get himself arrested and thrown in prison."
"For something I don't believe he did."
Olivia made rings on the table with the bottom of her damp milk glass. "You said before that you thought he was wrongly incarcerated."
"So you were listening."
"I listened, but I didn't believe you."
"And now?"
She recalled Hank's resentment, and the pain and vulnerability she'd glimpsed in his face when he'd told his story. "Now I'm not certain. He told Dawn he didn't know his friend was going to rob the store, but I've heard that excuse before."
"I have, too, more times than I can count." He paused. "But this time I believe it."
Olivia trusted her father's judgment, but it was still difficult for her to let go of her suspicions, despite her attraction toward Hank. Working with Dawn, she could get a better picture of Hank Elliott, although she had doubts about his sister, too. But, then, Olivia was trained to ferret out the truth.
"Buck wasn't happy to learn Hank and Dawn were related. He said something about hoping it wasn't like another time." Olivia kept her gaze on her father. "Do you have any idea what he meant?"
Her father stood and carried his empty soup bowl and plate to the sink. He threw out the quarter sandwich that remained and rinsed his bowl.
She stood and joined him, her anxiety level rising at his continued silence. "What did Buck mean, Dad?" she reiterated more firmly.
He turned around, leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms. "Two years ago one of the convicts in the program tried to escape. His girlfriend stopped by, pretending to be some kind of salesperson. She tried to get him a message, but Buck was watching her. He came to get me, and we confronted her. She pulled a gun out of her purse."
Olivia gasped. "What happened?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. She didn't know much about guns. She didn't realize it couldn't be fired with the safety on. I took the gun from her and called the sheriff. Caleb came and arrested her, and took the prisoner back to the correctional facility."
Olivia's mind raced, imagining a far different scenario, one where the woman was more knowledgeable about guns. Fear made her muscles turn to jelly. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged, his face suddenly appearing haggard. "You had enough on your mind. You had just started working in the DA's office. I didn't want to worry you."
Anger surged through her, obliterating the fear. "Worry me? Damn it, Dad, you're the only family I have left."
His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. "And what would you have done? Call to lecture me on the folly of the work release program? You've been against the program since the beginning. You would've used the incident as more ammunition against it and, to be honest Olivia, I was sick and tired of listening to your criticism."
Stunned, Olivia knew her mouth was gaping and her eyes were wide. Her father had never before spoken to her this way.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he met her gaze, there was regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess I'm more tired than I thought." Holding up his hands, he said, "That was the only incident like that in all the years I've been doing this, and to my way of thinking, that's a damned good record."
She hadn't known how much her protests had bothered him. She'd only been trying to help him, and she'd ended up upsetting him. Opening her mouth to apologize, Olivia was interrupted before she could speak.
"I'm going to bed, Liv. I'll check the locks. Could you make sure all the lights are out?"
She only had time to nod before he walked out of the kitchen, his shoulders hunched and his footsteps heavy.
He's gotten old.
The realization brought a sharp pang to her heart. While she'd been following her dream, her father had grown old alone. His only passion seemed to be the program, and she had repeatedly maligned it. No wonder there was little mention of the convicts who worked at the ranch in her father's letters. It was a vital part of
"For something I don't believe he did."
Olivia made rings on the table with the bottom of her damp milk glass. "You said before that you thought he was wrongly incarcerated."
"So you were listening."
"I listened, but I didn't believe you."
"And now?"
She recalled Hank's resentment, and the pain and vulnerability she'd glimpsed in his face when he'd told his story. "Now I'm not certain. He told Dawn he didn't know his friend was going to rob the store, but I've heard that excuse before."
"I have, too, more times than I can count." He paused. "But this time I believe it."
Olivia trusted her father's judgment, but it was still difficult for her to let go of her suspicions, despite her attraction toward Hank. Working with Dawn, she could get a better picture of Hank Elliott, although she had doubts about his sister, too. But, then, Olivia was trained to ferret out the truth.
"Buck wasn't happy to learn Hank and Dawn were related. He said something about hoping it wasn't like another time." Olivia kept her gaze on her father. "Do you have any idea what he meant?"
Her father stood and carried his empty soup bowl and plate to the sink. He threw out the quarter sandwich that remained and rinsed his bowl.
She stood and joined him, her anxiety level rising at his continued silence. "What did Buck mean, Dad?" she reiterated more firmly.
He turned around, leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms. "Two years ago one of the convicts in the program tried to escape. His girlfriend stopped by, pretending to be some kind of salesperson. She tried to get him a message, but Buck was watching her. He came to get me, and we confronted her. She pulled a gun out of her purse."
Olivia gasped. "What happened?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. She didn't know much about guns. She didn't realize it couldn't be fired with the safety on. I took the gun from her and called the sheriff. Caleb came and arrested her, and took the prisoner back to the correctional facility."
Olivia's mind raced, imagining a far different scenario, one where the woman was more knowledgeable about guns. Fear made her muscles turn to jelly. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged, his face suddenly appearing haggard. "You had enough on your mind. You had just started working in the DA's office. I didn't want to worry you."
Anger surged through her, obliterating the fear. "Worry me? Damn it, Dad, you're the only family I have left."
His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. "And what would you have done? Call to lecture me on the folly of the work release program? You've been against the program since the beginning. You would've used the incident as more ammunition against it and, to be honest Olivia, I was sick and tired of listening to your criticism."
Stunned, Olivia knew her mouth was gaping and her eyes were wide. Her father had never before spoken to her this way.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he met her gaze, there was regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess I'm more tired than I thought." Holding up his hands, he said, "That was the only incident like that in all the years I've been doing this, and to my way of thinking, that's a damned good record."
She hadn't known how much her protests had bothered him. She'd only been trying to help him, and she'd ended up upsetting him. Opening her mouth to apologize, Olivia was interrupted before she could speak.
"I'm going to bed, Liv. I'll check the locks. Could you make sure all the lights are out?"
She only had time to nod before he walked out of the kitchen, his shoulders hunched and his footsteps heavy.
He's gotten old.
The realization brought a sharp pang to her heart. While she'd been following her dream, her father had grown old alone. His only passion seemed to be the program, and she had repeatedly maligned it. No wonder there was little mention of the convicts who worked at the ranch in her father's letters. It was a vital part of
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