Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(11)

“That’s the something you shoulda let go,” he told her.

“Yeah, how would I do that, Tanner? How?”

“You cared about what we were tryin’ to build, you woulda found a way to let her go, like I did.”

The second time that day he watched a woman’s body jerk. He knew he had her. She knew he’d done the best he could with the hand he’d been dealt. She knew he wouldn’t step out on her, even if Rocky had come back. Gabby had his ring on her finger, their sons under their roof, so she had him. She couldn’t fight that corner. She tried, way too often, and she never won.

“This was a waste of my time,” Gabby gave in acidly.

“Yeah, it was,” Layne agreed.

“Thanks for all your help,” she spat, turning.

“Happy to oblige,” he muttered, also turning.

“And you think Stew is an ass**le,” she mumbled, opening the door.

Layne sighed.

Then he heard the door close behind her.

Then he walked into his office, logged out of his bank account and started to investigate Stewart Baranski’s finances.

* * * * *

Dave Merrick opened his front door and Layne, Jasper and Tripp were assaulted with a scent that could only be what heaven smelled like.

“That smells great!” Tripp shouted, and bolted in, nearly bowling Dave over as he kept shouting his greeting, “Hey Uncle Dave!” Then he ran down the hall to the kitchen in the back.

Dave had turned to watch and he turned back, smiling.

“Hey Uncle Dave,” Jasper repeated his brother’s words, socked Dave in the shoulder and followed Tripp, much slower, playing it cool, not wanting Mrs. Astley to know he couldn’t wait to see her.

“Jas,” Dave replied and then he stepped from the door, keeping one hand on it, his other outstretched, inviting Layne in, “Tanner, good to see you, son.”

Tanner took his hand, squeezed and got a squeeze back.

Dave Merrick was still a good-looking man at sixty-three, tall, lean, fit, he only limped when he got tired and he only brought out the cane when it was raining and the wet got in his bones, making his old wounds ache.

A long time ago, Dave had been married to a woman named Cecilia, the town beauty. Layne remembered her and exactly what she looked like which was a lot like what Rocky looked like now. And he remembered he’d never seen her not smiling.

He also remembered the day he’d heard she’d been murdered on the same night Dave had been shot five times.

He also remembered going to her funeral with his mother and everyone else in town and standing across the casket and watching Raquel the whole time as she sat in her seat, her eyes not moving from the casket, not once, her skin pale, blue shadows under her eyes, her face perfectly blank. He had only known of her then, he hadn’t really known her. She was already beyond pretty. But she was fourteen, he was eighteen and he was out of her league. It wouldn’t be for three years when he’d run into her and decide to make his move.

He let Dave’s hand go and moved into the house, pausing to wait for Dave to close the door. When he first got back and renewed his relationship with Dave and Merry, coming to that house messed with his head. Too many memories there. Now, he and his boys had been there so many times, it didn’t faze him.

Except for that night and the fact that Rocky was somewhere in that house. She was never there when they were there.

“How’s things, Tanner?” Dave asked, coming to his side as they made their way slowly down the hall by the stairs.

“Could be better,” Layne answered honestly. Dave was a friend, Dave had known him a long time and Dave used to be a cop, three reasons not to lie. One way or the other, he’d know.

Dave was silent for a beat before he said, “We’ll talk later.”

Layne nodded and they hit ground zero on the smell.

Merry was standing at a counter, wielding an electric knife. Tripp had his head in the fridge. Jasper had settled on a stool at the counter.

Raquel was nowhere in sight.

“Yo, Tanner,” Merry called with a grin over his shoulder.

“Merry,” Layne replied.

Garrett Merrick looked like a male replica of his sister, but taller and definitely masculine. Same dark hair (without the fake streaks), same deep blue eyes.

Merry’s nickname was apt. He was a good ole boy. Always had been. He was such a good old boy he made an art out of it.

“Dad, you want something to drink?” Tripp asked.

“Beer, Pal,” Layne answered.

“Where’s Mrs. Astley?” Jasper asked, looking around while trying not to look like he was looking around.

“Went home about two minutes ago, buddy, headache,” Merry answered Jasper and Layne’s eyes went to his friend.

She didn’t have a headache. After the way he spoke to her that morning, she had an intense desire not to be in his presence.

He told himself that worked for him when he knew he felt guilt that he could see all around, and smell, how hard she’d worked and she’d blown out of there before she could enjoy it.

Then again, she could also have a headache.

“Bummer,” Tripp muttered and handed him a beer before he took a can of pop to his brother and cracked open his own.

“Yeah, I’ve tasted this shit,” Merry put in, lifting his hand, a slab of meat between his fingers, “Bummer. This stuff is the freaking bomb.” Then he tossed the meat into his mouth.