Gun-Shy Bride. B.J. Daniels
Luke stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a mug, refilling his uncle’s before returning to the deck.
A flock of geese honked somewhere in the distance and he could see the dark V of a half-dozen pelicans circling over the water. The ice had only melted off last week leaving the water a deep green.
“Walleye chop,” Buzz said as Luke handed him his coffee, indicating the water’s surface now being kicked up by the wind. “The fish’ll be bitin'. Since you’re not going to catch any criminals anyway, you might as well come fishing with me.”
Luke ignored the dig. “Can’t.” But spending the day fishing did have its appeal. “I have to work on the house or it will never get finished.” He had a couple of days off, and he planned to get as much done as possible.
“I’ve never understood why you bought that place back,” Buzz said, shaking his head. “It was nothing but work for your father. I’d think you’d want to start fresh. No ghosts.”
Is that how Buzz saw the past? Full of ghosts? It surprised Luke. The old homestead was his mother’s family’s place. He’d lived there his first seven years his parents before their deaths and cherished those memories.
“You hear about those bones found south of town?” his uncle asked, then swore when Luke said he hadn’t. “You never know what’s going on,” Buzz complained. “Anyway, it seems Rocky Harrison found some bones and was going on about them at the bar and somehow Eugene got arrested.”
No mystery there, Luke thought. Eugene getting arrested had long ceased to be news.
“Rocky swore the bones were human. Probably just some dead animal. I thought for sure you might have heard somethin'.”
Luke watched a fishing boat against the opposite shore, the putter of the motor lulling him as he wondered idly why his uncle would be so interested in some old bones.
PEPPER STOPPED IN FRONT of Trace’s bedroom door, the key clutched in her hand. She’d had Enid lock the room, wanting it left just as it was the day her youngest son left it.
Had she really thought he’d return to the ranch? He’d been a day short of twenty the last time she saw him. He’d promised to come to the birthday party she was throwing for him. All of the family would be there and had been warned to be on their best behavior. She had planned the huge party and, even though the two of them had fought, Pepper had been so sure he wouldn’t miss his party for anything.
“You old fool,” she muttered as she slipped the key into the lock. She’d had her first child at seventeen.Trace had come along unexpectedly after her doctor she couldn’t have any more children. She had thought of Trace as her miracle child.
She realized she hadn’t thought about her other children and grandchildren in years. They’d resented Trace and her relationship with him. Their jealousy had turned her stomach and finally turned her against them.
With a grimace, she realized she could be a great-grandmother by now.
The door to Trace’s room opened. Air wafted out, smelling stale and musty and she could see dust thick as paint everywhere as she stepped in.
The bed was covered in an old quilt, the colors faded, the stitching broken in dozens of places. She started to touch the once-vibrant colored squares but pulled her hand back.
Her eyes lit on the stack of outdoor and hunting magazines piled up beside the bed. Trace had lived and breathed hunting. He’d been like his father that way.
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