Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(144)

This trip had been a long time coming. If he was the morose type, he might say all his life. His mother—God rest her soul—had encouraged him to take the journey. As much as he loathed the idea of deathbed promises, that’s exactly what he’d done in the days before she’d slipped away forever.
The aftermath of her death was a blur. Grief claimed his attention for several months. After that, he’d dealt with the consequences of neglecting his business while he grieved. Then he’d been waylaid by his daughter’s rubber ball tendency—bouncing to whichever parent offered respite from the other parent. Add in his ex-wife’s histrionics…that was just another reminder of why Ellen was his ex. Didn’t take more than a simple glance at the calendar to know the last eighteen months had been the shittiest time of his life.
When the dust settled, he was faced with the one-year anniversary of his mother’s passing. With that shock came the guilt he hadn’t accomplished the one final thing she’d requested.
Gavin booked a flight into Rapid City. He’d secured a couple nights at a bed and breakfast between Sundance and Moorcroft. Which was quite a feat, according to the information he’d gathered online, because it was the height of tourist season in the Black Hills around Devil’s Tower, a stopping point on the road to Yellowstone. He’d lost track of the number of motor homes and out-of-state license plates he’d passed on I-90.
The female voice on the GPS announced, “Turn left in point one mile. You have reached your destination.”

No going back now. Unless once he saw the turnoff he just kept driving right on past it. As the mailbox entered his line of sight, he realized he was unprepared for any outcome in this situation, be it total exuberance, flat-out denial or complete apathy.
That’s when Gavin admitted to nerves, to trepidation, to betrayal, to an underlying sense of…wrongness. Add in paranoia and he might as well be thinking about the hours leading up to his disastrous marriage. That made him smile briefly, but he sobered when he recognized the sad truth that hope hadn’t surfaced in his emotional turmoil.
When he pulled up to the well-kept ranch house, a couple sat on a porch swing in the shade. Enjoying a normal afternoon. Blissfully unaware.
His heart pounded. Sweat broke out on his brow, yet a clammy feeling slithered down his spine.
The couple stood and started down the steps. Probably wondering what business he had in the middle of nowhere. Probably thinking he was lost.
Gavin ditched his sunglasses and opened the car door. He jammed his hands in the front pockets of his khaki pants, because he didn’t know what else to do with them.
The man and woman were equally wary, stopping five feet from him. Waiting.
For what?
For him to be the first one to speak? To explain?
Near as he could tell, they were the ones who had a helluva lot of explaining to do.
He turned his focus to the man. Probably in his early sixties. He wasn’t tall; he wasn’t short, just average height. Solidly built, not fat, not skinny, not muscular, not wiry, but his carriage and clothing screamed physical laborer. He had a full head of black hair randomly streaked with silver. When Gavin met the man’s eyes, blue eyes identical to the ones staring back at him in the mirror every day, he quickly looked away. Which allowed him to direct his attention to the woman.
Again, she was average height. A little on the plump side. Her hair was short, curly as if she’d recently had a perm, a rich dark brown as if she’d recently colored it. She wore her age more obviously than the man did, crinkly frown lines by her mouth, on her forehead and beside her eyes, as if she’d spent her life worrying. Despite Gavin’s initial judgment of dowdiness, she wore trendy eyeglasses and dressed in a style he’d call country chic. She appeared the type who’d give out hugs, cookies and advice. She didn’t look like the type of woman who’d give away her child.