divorce. Everyone was looking for the same thing—happiness. It seemed a very elusive thing for most people.
She had the potential husband-cheater’s routine down. He worked for a large insurance company. He left the building every day at five minutes after five. He drove to a local bar and ordered bourbon and water. After one drink, he left the bar and went home. On those nights he worked late, he was actually working. In Alex’s experience, this situation was very rare. Most of the time the wife’s instincts were correct. Alex gave the wife her findings and she didn’t believe it. So Alex was still watching him.
The other case was a different situation. The wife met a man three times a week at a motel in plain sight. Alex always hated to reveal this kind of information, especially when children were involved. But it was what she was paid to do.
At the end of the week she helped Buck on the Cryder case. While she worked, Brodie was never far from her mind. Every day she waited for the lab to call and confirm the results. She was still waiting.
B RODIE UNSADDLED Jax and rubbed him down. In the heat he didn’t like to overwork him, but he’d spent most of the afternoon riding a fence line checking for a break. He checked his fences regularly because cows were known to perceive that the grass was always greener onthe other side of the fence. They’d put their heads through the barbed wire and push until they could munch on his neighbor’s grass. Sometimes the older wire broke and he didn’t want his cattle straying onto his neighbor’s property.
He was glad he was busy. He didn’t want to think.
He led Jax into the corral and removed his bridle. The horse followed him, nuzzling his back as he poured horse feed into a trough. Gobbling the feed, Jax raised his head and neighed.
“You’re welcome,” Brodie said as if he understood what the neighing meant. And he felt pretty sure he did.
Butch and Buck drank thirstily from the water trough. “Come on, guys. I’ll feed you, too.”
The dogs followed him as he made his way to the house. Before he reached it, his cell rang. He saw the number—the lab. He took a deep breath before he clicked on.
An hour later he sat in his truck in front of the lab with the results in his hand. Ninety-nine point nine . That didn’t leave any room for error. That’s what the lab technician had told him. He was Helen Braxton’s biological son.
He drew in a breath that felt like a fishbone going down his throat—sharp, jagged and painful. Tom and Claudia Hayes weren’t his parents. He wasn’t Brodie Hayes, their son.
The truth of that finally sunk in and so many conflicting emotions tore at him. What had happened all those years ago? How did Helen Braxton’s baby end up with Claudia Hayes?
Numbly, he gazed out at the summer day. The sky was a brilliant blue and a lone oak tree took pride of place in a small courtyard to the side of the clinic. A woman and two kids sat there on a stone bench, probably waiting for someone in the twelve-story building. He saw them, but he didn’t see them. All his thoughts were chaotic and disturbed. He was at the crossroads of his life and what he did now would set the pattern for the years ahead. Of those two things he was certain.
He ran his hand over the steering wheel and hit it with his fist. Damn it all to hell. He wouldn’t let this rip him apart. He was stronger than that. He’d survived a bull throwing him against a fence, leaving him with cracked ribs and a broken collarbone. He’d survived several concussions and broken bones and he’d survive this.
Starting the engine, he thought about Colter and Tripp. They survived heartache, pain and family tragedy and so would he. Since Colter was out of town, he thought about calling Tripp, but he wasn’t that weak. He could handle this alone. The first order of business was confronting his mother.
All the way to her house he kept thinking he had to handle the matter with
She had the potential husband-cheater’s routine down. He worked for a large insurance company. He left the building every day at five minutes after five. He drove to a local bar and ordered bourbon and water. After one drink, he left the bar and went home. On those nights he worked late, he was actually working. In Alex’s experience, this situation was very rare. Most of the time the wife’s instincts were correct. Alex gave the wife her findings and she didn’t believe it. So Alex was still watching him.
The other case was a different situation. The wife met a man three times a week at a motel in plain sight. Alex always hated to reveal this kind of information, especially when children were involved. But it was what she was paid to do.
At the end of the week she helped Buck on the Cryder case. While she worked, Brodie was never far from her mind. Every day she waited for the lab to call and confirm the results. She was still waiting.
B RODIE UNSADDLED Jax and rubbed him down. In the heat he didn’t like to overwork him, but he’d spent most of the afternoon riding a fence line checking for a break. He checked his fences regularly because cows were known to perceive that the grass was always greener onthe other side of the fence. They’d put their heads through the barbed wire and push until they could munch on his neighbor’s grass. Sometimes the older wire broke and he didn’t want his cattle straying onto his neighbor’s property.
He was glad he was busy. He didn’t want to think.
He led Jax into the corral and removed his bridle. The horse followed him, nuzzling his back as he poured horse feed into a trough. Gobbling the feed, Jax raised his head and neighed.
“You’re welcome,” Brodie said as if he understood what the neighing meant. And he felt pretty sure he did.
Butch and Buck drank thirstily from the water trough. “Come on, guys. I’ll feed you, too.”
The dogs followed him as he made his way to the house. Before he reached it, his cell rang. He saw the number—the lab. He took a deep breath before he clicked on.
An hour later he sat in his truck in front of the lab with the results in his hand. Ninety-nine point nine . That didn’t leave any room for error. That’s what the lab technician had told him. He was Helen Braxton’s biological son.
He drew in a breath that felt like a fishbone going down his throat—sharp, jagged and painful. Tom and Claudia Hayes weren’t his parents. He wasn’t Brodie Hayes, their son.
The truth of that finally sunk in and so many conflicting emotions tore at him. What had happened all those years ago? How did Helen Braxton’s baby end up with Claudia Hayes?
Numbly, he gazed out at the summer day. The sky was a brilliant blue and a lone oak tree took pride of place in a small courtyard to the side of the clinic. A woman and two kids sat there on a stone bench, probably waiting for someone in the twelve-story building. He saw them, but he didn’t see them. All his thoughts were chaotic and disturbed. He was at the crossroads of his life and what he did now would set the pattern for the years ahead. Of those two things he was certain.
He ran his hand over the steering wheel and hit it with his fist. Damn it all to hell. He wouldn’t let this rip him apart. He was stronger than that. He’d survived a bull throwing him against a fence, leaving him with cracked ribs and a broken collarbone. He’d survived several concussions and broken bones and he’d survive this.
Starting the engine, he thought about Colter and Tripp. They survived heartache, pain and family tragedy and so would he. Since Colter was out of town, he thought about calling Tripp, but he wasn’t that weak. He could handle this alone. The first order of business was confronting his mother.
All the way to her house he kept thinking he had to handle the matter with
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