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Thorpe’s modern-day western television series set on a fictional ranch in Texas—but filmed mostly elsewhere, she had muttered aloud while reading—is the hottest thing going, so hot he could write his own ticket. Once he was riding high, both at work and at home, where he has often said his wife and young son kept him balanced.
But now, after Leah Thorpe’s tragic death, friends and workers onStonewallsay he has never been the same. Is that the reason he seems to have disappeared? There had been rumors of heavy drinking, but they seem to have faded away, just as Thorpe now has.
Production has been halted, although the official word is that this is only temporary. My not-so-official sources say the writing room is scrambling, with one rumor being they’ve been tasked to write Thorpe out of the show. So will the season currently being shot end in tragedy for Austin Holt? Check back here, and you’ll know as soon as we do!
She remembered scowling as she closed out the article, wondering how she’d gotten sucked into what was so obviously a trashy gossip site. She might not like the guy, but he’d been through a painful kind of hell and didn’t deserve to be treated like this. As if all that mattered was the damn show, and not the fact that his wife was dead and his child motherless.
The child he so obviously loved.
Chapter Eleven
He was hopingword hadn’t gotten around that he was here, or that the residents here felt like Ms. Baylor did, that he should be ignored if not downright avoided. But since the only mode of transport he had at the moment was his feet, he was going to have to risk it, or stay holed up in Tris’s half of this duplex the entire day.
He should have just rented a car at the airport, but at the time he’d been obsessed about getting Jeremy here, and when Tris said she’d pick them up, he hadn’t thought beyond that. He wondered if there was someplace in town that rented vehicles. Maybe the place was too small. It was tiny, compared to the simultaneously sprawling and piled-high city he’d been living in. Even the suburbs had a crowded sort of feel to them, as if they were feeling the pressure of the huge metropolis just over the hill.
But here, even though he was only a couple of blocks from Main Street, it felt... different. More open. Less pressing in on him. It was a strange feeling. Tucker had always said that “wide open spaces” wasn’t just a saying in his home state, but even though he’d been here before on a couple of research trips, Jackson hadn’t truly realized what he’d meant. Until now.
He’d also assumed Tris stayed here, instead of returning to her native California, because David had been a born and bred Texan, and the memories were too strong, too important, for her to leave. But now he was beginning to wonder if there was more to it than that.
It was a chilly—by Texas standards—morning, only 56°, according to the thermometer hanging on the porch post, so he was glad he’d pulled on his black canvas jacket. He only planned on walking around a bit, just to look, so he’d be back before it got as warm as the clear blue sky suggested it would. The clear blue sky he was thankful for, since it made his sunglasses a bit less conspicuous.
He settled his baseball cap on his head as he stood in front of Tris’s half of the duplex, one in a row of three arrayed along what he gathered was Bluebonnet Lane, where it crossed Hickory. He started to map out his exploration. And through all his plans was the hope that he would be pretty much unnoticed. Although if small-town gossip was as efficient as he’d heard it was, that might be too much to ask. Maybe he should just hope to be ignored.
He could see the park Tris had talked about and headed that way, although he thought he’d check it out after he’d managed to find that bakery she’d raved about. He wanted to buy a box full of something to thank her for the great breakfast she’d fixed this morning. He’d make that his last stop, though, after he’d figured out the town layout.
That decided, he crossed Hickory and headed toward Main Street. Across from the park was a cluster of buildings of varying sizes, mostly stone, and one built from what appeared to be the same kind of stone as the saloon Jeremy had been so fascinated with. When he saw the small sign in front, indicating it was the Last Stand Police Department, he smiled at the juxtaposition.
He took a moment to orient himself, realizing the large, two-story building up on the corner was the library because he could see the back of the statue from here. The relative size of the buildings made him smile again; that the library was about three times the size of the police department seemed significant.
As he passed the sidewalk that led to the single-story building, a man was coming down it, away from the building. Tall, maybe even an inch or so taller than him, with dark hair under a black felt cowboy hat. And Jackson immediately had the feeling no one would ever dare contest the man’s right to wear it. He had the look and stride of a genuine cowboy. But there was something else about him, something about the way he scanned the area around him that—
He reached the end of the walkway just before Jackson got there. He turned just slightly, obviously to check out the newcomer, and as he moved, Jackson spotted the badge on his belt beneath his jacket. Detective, in plain clothes, Jackson guessed. But then the man stopped, looked him up and down, and proved him utterly wrong.
“Heard you were in town,” the man said. Jackson blinked. Already? He wasn’t sure what had shown in his face, but the man smiled as if he’d heard the unspoken thought. “From my sister-in-law, Joey.”
Jackson relaxed. “Librarian Joey?” Then he put it together and realized this was no detective. Instinctively, he pulled off the masking sunglasses, thinking this was someone he should meet eye to eye. “You’re... Chief Highwater?”
“Yes.” There was no arrogance or sense of superiority coming from the man, just a cool, capable competence. “I didn’t realize until my wife told me that Mrs. Carhart is your sister.”
So, he didn’t read or watch gossip. That was encouraging. “Yes. She is.”
“Her husband was a very respected man in Last Stand.”
“Rightfully so,” Jackson said, meaning it.
Highwater nodded. “Joey also said you were here because you’re worried about your son.”
It was too true for him to resent the fact that Joey had told him. He had that kind of relationship with Tris. She’dshared everything with him, even about people he didn’t even know. Which told him what he’d already suspected about Joey Highwater was true. Still, he hesitated to pour his guts out to even this man.
“He’s with Tris now, out at the Baylor ranch. Ms. Baylor offered to let him spend time with her horses.”
“Nic is good that way.” Chief Highwater looked at him as if he completely understood the deflection. “I’ve got a son myself,” the man went on quietly. “Six months old now. I’m starting to understand that kind of worry.”
Jackson let out a breath. If this was the man’s approach, he must get people to confess all kinds of things. “He... wasn’t doing well, after his mother died.”
The other man studied him for a moment, and all Jackson could think was that he was glad he hadn’t done anything illegal, because those piercing eyes didn’t look like they ever missed a thing.
“Wasn’t?” the man finally said, very quietly.
