The Terms of Release (2 page)

“Y’all didn’t have to….”

“You hush. A grown man needs something not his childhood bedroom. It’s real nice. Your daddy traded for it—that old tractor that no one was gonna use no more.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. Is Daddy out to the barn or in the house?”

“Should be in the barn. Supper in half an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He’d take his duffel to the trailer afterward. First, he’d get to work. “I’ll help him out, and we’ll be in to eat.”

“I’ll see you then.” She gave him a ghost of a smile and headed for the house, leaving him on his own.

Sage hopped down and walked to the barn, whistling loud enough that the critters and Daddy could hear him and not be surprised. He looked out over the pasture as he went; the grass was browning, proving it was just on the other end of vicious Texas summer. Late September could be deadly—hot and humid, with air that felt like syrup in your lungs.

Daddy was singing, the words stuttering a bit but sounding loud and clear. Sage joined in, singing old Bob Wills songs like he had just come home from the store a half hour ago, not damn near eleven years ago.

Daddy’s head whipped up, but Sage saw no censure, no disappointment, nothing there but a huge grin, and they rolled into the big finish together, yodeling like fools.

The horses tossed their heads and snorted like they were singing right along. Silly things.

Daddy came and pounded on Sage’s back when they were done. “Son!”

“I’m home.” For what it was worth, he was home.

“You are, and it’s about damned time.”

“Yes, sir.” It was. “Momma says supper’s in thirty. What you need me to do?”

“I need that bale moved, and I’ve got about a thousand little things.”

“I’ll get on it.” He set to working, the motions and rhythm of this so deep in his bones that no time could rust it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched his father, those gnarled hands shaking now, the tremors obvious. God was a mean, vicious scorekeeper, and Sage thought He cheated more often than not.

They finished up the work in time for supper and made for the house, the wind picking up.

“Sounds like it’s fixin’ to storm.”

Daddy nodded. “You ain’t got one of them fancy-assed phones to tell you what the weather’s going to do?”

“No, sir.” He couldn’t afford one, and he didn’t have no credit. He had a pay as you go from the Walmart.

“Good.” Daddy spit into the dry ground. “Rosie’s asshole husband has one attached to his fucking palm. Worthless piece of shit.”

Sage shrugged. His knees told him when it was going to be really bad. That was his one truly painful souvenir from prison. At least he’d been given a choice—teeth or knees. He’d reckoned no one could do worse than what a horse could, and he’d been right. He could cowboy up.

His teeth had cost his momma and daddy too much money to let someone knock them clean out….

Momma opened the front door, and he forced himself to simply walk in and pretend like he belonged. Christ on a crutch, not a goddamn thing had changed, at least at first glance. The floors were still wood, and the walls in the mudroom still frog green. Pairs of rubber boots still sat in the old wood milk crate that Momma had bought at the First Baptist Christmas Yard Sale and Craft Show when he was eight.

Somehow it smelled the same too—like salt pork and beans, cornbread and chili.

As they walked in, he noticed the little things that were different—there were pictures of cousins’ babies where his and Rosie’s school pictures used to be, and the console TV cabinet had a little flat screen on it.

It made him breathe, finally, and made him smile. Time did march on.

“Come in and sit. You want milk or tea, Son?” Momma had already given Daddy his water and milk, and she had a cup of coffee by her plate.

“Tea, please.” It occurred to him, a little distantly, that he’d never sat at this table and had a beer. Not once, and he was fairly sure he never would.

“Here you go.” She handed him a glass, and he wanted to scream all of a sudden, wanted to break up the normalcy of the little scene.

He sat instead.

Daddy prayed and they ate, the food good, familiar, filling. He was going to crack like a dropped pie plate, right down the middle.

When the meal was finally over, he hauled his bones up, refusing the offer to sit and watch the evening news. His soul felt brittle, and he didn’t think he could bear it a bit, Momma crocheting and Daddy napping through one pointless show after another.

“Here’s the keys to the trailer, Son. There’s plumbing, gas, lights. I set it up for you.”

“Thank you, Momma. Daddy.” He took the keys and the wrapped-up plate of leftovers. “I’ll see y’all first thing.”

