Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss(27)

“To what end?” Each word was bitten off at the end before being released into the tension-filled air.

Hunter shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he hadn’t felt since the moment Meredith had arrived. When Abbott had died, he thought she might return to visit his grave and he’d tried steeling himself for the possibility, but the idea of her coming, and the actuality of her staying were worlds apart.

“She’s moved back to settle.” He debated telling him the rest of it, but he was bound to hear eventually. “And she’s intent on clearing her father’s name.”

The newspaper was quickly forgotten. Vernon turned in his chair, giving Hunter his full attention for the first time since he’d arrived. He jabbed a finger in his direction, his cheeks florid with anger. “You make sure that doesn’t happen. You get that girl on the next train back to Boston. You did it once, you do it again, boy. You hear me?”

Hunter heard him just fine. Each word Vernon spoke cut into his flesh like a jagged knife. He didn’t need the reminder of what he’d done. He’d lived with the guilt every day. But why did his father care?

“She’s not a girl any longer, Vernon. And she’s not without means. She won’t be pushed around and she sure as hell won’t be letting anyone send her anywhere she doesn’t want to go.”

“How do you know? You been sniffin’ around her skirts again? You mind what little sense you got. I won’t have you mooning over that bastard’s daughter again and dragging the Donovan name through the dirt with her.”

Hunter’s muscles stiffened. He didn’t cotton to being treated like an imbecile who couldn’t make his own decisions. And he sure as hell wasn’t taking relationship advice from a man who couldn’t keep one wife and spent his life obsessing over someone else’s.

“Think I can keep my own counsel in that regard.”

His father’s lip curled into a snarl. “Like you did before? Worked out fine for you then, didn’t it? The girl isn’t worth the dirt her house was built on, just like her father before her.”

The pain of losing Meredith, always close to the surface no matter how hard he tried to bury it, raged forward. He had thought he’d done the right thing at the time, but time had a funny way of changing the colors of one’s memory. Now he wasn’t so sure and that uncertainty burrowed deep inside of him and refused to let go.

“Meredith is nothing like her father.” It was a lie, though. Even he could see she’d inherited her father’s energy, his sense of faith that truth would prevail. His goodness. He’d spent a lot of time talking to Abbott as he sat in his jail cell during the trial. Never once had he wavered in his proclamation of innocence. But unlike his daughter, he seemed to know the way things would go, to understand the deck was stacked against him with a judge that cared little about fairness or the law.

“Blood is blood,” Vernon said, spitting the words out like poison.

If that was true, Hunter wasn’t sure what it said about him. Nothing good, for sure.

“Then she has as much of her mother in her as her father. And as I recall, you were always particularly fond of Vivienne.”

He threw the accusation out, stones meant to hurt. They found their mark. His father fell silent and stared into the fire. Hunter didn’t wonder if the anger in his gaze wasn’t enough to fuel the flames all winter.

Perhaps he should feel guilty, but he didn’t. He’d spoken the truth. Vivienne Connolly had been a beautiful woman with the same delicate bone structure inherited by her daughter. But where Vivienne was dark, Meredith favored the lighter coloring of her father with the same brilliant blue eyes that cut through all the barriers you put up and saw what lived at your core.

Hunter cleared his throat and tried to shake the vision. “Just tell me one thing. Did you hire Platt?”

“I got better things to spend my money on than some beaten-down outlaw sittin’ in your jail waiting to hang.”

“You kept Connolly from hanging. You hated every breath that man took, yet you stood up for him in court that day and made a case that kept Judge Laidlow from putting a noose around his neck. Why?”

His father glared at him, not an ounce of affection anywhere to be seen. “You know what your problem is, boy?”

“Do tell.”

Vernon jabbed a finger in his direction again. “Your problem is you don’t know when to leave well enough alone. As far as Yucton is concerned, your only job is to keep him locked up until the time comes for the judge and jury to make a decision on what happens to him. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep it that way. That Connolly chit wants to mess around in it, that’s her business. My guess is she’ll regret it. But you keep your nose out. This business isn’t any of your affair. Keep it that way.”