“And now,” Grant continued, stopping at Burke’s desk and leaning over it, his eyes burning, “we’ve got Izzy trying to stepinto Clara Vale’s shoes. She’s poking the same bear, Burke. Only this time, the bear has twenty-seven years of practice in making people vanish. We have to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to her.”
Burke leaned back, the weight of his father’s badge feeling like a lead weight. “The Feds won’t help us protect her, Grant. Not if it risks their ‘Hub’ investigation. We’re on our own.”
“Good,” Grant said, reaching for his keys. “I’m done waiting for permission from people who don’t have to live with the ghosts in this valley. If Wade Hollis is the gatekeeper, then it’s time we start tearing down the fence.”
Burke stood up, reaching for his hat. “We want the truth. And it looks like the only way to get it is to go through the man who’s been keeping it for them.”
39
Sam Talley’s House — Mid-Week
The house sat tucked behind Talley Feed & Tack, shielded from the main road by a stand of ancient hemlocks. Inside, the rooms were sparse and functional, reflecting a man who spent more time working the earth than enjoying the comforts of a home.
Sam sat at his heavy oak kitchen table, the light of a fading afternoon catching the sharp lines of his face. He looked worn hard by fifty-nine years, but there was a coiled strength in his shoulders that hadn’t faded with time.
The cream-colored envelope sat in front of him.Black Tie Optional.
“You smug son of a bitch,” Sam muttered.
He pushed the invitation aside and pulled a tattered cardboard shoe box toward him. He reached in and pulled out a polaroid from June of 1999. Clara Vale. She was laughing, standing in front of the Main Barn back when the red paint was so bright it looked like a wound against the green hillside.
Sam’s grip tightened on the photo, his knuckles turning white. He remembered the way Wade used to look at her—likeshe was just another piece of mountain acreage he intended to fence in. He looked back at the invitation. Every business owner in Sylva had been sent one.
“I wouldn’t step foot on your property if my life depended on it, Wade,” Sam hissed.
He didn’t throw the card away. He tucked it into the pocket of his work coat. He wasn’t going for the champagne, but the air in the valley was getting thin, and Sam was starting to feel like the silence of the last twenty-seven years was finally about to break.
* * *
The Main Barn — Thursday
The silver Escalade rolled up to the Scott farm. Cal hopped out, looking polished and untouched by the grime of the barn. He walked into the center aisle where Naomi was working a high-strung chestnut gelding on a lunge line.
Grant was leaning against a stall door, watching Naomi’s every move, his arms crossed.
“Whoa, easy,” Naomi murmured to the horse, her voice a low, steady anchor. The gelding’s ears flicked back toward her, his breathing leveling out.
“He’s looking better, Naomi,” Cal said, stepping into the barn. “A lot less flighty than when I dropped him off.”
Naomi didn’t look up, her eyes fixed on the horse’s rhythm. “He’s got a soft mouth and a long memory, Cal. He just needs someone who isn’t in a hurry to get where they’re going.”
Cal chuckled, glancing at Grant. “Sounds like most things on this farm. Anyway, I’m here to drop off the formal invites for Saturday. Dad wants the whole town represented.” He held out a heavy envelope toward Grant. “Black tie. Try to look like you don’t live in a stable for one night.”
Grant took the envelope with two fingers, looking at it like it was a subpoena.
“The Who’s Who of Sylva and surrounding areas are coming,” Cal said. He turned his attention back to Naomi, who was finally bringing the gelding to a halt. “I’d like for you to come too, Naomi. You’ve put enough work into this horse; you deserve a night out. Besides, Izzy will be with me, so I’d hate for the Scott brothers to feel lonely.”
Grant went still, the jealousy a hot, sharp needle in his gut. The thought of Izzy on Cal’s arm in a ballroom made his blood run hot.
“Naomi can make her own decisions,” Grant said, his voice dropping into a low rumble.
Naomi wiped her brow with the back of her glove and looked at the invitation. She looked at Grant’s dark expression, then back at Cal’s easy, arrogant smile. “I’ll find a dress, Cal. But I’m only going for the auction. I hear Wade is putting up some prime breeding rights.”
“That’s the spirit,” Cal quipped, turning back to his car. “We’ll see you Saturday. Don’t be late, Grant. I’d hate for you to miss the toast.”
Grant watched the Escalade pull away, his grip tightening on the cardstock until it buckled. “He’s doing it on purpose,” Grant muttered.
“Of course he is,” Naomi said, unhooking the lunge line. “But you’re going to put on that suit, Grant Scott. Because if you don’t, you’re leaving Izzy in that house alone with Hollis and a couple of Vargas. And we both know you can’t live with that.”
