“Why won’t it make a difference?”
“Because anyone who buys that house will be buying it for the land.”
Sutton silently agreed with his assessment.
“I’m aware someone is using it to grow their weed,” she broached the subject they were both skirting around.
“Then you know the only one who’s going to buy it is the one using it to farm their crops. They won’t step forward, because they probably don’t have the money and won’t want to make it known they’re using the land, and no one else will buy it, afraid of pissing someone off who’s already using the land for free.”
Sutton sighed. “I was afraid of that. I still want to put it on the market. Maybe, if the price is right, someone will be tempted to take on whoever’s been using my land illegally.”
“The only ones I can think of who might be willing to buy that stretch of land are the Porters. They’re strong and mean enough to handle whoever it is, and they certainly won’t care about who it will piss off.”
“I agree. If not, then some other buyer may come forward. Would you be interested in helping me sell my grandfather’s home?”
He gave her an assured smile. “I never turn down money. I’ll do the paperwork and stop by your house later this week to take pictures to put online.”
“That works for me. Thank you.” Sutton rose from her chair.
Drake stood, putting his hand out. “It was good seeing you again, Sutton.”
“You, too.” She released his hand after shaking it, relieved to escape his office. The man had become even more sexually attractive than he had been in high school.
Back then, he’d had a steady girlfriend. From the absence of a wedding ring on his finger, Sutton surmised he wasn’t married, and she wasn’t anxious to spend any time alone with the man. She wasn’t the innocent girl who didn’t recognize a man who was obviously used to playing the field. She had been down that road twice in her life, and she wasn’t stupid enough to travel it again. Twice was already more than enough. One had left her heartbroken, and the second had nearly killed her.
Sutton stopped to pick up a few groceries before driving home, relieved the store hadn’t been busy and she hadn’t come face-to-face with any old acquaintances.
As she drove home, she passed several police cars. They must have been searching the back roads for Tate. She also noticed one pull out of Tate’s driveway.
She flipped on her blinker, turning onto the private driveway that led to Pap’s home. If she made many more trips to town, she was going to have to trade her rental car in for an SUV. Instead of updating the kitchen, she would probably do better paving the gravel driveway.
She parked the car next to the house to make it easier to pack in the groceries. Grabbing several bags, she carried them to the door, tugging the keys from out of her jean pocket. When she went to slide the key into the lock, the door came open a few inches.
Sutton swallowed the fear in her throat. She was sure she had locked her door before she had left that morning. Her eyes caught on a single drop of blood on the door handle. She started to take a step back, only to freeze when she felt someone’s chest against her back. Terror let a small scream escape when she felt herself shoved forward into the house.
“Shut up. I don’t know how many cops are still in the woods, searching for me.” Tate’s harsh voice sent relief flooding through her.
She angrily jerked around to face him, ready to blast him for scaring the hell out of her. However, the angry retort she was about to yell at him died on her lips when she saw the condition he was in.
“What happened to you?”
Tate grimaced, picking up a dish towel she had left laying on the counter. “I was stabbed.”
“By whom?”
“Beats the shit out of me. When I heard someone shooting last night, I went to see what was going on, and I found Lyle with the back of his head blown off. When I tried to call Knox, someone knocked me out. When I came to, I had a knife in my chest and was lying next to Lyle with a shotgun in my hand I didn’t recognize, and mine was gone, so I got the hell out of there as fast as I could.”
Tate leaned heavily against the counter, his hand leaving a bloody palm print.
“Why didn’t you stay and tell the sheriff?”
Tate gave her a look that plainly said he doubted her intelligence. “I don’t know. Maybe it was because that fucker had a restraining order against me. With a shotgun with my prints all over it, I don’t plan on being one of those dumb fucks who spends years in prison, trying to prove his innocence.”
Sutton set her groceries on the counter, careful to make sure they were away from the blood. Then she took out her phone, but Tate jerked it from her hand.
“Who in the fuck do you think you’re calling?”
“Give that back. You need an ambulance.”
“Didn’t you hear a word I just said? I am not going to prison. I didn’t kill that piece of shit.”
“You can tell the sheriff what happened—”
Tate snorted. “Do you think they’re going to believe me? Everyone in town knows I hated that drunk. I’m not going anywhere until I find out who set me up.”
Sutton’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t stay here. You’re bleeding all over the place.”
“Then patch me up.” Tate staggered to her couch with the dish cloth pressed to his chest.
“I don’t know how.”
“Boil some water. You have any disinfectant?”
Sutton could see it was useless to argue with him. The stubborn man would bleed to death if she didn’t help him.
Throwing him an irritated glance, she went into the bathroom, searching through the cabinets and finding hydrogen peroxide and some gauze. Carrying both back to the living room, she went to the kitchen to place a kettle of water on to boil.
“Help me get this off.” Tate was trying to pull off his shirt, which was drenched in blood.
Setting down the disinfectant and gauze on the end table by the couch, she then helped Tate take off his shirt. His face was pasty white, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat when they finished.
“I’m going to throw up.”
Hastily, Sutton ran to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl she had set out to pour the hot water into. Running back, she managed to place it in Tate’s hands before he vomited.
She went back into the kitchen, opening one of the kitchen drawers where she found a clean dishcloth and dampened it with cold water. She went back to Tate who was still heaving into the large bowl. Placing the cloth on the back of his neck, she sat down next to him on the couch, helping him to hold the bowl.
“You have to let me call an ambulance. You’re going into shock.”
“No, just give me a second.” He managed to lift his head, his hand dragging the cloth from the back of his neck to press it against his face.
“Finished?”
Tate nodded weakly, leaning back on the couch.
“At least let me call Greer or Dustin?”
“No,” he refused. “The cops will be waiting to follow them. Call Rachel. She can fix me up, and Cash can sneak her in without being seen.”
Sutton immediately took the phone Tate handed her, pressing the number Cash had given her.
“Hello?”
“Cash, this is Sutton.”
“What’s up?”
“I have Tate at my house. He’s hurt. He needs Rachel.”
“Tell him he’s shit out of luck. I’m not letting my wife get involved with the mess he’s in. Knox has already come here, looking for him. He should turn himself in.”
“He didn’t do it, Cash. He said someone is pinning it on him, and you and I both know no one in town will believe he’s innocent.” Sutton couldn’t understand why she was coming to Tate’s defense.
“Fuck!” She heard him talk to someone in the background, and then Cash’s voice came back on the line. “Give me five. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Cash.”
The line was disconnected.
“He’s pretty mad,” she commented.
“What’s new?” Tate grunted, shifting on the couch.
She stood up and went into her bathroom to dispose of the vomit then grabbed a pillow, taking it back to the living room where she laid it down on the arm of the couch.
“Lie down,” she ordered.
He fell down more than he lay down. Then Sutton went to the linen closet, pulling out several towels before going back to Tate. She pried his hand away from the dish cloth he had pressed against his stab wound, placing a clean towel down on the gaping hole. She thought she might throw up herself.
“You should go to the hospital.”
“No.” Tate groaned in pain when she pressed down on the towel, trying to stop the bleeding. “I should have kept my ass inside when I heard those shots.”
“Yes, you should have,” Sutton agreed as she heard the sound of motors from outside. “What in the world is that?”
“From the sound, I think my brother-in-law brought a few of his friends to help.”
Sutton left Tate on the couch, going to the window to look outside. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of her driveway being filled with motorcycles.
“I’m not opening the door to them.”
Tate gave a strangled laugh. “How many did he bring?”