Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

A split second later, Travis’s breath left him in a whoosh as Red’s burly arms wrapped him tight in a bear hug. Red’s big hands slapped Travis’s back good-naturedly before he released him, and when Red stepped back, his grin had softened to a half smile that trembled. An expression of relief appeared on his face, and moisture gleamed in the crow’s feet beside his eyes.

“That story’s a damn sight better than the ones she’s told me in the past,” Red whispered. “Thank you, son.”

Travis nodded, his throat tightening to the point that he couldn’t speak. The warm pressure of Red’s grateful hug still lingered on his back and arms, and an unfamiliar rush of pride filled his chest. The kind Travis guessed a son felt when praised by his father. The sensation was foreign but strong, and he held it tight within him, wanting to preserve and carry it for as long as he could.

“Ah, now, y’all better get while the gettin’s good.” Red spun away, kissed Hannah’s forehead, and walked back toward the lodge, waving over his shoulder. “Rain’s coming soon.”

Travis watched Red amble away, catching the way his hand rubbed swiftly at his cheeks.

“I’m fine, Red,” Hannah called, smiling softly. “There’s no need to get sentimental.”

Red threw a big hand in the air. “I ain’t. These damn gnats are getting in my eyes, is all.”

Hannah’s smile widened. “It’s the last week of February. There are no gnats.”

“Go on and pick up that horse, girl. And be back in time for lunch. Margaret’s cooking up a big one.”

Hannah laughed. “I love you, Red.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Not looking back, Red quickened his step, mumbling under his breath.

Travis smiled and thought he heard something along the lines of “stubborn women” and “bane of my existence” but the wind whipping across the field fractured most of Red’s words.

“Red’s got a good heart.” Hannah walked to the driver’s side of the truck. “I hope he’s held on to enough common sense where Margaret’s concerned to not let her break it.”

Travis glanced at her over the hood of the truck. “Are Red and Margaret a couple?”

Hannah shook her head, her attention still focused on Red in the distance. “No. But not because Red isn’t interested. He’s been in love with Margaret for as long as I can remember, but never mustered up the courage to tell her. She married Phillip—a banker—about forty years ago. He passed away last year, and when she inherited his stake in the ranch, she sold her house in Gatlinburg and moved in with us.” A weak smile appeared as she looked at him. “If you ever wonder what Phillip looked like, just take a stroll inside the main lodge. She’s got a picture of him propped on every solid surface in the foyer.”

He frowned and looked down at his new boots, fresh guilt assailing him as he thought of all Margaret had lost. First her daughter, Niki, and years later her husband. Had he contributed to that?

During one of the few group therapy sessions Travis had been allowed to attend during his stay in prison, Adam—a thirty-year-old lifer—had asked if bad deeds had a ripple effect. He’d explained that after he’d killed a man in a bar ten years earlier, Adam’s wife had committed suicide. His son had visited him in prison to tell Adam he was moving on and didn’t want Adam to be a part of his life. Adam had asked if his crime had done that. Had his

act of ending one life broken two more? Was there a way he could stop that ripple? Or transform it into something good instead?

Two inmates in attendance had laughed, one had broken down in sobs, and the rest had continued glaring at the concrete wall with dead eyes as the therapist failed to regain control of the conversation.

The session had ended, and Adam never did receive an answer.

The truck door squeaked as Hannah opened it and slid inside the driver’s side of the cab.

Travis followed her lead slowly, slid into the passenger seat, buckled up, and shut the door. Hannah cranked the engine and pulled out slowly, easing Red’s old truck and trailer up the winding dirt path, then onto the gravel driveway.

Travis glanced at the main lodge as they passed. Red had made it inside, and Margaret stood on the wide front porch, waving good-bye in their direction. Travis lifted a hand in return, and when the driveway ended, Hannah took a right onto a paved road and began the slow, winding descent down the mountain.

The overcast sky had darkened and the wind blew harder. Tall trees lining the road bent and swayed. Leaves hugged their branches and exposed their pale underbellies with each powerful gust.

Hannah’s hands moved easily over the steering wheel as she guided the truck around each sharp curve. She’d cracked the window a bit, letting in crisp air tinged with smoke, and a strand of her auburn hair tumbled from her ponytail and danced along the graceful curve of her bare neck.

Travis’s hand moved, his finger poised to curl around the silky strand, lift it to his nose, and breathe in Hannah’s sweet scent. He yearned to touch her, to revel in her forthright honesty and remind himself that good still existed in this world.

Instead, he pressed his palms flat against his thighs and looked at the steering wheel, glimpsing the purple bruise on her wrist, visible above the cuff of her sleeve as it slid further down her arm when she steered. She hadn’t made a sound when he’d caught her as she’d fallen from the roof, and there had been a shadow of resignation in her eyes as though fear and pain had become routine.

Jaw clenching, Travis recalled Red’s protective stance and angry comment earlier. Red had made it obvious that someone had hurt Hannah. He’d even named him.

“Who’s Bryan?”

Hannah’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.