“We’ll be here.” Momma smiled for him and Daddy nodded, though that could have been the Parkinson’s.

Sage walked out to the truck and grabbed his duffel, thankful the storm hadn’t found them yet. He carried the bag to the trailer, standing and staring at it for a long time. Damn. It was plumb nice, really, even had a wee baby porch on it.

He didn’t see the pit bull sitting there, not until he climbed the stair. Little and blue, the whipcord tail set to wagging,
thump, thump
, and he frowned. “Copper?”

It couldn’t be. She’d been an old dog when he’d gone to California. She had to be long buried. Still, the pup was her spitting image and had a collar on her with a tag. He put the bag down and the plate on the porch rail, then bent down. “Who the hell are you, pup?”

Her tag said “Penny,” and he couldn’t help but grin. Momma did have a wicked sense of humor.

She licked his face, tail just thumping. Lord, lord. Looked like he’d have some company.

“Come on in, then, but you’d best not piss on my floor.” He liked a clean house. He’d never live in filth. Never again.

She trotted in next to him, and she didn’t jump on nothin’, just settled on a dog bed in the corner of the little front room.

The place was spotless and simple, with a TV, a little DVD player, and a sofa. The kitchen had the basics, and Sage knew if he looked, the pantry would have Corn Flakes, cans of Wolf Brand Chili, and quick grits.

Hell, there was even a mason jar filled with green apple Jolly Ranchers.

Oh sweet Jesus. He was home.

His knees buckled, and if that sweet pup came and licked tears off his cheeks, well shit, there wasn’t a living soul to tell on him.

For the first time in ten years, no one was watching.

A
DAM
D
ALE
Winchester, aka Win, walked into the sheriff’s department and checked the board to see where everyone was. The sheriff was in his office, which was good, because Win thought they needed to talk.

“Hey. Where were you last night?” he asked his uncle when he stepped in and closed the door. “I thought you were on call.”

“How is this your business, boy?” Jim snarled, not even looking up.

“Because I got called in for a traffic collision when I was off duty, that’s why.” People thought he’d gotten his job because Jim Dale was his uncle. Shit, it had all been in spite of that. The man was a petty tyrant.

“You could have called Barb.”

Right, because Barb as a single mom with one disabled boy and one under four needed to do a 10:00 p.m. call.
Ass hat
.

“Or, you could have been on call. What the hell was so fucking important that you just disappeared?”

“Watch your fucking mouth, or I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life.”

Win sneered. “You’ll try.” He hadn’t spent all that time in the Army for nothing. Neither of his uncles could even think about raising a hand to him these days like they had after his daddy died.

“Look, I was following a lead, huh? We got a murderer just moved into town. I was making sure the guy didn’t cause no issues.”

Win raised a brow. “A murderer?”

Jim nodded. “That fucker that killed your cousin Angel. You know, your Uncle Teddy’s boy.”

Sarcastic asshole.
No. No, he didn’t remember Angel.

Oh. Oh man. Talk about a cluster fuck. Win shook his head, wondering what he’d missed about the Redding family. What emergency had brought Sage Redding home? “You really think the man needed to be watched?”

“He killed five people.”

Win rolled his eyes. “He got manslaughter for being the one not killed when the meth lab went up, and you know it.” He’d read the reports when he’d gotten home from overseas, trying to help his family make sense of it all. The way he saw it, Sage had gotten a raw deal, but that was a fairly unpopular opinion. Hell, Win barely remembered the guy from school.

“He’s a fucking fag, a drug addict, and he corrupted your cousin, and you’d do well to remember that. The neighbors on either side of that ranch have kids.”

“Corrupted Angel?” He clamped his mouth shut. It did no good to talk ill of the dead, and it would only make it worse for Sage Redding if Win kept on defending him. “Well, I hope this ain’t gonna be so much of a pet project that you forget where you work.”

“I’ll make sure he knows we’re watching. He’ll screw up. They always do.”

In general, Jim was right. Lifelong criminals messed up over and over. He hoped for Sage’s momma’s sake that this man honestly had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. “You know the law, though. You can’t harass him.”

