She rubbed Buttercup on the nose, letting silence persuade Mitch to speak more.
“Spent my summers on a ranch. My mom sent me there to get away from the city. I liked the work but haven’t been to that place since I enlisted. Three years.”
As tempted as she was to ask about what had happened to him while he was serving, she didn’t. Her aunt had never asked her a single question about her accident. She’d left Greer be until one day she’d been ready to talk.
She was doing this her aunt’s way. Might not be the best way and she was pretty sure this method wasn’t written up in any textbook. But it had worked for her and would have to do. “I pay minimum wage, and I cut paychecks on the first and the fifteenth. If I send you into town on errands, mark your miles, and I’ll reimburse you for the gas. Does that suit?”
For a moment he rubbed Buttercup’s nose while Beauty watched. “Can’t promise how long I’ll stay.”
She’d never figured she’d stay at Bonneville, either. She’d seen it as a life raft, not a destination. “I’d appreciate three days’ notice if you decide it doesn’t work for you. I’ll need to rearrange my schedule to care for the horses.”
He nodded. “You know much about horses?”
“Not a darn thing other than they’re tall and more animal than I know what to do with. The farrier said the feed load he dropped was about a week’s worth.”
Mitch glanced at the hay bales. “Barely a week. Explains why they’re too thin.”
“You can tell me what kind of feed to buy?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ve got them? You can do whatever it is they need.”
Beauty moved closer but remained out of Mitch’s reach. “Have they been watered?”
“I put water in the trough.”
“Where can I find a water hose and a bucket? Don’t want to overdo the water, but I imagine they’d appreciate a splash on a hot day.”
She showed him around the storage shed, which she said he could rearrange to suit himself. She gave him a rough idea of where she wanted to expand the field for the horses and showed him the pile of lumber she’d had delivered yesterday. He nodded and listened but didn’t say much.
She left him, retreating into the main tasting room to the chairs still needing assembly. A large picture window framed the west wall and a view of the horses and Mitch. He didn’t move quickly but with a halting, uneasy pace as if his body was relearning how to move again.
Grief and sorrow could rob you of will and energy so that all you wanted to do was crawl under the covers and let life pass you by. Giving up was a little too easy unless there was someone waiting on you to get out of bed each day. It was one thing to disappoint yourself. But it was another to let a loved one or an animal down.
She picked up the phone and dialed. Next came a calm and steady, “Dr. Stewart.”
“Dr. Stewart, this is Greer.”
“Greer.” His chair squeaked as he leaned back. She imagined his desk piled high with papers and the shelves behind him crammed full of books, papers, and pictures of his family. “Mitch arrive?”
“He’s with the animals now.”
“Greer, this is great.”
“I don’t know, Dr. Stewart. I didn’t expect paying off my aunt’s favor meant babysitting a soldier with PTSD.”
“You’ve been in his shoes. You get him. You’ll be good for each other, Greer. You’ll see.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I ended up buying a couple of old nags and told him his job was to take care of them.”
“That’s a great idea!” His rich voice was ripe with approval.
She cleared her throat. “What if Mitch wants to quit?”
“Think back to what it was like for you, Greer. Mitch is no different. He lost his buddies in a roadside bombing.”
“He shouldn’t blame himself.”
“But he does. And you know logic and emotion don’t go hand in hand.”
“What if this doesn’t work?”
Dr. Stewart laughed. “Don’t you worry, Greer. I’ve all kinds of tricks up my sleeve.”
Chapter Six
Tuesday, June 3, 11 A.M.
Why did Greer Templeton need Mitch? Growing up on the ranch, Bragg had worked the land long enough as a kid to know when a farm was efficient and Bonneville Vineyards was a well-run farm. His boy was smart. Quick on his feet. But he knew less about wine than Bragg.
And as much as he wanted to let go of the reins and trust this was good, he couldn’t. It wasn’t his nature to avoid trouble. Last night’s Internet searches didn’t come close to satisfying what he wanted to know about Greer.
He dialed his phone and after several calls he was connected to Hays County Deputy Eric Howell, who’d been the chief investigator on the Templeton accident. Bragg identified himself, explained what he needed. Howell promised to pull the files within the hour.
