“Well, how you planning to get back home if I don’t? Figured you’d at least need a ride to the airport or something.”
“There’s not really a home to go back to,” I say glumly.
My heart clenches at the truth of that.
My dad’s empty place in San Diego hasn’t felt like home in years.
After a long silence, Weston asks, “So this is permanent? You aren’t coming back to Uncle Grady’s?”
“I can’t go back,” I say weakly, more to myself than to Weston.
“Damn,” he grunts, scratching the back of his neck. “Guess I didn’t realize that. Seemed like you two hit it off like a barn on fire. I figured you’d be seeing Dallas again, at least till you’ve sorted out the rest.”
The ding of his phone saves me from having to say more.
A message flashes on the blue screen on the dash. Heads-up. A black SUV just closed in and a man inside used binoculars to check what’s in my trailer.
Me, too. Flashes on the screen next.
“Shit’s flying from decoys already,” Weston spits, his blue eyes narrowing in focus. “We started a private channel so we can stay in touch. Hang on to your butt; this might get nuts.”
Awesome.
I should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy.
The texts become our discussion topic during our drive for nearly the next hour, especially when a message from Bella says a vehicle tried running her off the road.
“They chose the wrong target,” Weston growls, shaking his head. “Drake will have their asses locked up over that.” He laughs then. “Did you see what Bella had in her trailer?”
“No, what?”
“A bale of hay covered with a tiger-striped blanket.” He grins, showing off his white teeth with the sun slashing across his face.
Something that feels awfully rare for this man, even if I don’t know him.
“Really?” I ask. “Good thinking!”
“Yep, she’s a brainiac.” He gestures to the trailer we’re pulling with a nod. “This is one of Joyce’s trailers. No one can see in it because the vents are too high, mostly around the roof. It’s my truck, but her trailer.”
I nod, thankful for some good news.
More messages come swarming in. This time about a squad car in hot pursuit of the SUV that tried knocking Bella off the road.
Weston laughs again. “Told ya.”
The messages peter out then. Weston asks if I’ll stay in Wyoming with Bruce, and I explain that I will for a few days before booking a flight back to San Diego to regroup.
It’s all I can think to do before mashing a big fat reset button on my life.
I tell him a few fieldwork stories for the next hour, until he mentions the cooler in the back.
“Granny Coffey packed us some lunch,” he says. “I’m starving. You?”
“Sure.” I’m not hungry, but it’s something to do so I unbuckle and lift the cooler into the front seat and open it.
“What’s in there?” Weston asks, his eyes flicking urgently to the top.
I smirk. He looks a lot like his uncle when his stomach’s growling.
“Sub sandwiches, chips, fruit, cookies, bottles of water, and looks like some jerky.” I hold the stick of dried meat up, confirming.
“All of the above,” he says. “Thanks.”
That makes me grin. He’s a nice guy and certainly very helpful. I open a sandwich and set it out along with chips, an apple, and a cookie on the console, plus a water bottle for his cup holder.
“Thanks for all you’re doing to help me with Bruce,” I say, unwrapping a sandwich for myself.
“No problem. Happy to help.” He takes a bite of his sub. “If Uncle Grady asked me to go to the moon for him, I’d make myself into an Apollo astronaut.”
“Because he’s your uncle? Family?”
“Nah, well...that too.” He takes another bite, then chews and swallows, his thoughts shifting in his eyes as the sun catches them. “Thing is, Grady helps everyone, including me. When I got back from serving overseas, I had a few issues...he helped pull my head out of my ass and set me straight. I owe him. Besides, this is the first time he’s ever really asked for help. Like you saw back there, he had a small army ready to join in, no questions asked.”
His words make my heart flutter because I know just the Grady he means.
A proud, lion-hearted man who turned himself inside out just to let his friends into his life.
“Yeah. I noticed,” I whisper, straggling out the words before my throat closes.
“He’s always been too proud to ask for anything, even when he damn well should have,” Weston tells me, taking another Bruce-sized bite off his sub.
I’ve still got a mouthful of mine, so I just look at him, unable to form words.
“I’m talking about when Brittany was sick and dying... Uncle Grady never asked anyone for help, and he sure could’ve used it. That shit ripped him in half. She didn’t even know who he was by the end.”
Food gets stuck in my throat and I have to swallow extra hard to push it down.
“She didn’t?” I finally get out.
“Nope. Poor lady didn’t remember nothing. Not him. Not the girls. Not her own frigging name. It was horrific. She had a feeding tube and Grady had to do everything for her. Everything.” With sad eyes, he pauses, raising a fist from the wheel. “Seemed like it went on forever. I can’t even imagine what it was like for my uncle. The end was a blessing in disguise when it came, putting her out of her misery, but not for him. Grady always thought he should have done more. He never realized he just...he couldn’t have. He’s a helluva guy but he’s not a miracle worker. There was nothing anyone could’ve done, and he ran himself raw caring for her. He was kind and faithful to the bitter end.”
“Wow,” I mouth numbly, feeling my pulse slowing to a crawl.
Ah, hello pain.
There’s that pesky heartache again, determined to make me spill a few more tears for the incredible man I left behind. The handsome man with a desperado’s soul I couldn’t even give a proper goodbye to.
God, what’s wrong with me?
Weston takes a drink of water, slugging it back like a whiskey shot. “Shit. I was just hoping he was snapping out of this funk he’s been in for years, finally getting over it and moving on with his life, y’know? The dude deserves a little excitement. A real date or two with a nice woman, if it’s in the cards.”
He turns that sad smile on me.
I wasn’t that hungry before, but now, I can’t take another bite and tuck the sandwich back in its wrapper. I had no idea Brittany’s death was so awful. So sad.
I’d never asked Grady directly, never pried into what he’d gone through.
No wonder he’s so viciously protective of Sawyer and Avery.
Of himself.
Watching someone he loved die like that gives a new definition to torture.
“If I had two wishes, Willow, I’ll tell you what they’d be,” Weston says darkly. “For one, I’d wish I could finally get my life back on track, bring in steady business at the shop, and stop looking over my shoulder.”
The way he says it sends a chill up my back. Apparently, trouble runs in the family with the McKnights.