Somehow, saying that felt important.

“Uh-huh. Don’t you have work to do?”

Jesus, he wanted to beat the living fuck out of the man. He sighed, handing over a sheaf of papers. “Here’s last night’s report. I’ll take off at three today. Comp time.”

“That works. You need to remember to go out to the school, give the prehomecoming text and drive lecture.”

“Lord.” He grinned a little, though. He didn’t mind that at all. Kids were, as a rule, decent little shits and way more ready to listen than adults.

He waved, heading back out to the bullpen, wanting to get on with his day.

Grace was at the front desk, her coffee cup steaming. Win kissed her cheek, laughing. “Hey, lady. You ready for a crazy day?”

“Am I ever?” She winked at him. “I have news. My Leanne caught pregnant. I’m gonna be a granny.”

“You know it’s not me, right?” He ducked when she swatted at him. “Seriously, that’s great news, honey.”

“It is. They’ve been trying so long, you know?”

“I know.” He gave her a hug, making a mental note to get her something for her daughter.

Grace squeezed him. “How’s the bear this morning?”

“Prickly. I pissed him off already.”

“Go you. Shit, Win, you’ve been in here for, what? Eighteen seconds?”

“Maybe twenty-five.” He grinned some more, feeling better already.

“Oh, honey. You’re off your game.” Look at that evil smile.

“You think?” He grabbed the dailies and rifled through to see if he had any routine calls to make.

Everything had been quiet, which was par for the course. They’d have issues come Friday night, between the Rail and Buddy’s, depending on who started shit—cowboys or bikers. Today, it looked like the biggest thing was a warning not to let Sage Redding breathe hard on anyone.

“Lord, he has a hard-on for this guy.”

“Yeah. Redding’s daddy’s sick and….” Grace stopped, lips pursing. “Damn shame, that.”

“Yeah.” Well, at least Grace agreed with him.

Grace didn’t say another word about it, which meant she had more to say and wasn’t about to say it in front of the sheriff. He’d have to take her out for coffee. The woman loved a diner.

Win did too. He never turned down pie.

“I’ll be at the high school this afternoon. One ’til two thirty. Tell all the bad guys no emergencies.”

Grace nodded. “Will do, Win.”

He headed to his desk. E-mails. Then coffee. Then he could get the hell out of the office and pretend to do something.

He had a good bit of time to kill, after all. That was the best thing about being the law in a small town.

The ancient computer that wheezed and groaned, he liked that less. He crossed his fingers and sat, hoping it would boot up.

“You should get you one of them tablet deals. All the youngsters have them now.”

“Shit, lady. I still haven’t figured out my new phone.”

“Well, you’d best get with it,” Grace said. “The newest version just came out.”

“Newest version of what?”

“That phone. You’ll be replacing it in no time.” She waved at him and went to get more coffee.

Right. His phone did more than was reasonable, and really, he just wanted to make phone calls. Though he had to admit, texting could be nice.

His phone went off about then, and he sighed at the notification he was being called out for a breaking and entering. He wasn’t going to have that slow morning.

Damn it.

“I’ll be back. Someone’s busted into Dick Walker’s tool shed again.”

“Lord. Don’t let him shoot you.”

“I’ll do my best, honey. See you this afternoon.”

“Later.” Grace waved, and he headed out, glad he’d just missed Jim, who was coming into the bullpen looking like a thundercloud. Whatever bee Jim had in his bonnet, Win didn’t want any part of it.

He’d have to keep an eye on what Jim was up to with Sage Redding, though. Man didn’t deserve any more shit.

Whatever happened years ago, the evidence didn’t show that anyone was a cold-blooded murderer—more like a stupid shit who got lucky and didn’t burn to death. All eighteen year olds were stupid. Look at Win. He’d joined the Army….

Shitty as it was, it was better than the pen.

The food might be worse.

He was grinning as he headed out, hat brim down to shade
against the brutal late-September sun. Time to go see who had
violated Dick’s stuff.

S
AGE
FINISHED
hammering shingles onto the barn roof, the sun beating down on him, the heat like a living thing. Lord have mercy, it was like breathing in a swimming pool out here.