off the months on her frozen fingers. March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, Novem...
A sickening flurry of emotions began to churn in her belly, spaghetti and chocolate cake morphing into a lead weight. She swallowed hard as the potential reality of Matt’s confession sank in.
It couldn’t be true, though. Grant was Kenzie’s father. He and Marissa had dated off and on for years. Until shortly before Kenzie was born, when he walked away for good.
She dared a glance at Matt, squaring her shoulders. Marissa would have told her if he was Kenzie’s father. “Matt, I don’t know how you came up with such a crazy notion, but I can assure you that you are not Kenzie’s father.”
He twisted toward her. “Really? Then how do you explain this?” He held out a five-by-seven photo. A little boy with dark eyes alight with amusement and dark brown hair that had been combed back to reveal a slight widow’s peak... Just like Kenzie. “That’s me at four years old. When your mother introduced me to Kenzie earlier today, I felt as though I’d met her before. I didn’t get it at first. Until you told me how old she was.” His voice cracked. “I’m not imagining this, Lace. I truly believe that Kenzie is my daughter.”
She stared at the photo, feeling as though she might be sick. Grant was as fair-haired as Marissa had been, with eyes just as blue. Why hadn’t her sister told her she saw Matt? That there was a possibility he could be Kenzie’s father?
She looked away. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. Jutting her chin into the frigid air, she glared right at Matt. “It’s not true.” Then, before he could say another word, she turned and ran back home.
* * *
Thanks to Lacie’s abrupt departure last night, sleep had evaded Matt. Now as midafternoon approached, he was starting to feel the effects. Unfortunately, his shift wasn’t over for another three hours.
Under what he would normally consider a beautiful blue sky, he maneuvered his Tahoe through the neighboring town of Ridgway, eyeing the jagged, snow-covered peaks of the Cimarrons to the east. He wanted to kick himself for accusing Lacie of hiding Kenzie’s paternity, when it was obvious she was as shocked by the revelation as he was. What he couldn’t figure out, though, was why she refused to believe him.
Because maybe you’re not Kenzie’s father.
Yet he’d gone off half-cocked with no concrete proof to back up his supposition.
Anyone could tell you were a Stephens.
The image of Kenzie’s face haunted him. Wouldn’t a father know his own child? After all, it wasn’t like he was looking to be a dad. And while the evidence he had was circumstantial, it all added up and was impossible to ignore. At least until he had proof to the contrary.
So where did he go from here? And how was he going to convince Lacie that he wasn’t crazy?
His radio went off. Possible poachers. He waited for the address, cringing when it came. He did not need this today. Or any other day, for that matter. With the mood he was in, the last person he wanted to see was his father.
Why’d he have to call while Matt was the only deputy on duty? Couldn’t he have waited a few more hours for the next shift? Sure, it would be dark, but at least he’d have been off the hook.
Bound by duty, he reluctantly responded to dispatch and headed south on Highway 550. God, I’m going to need Your help.
Ten minutes later, his vehicle bumped across the cattle guard beneath the arched metal sign that read Abundant Blessings Ranch. He crept up the long gravel drive, praying that perhaps it had been his oldest brother, Noah, who’d made the call. Yet as he passed the recently expanded stable, his hopes were dashed when he glimpsed Noah tending the horses. He thought about stopping to check, but knew he’d simply be postponing the inevitable.
Approaching the ranch house, memories of that day nearly three years ago filled his mind. All he’d wanted to do was make Mama happy. And he had. For a short time, she’d forgotten the pain and weakness that had plagued her for months.
But Dad didn’t see it that way. Are you trying to kill her?
Ten days later, she was gone. The cancer had finally gotten the better of her.
Just then he spotted his father exiting the new barn his brother Andrew had built over the summer.
You’re nothing but a screwup, Matt. Always have been, always will be.
Clint Stephens’s words didn’t sting quite as much today as they had when he’d first spat them at Matt. And while Matt tried to pretend his father’s opinion didn’t matter, it seemed he’d been trying to disprove his father ever since. Yet for all of his trying, he’d only succeeded in proving him correct.
While Dad looked on, he parked beside the old man’s dually, in front of the long wooden deck that spanned the length of the single-story cedar ranch house. Thanks to Andrew and a good power washing, the place looked almost new. The ugly black buildup from years of neglect had been whisked away. If only the damage to his heart could be so easily erased.
His father was waiting as Matt exited his truck, felt cowboy hat perched upon his graying head, hands buried in the pockets of his Carhartt coveralls. “Wondered if you’d be working today.”
“I am. So whatcha got?” Because the sooner he could get away from here, the better off he’d be.
“A decapitated mule deer.” The old man poked a thumb over his shoulder toward the pasture. “Near Smugglers Bend.”
Matt knew the area well as he used to hunt there all the time. There wasn’t an inch on the ranch that he and his brothers hadn’t explored at some point in their young lives. “I’ll drive over there and walk in from the road.”
His father’s gaze narrowed. “He’s tucked in amongst the brush. Might have a hard time findin’ him, so I’d best take you.”
The dread Matt had felt earlier amplified. Did Dad think he was incapable of finding it? Or that he needed a chaperone to make sure he got things right?
Whatever the case, the old man remained quiet during the ride out there on one of the utility vehicles they used to get around the ranch. Despite an abundance of sunshine, the bitter cold air stung Matt’s face as they thudded over the now-dormant rangeland, carving a path around cattle and the occasional tree.
A short time later, his father brought the vehicle to a halt beside a small wooded area. Scruffy conifers and barren deciduous trees blanketed with underbrush. A hiding place for wildlife. “He was a big fella.” Dad stepped off the vehicle and led Matt several feet into the thicket.
Matt eyed the once-majestic buck. “Yes, sir. But then, poachers don’t make a habit of going after the little guys.” He surveyed the overgrowth around the animal. “How’d you find him?”
“Neighbor called and said I had cows on the road. When I went to get ’em, I discovered somebody had cut the fence.” Dad glanced some hundred yards in the distance. “Wasn’t long after that I saw the blood trail.” He looked down at the dead animal. “Looks like a clean shot, though.” He pointed to the entry wound behind the animal’s left shoulder. “Fella never knew what hit him.”
“I’m guessing they shot from the road.” Matt dared a look at his dad. “Then walked in to claim their trophy.”
Dad shook his head. “Them poachers are the ones that ought to be shot.”
Matt took some photos and jotted down a few notes before following the trail to the road and doing more of the same. “Unfortunately, this isn’t the first incident we’ve seen,” he told his father when he returned. “I’ll hand this information over to investigators, though with little to go on, catching anyone isn’t likely.”
They again climbed on the UTV and started back to the ranch house in silence. Matt took the opportunity to survey the land he loved so much. He gazed at the river as they passed,