Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(64)

Once when he’d come to bury Tucker. Only…Tucker hadn’t been in that empty grave. It had just been a ceremony. A headstone with no casket in the ground.

“Tucker’s father still lives in the area. I have some more questions for him.” Because if Tucker truly had somehow made it out of that frozen hell, he would’ve come home. Tucker had been so close to his father.

“Did you tell his father you were coming?”

Trace shook his head. “He doesn’t exactly like me, Skye. The man blames me for his son’s death.” His fingers tightened around the wheel. “With damn good reason.” But Quint Hawk just thought Trace hadn’t done a good enough job of covering Tucker’s ass on the mission.

He didn’t realize that Trace had been the one to fire the shot that ended Tucker’s life.

They rode in silence. The miles drifted past. They turned off the pavement and fish-tailed down a long, dusty dirt road. The road ended in front of a ranch house. Two dogs ran out to meet them, barking excitedly.

Trace killed the engine. Stared at that house. Tucker had grown up there. Laughed and lived.

The front door opened. Quint appeared, holding tight to his cane.

Trace climbed from the SUV. He hurried around to Skye’s side, but she’d already slipped out.

“Who the hell are you?” Quint demanded. “And what are you doin’ on my property so damn early?”

Bracing his shoulders, Trace advanced. “It’s me, Mr. Hawk.” He took a few more steps. The dogs bounced around him, their tongues hanging out as they panted. “Trace Weston.”

Quint shuffled forward. Tap. Tap. His cane hit the wooden floor of the porch. “What are you doin’ back here?” His eyes narrowed as he glanced over Trace’s shoulder. “And who’s she?”

“That’s my fiancé,” Trace said. “And I’m here because I need to ask you a few more questions about Tucker.”

“We don’t got nothin’ to say.” Quint pointed a bony finger at Trace. “Now load up your pretty girl and get the hell off my property.”

Right. That was the reception he’d expected and why he hadn’t just called. “I can’t leave. No, I won’t leave.” Trace strode toward the house. “Not until we talk. I know you blame me for Tucker’s death. And you’re—”

“He had a fiancé, too,” Quint suddenly said, cocking his head. “I got his last letter to me. A week after I buried him, I got that letter.”

Trace tensed. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Skye had come closer to him. Then he focused on Quint. “Do you have that letter, sir?”

“It’s all I have left of him.” Quint’s hold on his cane tightened. “When I got it, I thought—them bastards were wrong. My boy’s alive.” He stared down at the porch. “Then I realized…he’d just sent it to me before he died. Mail is so slow…so slow…but for a moment there. A moment…I had my boy back.”

“Sir, I’d really like to see that letter.” A fiancé? Tucker had never said that he and Anna Jean were getting married.

“He did some bad things.” Now Quint’s shoulders stooped. “I know that now.” His gaze found Trace’s. “That’s what killed him, isn’t it?”

Trace shook his head. “Tucker was a good man.”

“Once, he was.” His knuckles whitened around the cane. “If I let you see the letter, I never want you comin’ back, understand? You…” His voice thickened. “You remind me too much of what I lost.”

Trace nodded. “You’ll never see me again.” Beside him, Skye was silent.

Quint disappeared into the house. Tap. Tap.

Trace didn’t follow him.

“Did you know about his engagement?” Skye asked softly.

“No.”

“Do you…do you think there were some other things that you didn’t know?”

Tap. Tap.

Quint pushed open the door. Crept onto the porch. His fingers were shaking as he handed Trace an envelope. “Take it, then burn it.”

Trace frowned. “But—”

“I was better off not gettin’ that note.” Quint leveled a hard stare at Trace. “And, son, you’re better off not readin’ it.”

No, he wasn’t.

Quint turned away. Stopped. His back was to Trace as he said, “My debt is paid to you, son.”

“You never owed me a debt.” Trace carefully held that envelope.

“I was losin’ this place. The bank was gonna take it from me. Then…one day…I come out here to see the deed in my mail box. Paid in full.” Tap. “I know what you had to do to my son. But you don’t owe me anymore. And I don’t owe you. We’re done.”

The door closed behind him.

“Trace?”

He knows.

Trace jerked his head toward the SUV. The dogs were still barking like crazy. “Let’s get back inside.”

After Trace shut the passenger-side door behind Skye, he walked back around the vehicle. He paused in front of the SUV. The sun was rising. He glanced at the old, wooden fence on the right. For an instant, he could imagine Tucker there. Laughing.

Then the image of Tucker was gone.