Montana Creeds: Tyler (35 page)

With that, she closed the car door, started the engine and drove slowly down the clamshell driveway for what she knew would be the very last time.

And it was all she could do not to shout out a hallelujah.

 

D
AN
P
HILLIPS ARRIVED
at Tyler's place that afternoon, with a crew. Since his bulldozer was already on the premises, he made short work of clearing away the remains of the cabin. Tow trucks arrived to haul off the smashed semi and Tyler's pickup.

Together, Dan and Tyler paced off the place where
the foundation would be poured, and the digging started right away.

Spotting a glimmer in the crushed grass, Tyler squatted, picked up the small hunk of metal that had once been his watch. His last gift from Shawna.

Holding it in his palm, closing his fingers around it, Tyler shut his eyes.

Let go, Ty,
he heard Shawna say, in his head, as clearly as he'd heard Jake's taunts at the cemetery.
It's time to let go.

Tyler opened his eyes first, then his fingers. Dylan was standing close by, watching him.

“It's creepy,” Tyler said, straightening, “the way you and Logan seem to pop up out of the ground when I'm not expecting you.”

And just when I need a brother.

“I called your name a couple of times,” Dylan said quietly. “But with the bulldozer running and you off in another world someplace, I guess you didn't hear me.”

Tyler managed a grin, probably more of a grimace, and didn't answer.

“Is the watch special?” Dylan asked. His tone was careful.

Tyler swallowed, nodded. Heard the echo of Shawna's gentle admonition whispering in his mind again.
Let go, Ty. It's time to let go.

“I'll tell you all about it one day soon,” he promised hoarsely.

“Whenever you're ready,” Dylan replied. Then he gestured toward the driveway. “Brought the Blazer back,” he said. “You're going to need wheels.”

Tyler chuckled. “Thanks,” he said, as Dylan laid the keys in his hand. The one that wasn't still gripping Shawna's watch, gripping Shawna herself.

Let go.

“Davie and the dog still over at Logan's?” Dylan asked, keeping pace as Tyler headed for the Blazer, intent on the next order of business.

“Yeah,” Tyler answered. “I got a call from Jim Huntinghorse a few minutes ago. Roy's out of the hospital, and locked up in a cell in town. Thought I'd drop by and say howdy.”

Dylan nodded. “And you don't want the kid around for that,” he guessed.

“Nope,” Tyler said, waving to Dan Phillips as he opened the driver's-side door of the Blazer.

“Or me, either,” Dylan supposed, looking affable and worried at the same time.

Tyler grinned. Slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Nope,” he repeated.

Dylan chuckled. Nodded. “Kristy and I are throwing a party for Floyd Book tonight, at our place. Bon voyage kind of thing—our former sheriff and his wife are leaving on a cruise to Alaska tomorrow morning. With all that's been going on, I didn't get around to mentioning it, but I'd really like it if you'd come by. So would Kristy.”

Tyler got into the Blazer, rested his arm on the frame of the open window. “I guess I could fit that into my busy social calendar,” he said. Then, with a quirk at one corner of his mouth, he added, “Need a lift somewhere?”

Dylan had driven the Blazer out to the ranch, so he'd be on foot if he didn't accept.

“My place,” he answered. “The new one, I mean.”

When they arrived on Dylan's part of the ranch, Tyler let out a low whistle of exclamation. Workers were everywhere—where had Dan gotten them all?—and both the house and the barn were framed in.

“Impressive,” Tyler said. “The house is going to cover an acre, all by itself.”

Dylan surveyed the progress with a light of pride in his eyes. “It's a whole new start,” he said quietly. “A place to raise up a whole flock of Creeds, starting with Bonnie.”

Tyler was choked up, all of a sudden. Again, he remembered the weird incident with Jake, over at the graveyard, remembered the old man's brutal certainty that all Logan and Dylan were trying to build would fall apart.

He expected a chill, but it didn't come.

Instead, he felt peace.

“A whole new start,” Tyler confirmed.

Dylan's expression was serious when he turned to face Tyler. “Ty, there are letters, diaries—”

“So I'm told,” Tyler said, when Dylan fell silent.

“They were mostly good people. The Creeds, I mean.”

Tyler nodded.

Dylan cleared his throat. “Read up on them, will you? The family, the people who carved this place out of the wilderness with their bare hands and held it for us, generation after generation. When you do, you'll know we've got a lot to be proud of.”

Tyler figured they had a lot to be proud of, even without the letters and diaries, but he wasn't ready to say
that yet, so he just nodded, tacitly agreeing to take a look at the archives.

“See you tonight?” Dylan asked. “At the party?”

“I'll be there,” Tyler said. “What time?”

Dylan's legendary grin flashed again. He'd been a heartbreaker, out there on the rodeo circuit, a different rodeo groupie in his bed every night of the week. Now, Kristy had him roped and tied for good, and he'd never looked happier. “
Any
time, Ty,” he said. And then he walked away.

Tyler spent the drive into town sorting through all the things it made him feel, having brothers again. Between them and what he had with Lily, he felt something that had been missing from his life for a long time—hope.

 

J
IM WAS SHUFFLING PAPERS
in the front office when Tyler arrived at the sheriff's office, and Floyd Book was there, too, wearing civilian clothes and looking mighty pleased that he'd been replaced.