Bragg drove straight to Howell’s office located in San Marcos, halfway between Austin and San Antonio. He found the tall, slim officer with thick graying hair in a small back office waiting for him. The man rose and extended his hand.
“Ranger Bragg?”
They clasped hands. “Deputy Howell. Appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”
Deputy Howell extended his hand toward a chair. “Got to admit I was surprised. I haven’t heard the Templeton name in awhile. Can I ask why the interest?”
“Her name came up in a murder investigation yesterday.”
Thick brows rose. “Elizabeth Templeton’s name came up?”
“She goes by her middle name, Greer, now. We found a picture of her and our victim nailed to a tree by the body. The picture was taken about twelve years ago.”
“That would have been right around the time of the accident.”
“Correct. The picture was taken at Shady Grove Estates. A camp for troubled teens.”
He opened a thick, dog-eared file. “I heard Elizabeth had been sent away after she tried to kill herself. Hell of a burden to know you drove the car that killed your brother and his girlfriend.”
“Tell me about the accident. The Internet articles gave bare facts.”
He reached for a pair of wire-rimmed glasses in his coat pocket. “Her family spent a lot of money keeping the story as quiet as possible. Of course when you’ve a couple of fatalities, it’s impossible to keep it completely silent no matter how much money you spend.”
“Can you give me a recap of the accident?”
He slipped on his glasses and glanced at the file. “When you called I had the file sent up from archives. I’d forgotten more details than I thought. It was a horrific accident.” He flipped through a couple of pages. “It was Jeffrey Templeton’s twenty-first birthday and the family was celebrating at the Austin Country Club. According to friends it was a big party, and the liquor had flowed. Elizabeth, rather, Greer, was fifteen.”
“How’d those three end up leaving?”
“Witnesses said the brother had been drinking heavily and was sick. He had an early morning appointment, so Greer had offered to take him home away from prying eyes. The girlfriend was also drunk but insisted on riding shotgun in the car because Greer was so young. According to Greer while she was driving a dark stretch of road, a car appeared out of nowhere. She said the car switched into her lane and was headed straight toward her. She said she beeped the horn, but the other driver didn’t budge. At the last second, Greer veered, went off the road, and hit a tree. Jeff and Sydney were thrown from the car. Greer had on her seat belt.”
“Was Greer drinking?”
“At the scene the responding officer could not run a Breathalyzer on Greer because she was so badly injured. He did report her saying she’d not been drinking. Her blood tested negative at the hospital. I saw her several days after the accident. She was recovering from surgery to repair a badly broken leg. By then, the family had lawyered up and a representative from her attorney’s firm was with her. Her parents were not at the hospital.
They were at their son’s funeral. Elizabeth was still so injured she couldn’t leave the hospital for the funeral.”
“They wouldn’t delay it for her?”
“They refused.”
“You ever talk to the parents?”
“Sure. A couple of times. Their focus was on losing Jeffrey not Elizabeth.” He leaned back in his chair. “Jeffrey was the favored son. Smart, athletic, and handsome. He had the world on a string. Family had high hopes for him. And then in an instant he was gone. Her mother could barely speak Elizabeth’s name.”
Bragg was silent for a moment, wondering how he’d have handled the weight of such grief. He hoped like hell he wouldn’t have condemned the surviving child. “She goes by Greer now.”
“Right.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Greer was torn up about the accident. Knowing she killed her brother had broken her. I think she wanted to talk to me about Jeff because her parents refused. But with the lawyer there it was hard for her to finish a sentence without being cautioned.”
“How badly was she hurt? You mentioned her leg.”
“Her left femur was broken and her left wrist. Shattering glass cut her arms, she was pinned in the wreckage for several hours before rescue crews could cut her free.”
“Greer said there was another driver.”
He flipped through more pages. “No evidence of another driver. There were no skid marks on either side of the road so if there had been a second driver we found no evidence of it.”
“And the other family sued?”
“They did. The Templetons’ insurance company settled out of court for millions.”
Bragg studied more pictures detailing the tangled metal of the black BMW convertible. It was a miracle she’d escaped the mangled metal alive.
He came to an image featuring Greer being pulled from the car. Blood splashed her white blouse and caked her hair. Her left arm was in a splint and the EMTs were securing her leg. Her gaze was wide-eyed and vacant. Shock, he supposed.