in the air.

“Just like old times,” he told the cats and horse, and went back to washing the tools. When he finished, he was suitably hot, tired, and also still pissed off. He needed a shower and sleep, but even more, he needed food. Since he hadn’t been grocery shopping recently—a chore he hated more than cleaning cat litter, and he hated that pretty effing bad—there was nothing waiting for him inside. So he got into his truck.

He took the long way into town because he needed the brain rest. He passed a stretch of ranches and wineries, the lush land dotted with sprawling oak trees, cattle, and grapevines. There was also state land that was home to hiking trails and some hidden campgrounds. As he passed the trailhead and parking area, he took in the fact that there weren’t many vehicles there yet. Not a surprise. When summer was in full swing, tourists would pour in, but it was early yet. This meant the few there stood out.

Specifically, a battered old Ford.

Shit. He made an illegal U-turn on the two-lane highway. A minute later, he parked at the trailhead and got out of his truck. He took the trail from the lot and came to the campgrounds where, sure enough, he found his dad standing near a campfire. He was with a few others, in the middle of handing one of them some money.

Clearly surprised to see Garrett, he fumbled. “Son, what are you doing here?”