“I hear you and Dorothy are leaving on a honeymoon cruise tomorrow,” Tyler remarked, shaking hands with the older man.

“Dorothy's really perked up at the prospect,” Floyd said, beaming.

Life, Tyler thought, goes on.

There had been a funeral in town, he knew, marking the end of a long ordeal for Floyd Book and a lot of other people, including Kristy. Seemed like folks were making fresh starts all over the place, not just on Stillwater Springs Ranch.

“That's good, Floyd,” Tyler said. Since he didn't know
if tonight's party was a surprise or not, he didn't mention it. “Did Jim bring you up to speed on the goings on out at my cabin?”

Floyd nodded, frowned. “Hell of a thing,” he said. Then, with a glance at Jim, he added, “Glad
I'm
not going to have to unravel this mess.”

Jim threw him a mock glare, then laughed. Jutted his thumb toward the back of the office, where the cells were. “I guess you know the way, Ty,” he said, getting a chuckle out of Floyd.

“Guess I do,” Tyler said. “Floyd here gave me a guided tour once, a long time ago.”

“Twice,” Floyd corrected good-naturedly. “There was that time I caught you and Jim and a bunch of other yahoos spinning didos in the parking lot over at the high school, one fine winter night. All of you were tanked up on beer, and the whole county was under an inch of ice, and since I didn't want to drive the lot of you to your separate domiciles, I just threw you all in the clink for the night.”

“I remember.” Tyler grinned.

Jim chuckled ruefully. “Me, too.”

Floyd started for the front door. “I'm getting out of here before somebody slaps a badge on my chest,” he said. “See you both at the party tonight?”

“I wouldn't miss it,” Jim said.

“Me, either,” Tyler added.

“Good,” Floyd said, in parting. “Because when I look at you two, I know I did a
couple
of things right, anyway, during my long and illustrious career in law enforcement.”

Jim grinned, straightened his shoulders a little.

Tyler felt good, too, as he headed back to see Roy Fifer.

A word of praise from Floyd Book, however offhanded, was as good as a compliment could get. Floyd had been Tyler's childhood hero, and Jim's, too, for all the trouble they'd gotten into with him.

Roy was in the last cell on the right, sitting hangdog on the edge of his cot, wearing a jail-orange jumpsuit. All dressed up, and nowhere to go.

Seeing Tyler, he looked as if he'd leap to his feet and try to squirm between the bars over the window.

“Why'd you do it, Roy?” Tyler asked.

Roy's Adam's apple bobbed along the length of his neck, though there wasn't much distance to cover. Roy didn't really
have
a neck. “I was drunked up,” he said. “Mad at Doreen. You going to press charges?”

“That's not up to me,” Tyler answered, drawing on what Logan had told him in the ranch house kitchen early that morning, over ham and eggs and a lot of coffee. “You could have killed us, Roy. Davie and me and the dog, too. Since that appears to be what you intended, I guess the county prosecutor will decide what happens now.”

“I wasn't after you,” Roy said, as though that would make a difference. “I was after that damn kid. He's the whole reason Doreen came back here and messed up my life.”

“So you figured
killing
him made sense?”

Roy heaved a great, quivering sigh, shook his head. Stared down at the cement floor of his new residence. “I
never thought as far as anybody dyin',” he said. “Like I told you, I'd had a few too many beers over at Skivvie's.”

“A great way to cap off getting your stomach pumped,” Tyler observed. “Head for Skivvie's and start swilling brew.”

“I might have a little drinking problem,” Roy confessed gloomily.

“Think so?”

“Kind of like your old man did,” Roy said, pushing the envelope. “I'd expect you, of all people, to understand.”

“Would you?” Tyler replied lightly.

“Give me a chance, here,” Roy went on. There was a whiny note in his voice now, and he was pale as a bottom-feeder's belly. “A word from you, and the prosecutor might give me a stint in rehab and probation, instead of a prison sentence.”

Tyler wanted to turn around and walk out, but he knew this was his one chance to get the truth out of Roy Fifer. The man thought he, Tyler, could influence the prosecutor—fat chance, according to Logan—and because of that, Roy might be willing to spill some of the details.

“Did you and Doreen and Davie plan this whole paternity thing, Roy?” Tyler asked, careful to keep his voice light, as though none of it really mattered, one way or the other. “Was it a scam?”

To Tyler's relief, Roy looked genuinely surprised. “Plan it?” he echoed stupidly.

“Saying Davie was mine,” Tyler prompted carefully, not wanting to put words in Roy's mouth. “Hitting me up for a lot of money.”

Roy blinked. “No,” he said. “Doreen had Davie take a blood test, down at the clinic. Fed-Exed it to some guy she used to know, and he e-mailed her a few days later—she used one of the computers over at the library—said he'd followed up with some medical outfit wherever he lived, and the results were negative. I swear to God, that's all she told me.”

Tyler closed his eyes.

The truck driver. Doreen had contacted the man she'd believed to be Davie's father, sent him Davie's lab results, and the mystery man had had them compared to his own.

“Are those results around someplace, Roy?” Tyler asked, very quietly.

“There's a copy in the bill drawer, over at Granny's,” Roy said, looking baffled. “If Doreen didn't take them with her after she doctored my Bloody Mary and lit out.”