Mine to Keep (Mine 2)

“We don’t got nothin’ to say.” Quint pointed a bony finger at Trace. “Now load up your pretty girl and get the hell off my property.”

Right. That was the reception he’d expected and why he hadn’t just called. “I can’t leave. No, I won’t leave.” Trace strode toward the house. “Not until we talk. I know you blame me for Tucker’s death. And you’re—”

“He had a fiancé, too,” Quint suddenly said, cocking his head. “I got his last letter to me. A week after I buried him, I got that letter.”

Trace tensed. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Skye had come closer to him. Then he focused on Quint. “Do you have that letter, sir?”

“It’s all I have left of him.” Quint’s hold on his cane tightened. “When I got it, I thought—them bastards were wrong. My boy’s alive.” He stared down at the porch. “Then I realized…he’d just sent it to me before he died. Mail is so slow…so slow…but for a moment there. A moment…I had my boy back.”

“Sir, I’d really like to see that letter.” A fiancé? Tucker had never said that he and Anna Jean were getting married.

“He did some bad things.” Now Quint’s shoulders stooped. “I know that now.” His gaze found Trace’s. “That’s what killed him, isn’t it?”

Trace shook his head. “Tucker was a good man.”

“Once, he was.” His knuckles whitened around the cane. “If I let you see the letter, I never want you comin’ back, understand? You…” His voice thickened. “You remind me too much of what I lost.”

Trace nodded. “You’ll never see me again.” Beside him, Skye was silent.

Quint disappeared into the house. Tap. Tap.

Trace didn’t follow him.

“Did you know about his engagement?” Skye asked softly.

“No.”

“Do you…do you think there were some other things that you didn’t know?”

Tap. Tap.

Quint pushed open the door. Crept onto the porch. His fingers were shaking as he handed Trace an envelope. “Take it, then burn it.”

Trace frowned. “But—”

“I was better off not gettin’ that note.” Quint leveled a hard stare at Trace. “And, son, you’re better off not readin’ it.”

No, he wasn’t.

Quint turned away. Stopped. His back was to Trace as he said, “My debt is paid to you, son.”

“You never owed me a debt.” Trace carefully held that envelope.

“I was losin’ this place. The bank was gonna take it from me. Then…one day…I come out here to see the deed in my mail box. Paid in full.” Tap. “I know what you had to do to my son. But you don’t owe me anymore. And I don’t owe you. We’re done.”

The door closed behind him.

“Trace?”

He knows.

Trace jerked his head toward the SUV. The dogs were still barking like crazy. “Let’s get back inside.”

After Trace shut the passenger-side door behind Skye, he walked back around the vehicle. He paused in front of the SUV. The sun was rising. He glanced at the old, wooden fence on the right. For an instant, he could imagine Tucker there. Laughing.

Then the image of Tucker was gone.

Trace climbed back into the SUV and slammed the door behind him. He stared down at the old envelope. The handwriting had faded some but he still easily recognized it as Tucker’s writing. The stamp had torn, but he could make out the post date—a week before Tucker had died.

He opened the envelope. Pulled out the paper. He could feel Skye’s eyes on him, but she didn’t speak.

Trace unfolded the paper.

Dad,

I know I don’t write enough, and I’m sorry about that. I think about you. About mom. I still miss her so much.

I’m in love. I always wanted to find someone to love the way that you loved mom. So completely.

We’re going to get married. We have plans to start a new life, just me and my Anna Jean. But we have a job to do first. And it’s a job that I hate.

I always tried to do the right thing. But doing right doesn’t always give you the reward you need. Anna Jean has a deal set up for us. It’s a one-time shot. We do this, and there are no more battles. No more crawling on my belly through the mud or the snow or the blood.

I’ll be free.

There’s a price to pay for freedom. I’m not proud of what I’m doing, but I want to give Anna Jean the life she deserves.

I won’t be coming back. With what we’ve planned, I can’t.

You were a good father.

I wish I’d been a better son.

“Sonofabitch,” Trace whispered. His head lifted. He turned and met Skye’s worried stare. “He was in on it. Tucker was working with Anna Jean. He betrayed us all.”