and that was a start.
The question was, of what?
He was sitting on the porch step, looking at the lake, Kit Carson beside him, leaning slightly against his right shoulder as if to anchor him somehow, and sipping strong coffee when his cell phone rang.
His first thought, as he set his cup down to take the phone from his shirt pocket, was that Lily had changed her mind. Come to her senses. She was calling back to tell him sheâd thought it over, and thanks, but no thanksâ¦.
But the caller, as it turned out, was Dylan.
âThe kidâs situation is pretty bad,â Dylan said. Typical. He never bothered with âhelloâ but, then, Tyler didnât, either, most of the time. Or Logan. When Tyler got somebody on the horn, it was because he had business with them. He didnât shoot the breezeâa family trait, he reflected, with some amusement. âDavieâs, I mean.â
Tyler let out the sigh that had been hunkered down inside him, dark and heavy, ever since heâd found Davie McCullough cowering in his john that afternoon. âI figured that,â he said. âDid you talk to Jim?â
âI did,â Dylan answered. âOur new sheriff is up to his ass in alligators right now. He wanted to call in social services and have the boy put into a foster home. Davie said heâd run away first, and I believe himâso I talked Jim into giving it a few days.â
Tyler closed his eyes. âWhereâs Davie now?â
âI took him to the casino. Heâs hanging out in one ofthe restaurants till his mother gets off work.â Dylan paused, cleared his throat, and Tyler, who had known something bigger was coming at him since the call began, braced himself. âTy?â Dylan went on. âThe kidâs momâwellâsheâs somebody you know.â He stopped again. Tyler had a flash-vision of the bomb doors swaying open in the bay of a fighter jet, of ominous cylinders dropping with slow and deadly grace. âYou knew her as Doreen Baron.â
âHoly shit, â Tyler rasped, when heâd absorbed the impact.
Talk about your emotional mushroom cloud.
Doreen had been a waitress when he knew her, back when Skivvieâs still had a lunch counter and a few tables. Fifteen years his senior, Doreen, with her network of tattoos and what-the-hell attitude, had taught him everything he needed to know about pleasing a womanâand then some.
Still scrambling for some kind of inner foothold, Tyler did some frantic countingâbackward, from the age he guessed Davie to be.
âShit,â he repeated.
Davie could be his son. And some son of a bitch was beating on him, on a regular basis, it would seem.
âYou still there?â Dylan queried, somewhat cautiously, when the taut silence had finally stretched itself to the breaking point.
âYeah, Iâm here,â Tyler answered, dizzy with a combination of dread and wild hope. On the one hand, he hoped Davie was his. On the other, such a revelation might make it impossible to find any sort of common ground with Lily.
Did he even want to find common ground with Lily?
âYou thinking what Iâm thinking?â Dylan pressed quietly.
âYes,â Tyler said. âDavieâs about the right age, I guess.â He ducked his head, pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. The dog gave a little whimper and leaned in harder. âDoreen never pretended I was the only game in town, though, and I think if Davie was mine, sheâd have hit me up for money somewhere along the way.â
Dylan was silent for a long time. âLook, youâre going to need a rig. Iâve already spoken with Kristy, and sheâs willing to lend you her Blazer until your truck is back on the road. We could bring it out when she gets off work at the library, if you want.â
Pride swelled up inside Tyler, fit to split his hide, but he needed transportation. The auto
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