lumber she’d had delivered yesterday. He nodded and listened but didn’t say much.
She left him, retreating into the main tasting room to the chairs still needing assembly. A large picture window framed the west wall and a view of the horses and Mitch. He didn’t move quickly but with a halting, uneasy pace as if his body was relearning how to move again.
Grief and sorrow could rob you of will and energy so that all you wanted to do was crawl under the covers and let life pass you by. Giving up was a little too easy unless there was someone waiting on you to get out of bed each day. It was one thing to disappoint yourself. But it was another to let a loved one or an animal down.
She picked up the phone and dialed. Next came a calm and steady, “Dr. Stewart.”
“Dr. Stewart, this is Greer.”
“Greer.” His chair squeaked as he leaned back. She imagined his desk piled high with papers and the shelves behind him crammed full of books, papers, and pictures of his family. “Mitch arrive?”
“He’s with the animals now.”
“Greer, this is great.”
“I don’t know, Dr. Stewart. I didn’t expect paying off my aunt’s favor meant babysitting a soldier with PTSD.”
“You’ve been in his shoes. You get him. You’ll be good for each other, Greer. You’ll see.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I ended up buying a couple of old nags and told him his job was to take care of them.”
“That’s a great idea!” His rich voice was ripe with approval.
She cleared her throat. “What if Mitch wants to quit?”
“Think back to what it was like for you, Greer. Mitch is no different. He lost his buddies in a roadside bombing.”
“He shouldn’t blame himself.”
“But he does. And you know logic and emotion don’t go hand in hand.”
“What if this doesn’t work?”
Dr. Stewart laughed. “Don’t you worry, Greer. I’ve all kinds of tricks up my sleeve.”
Chapter Six
Tuesday, June 3, 11 A.M .
Why did Greer Templeton need Mitch? Growing up on the ranch, Bragg had worked the land long enough as a kid to know when a farm was efficient and Bonneville Vineyards was a well-run farm. His boy was smart. Quick on his feet. But he knew less about wine than Bragg.
And as much as he wanted to let go of the reins and trust this was good, he couldn’t. It wasn’t his nature to avoid trouble. Last night’s Internet searches didn’t come close to satisfying what he wanted to know about Greer.
He dialed his phone and after several calls he was connected to Hays County Deputy Eric Howell, who’d been the chief investigator on the Templeton accident. Bragg identified himself, explained what he needed. Howell promised to pull the files within the hour.
Bragg drove straight to Howell’s office located in San Marcos, halfway between Austin and San Antonio. He found the tall, slim officer with thick graying hair in a small back office waiting for him. The man rose and extended his hand.
“Ranger Bragg?”
They clasped hands. “Deputy Howell. Appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”
Deputy Howell extended his hand toward a chair. “Got to admit I was surprised. I haven’t heard the Templeton name in awhile. Can I ask why the interest?”
“Her name came up in a murder investigation yesterday.”
Thick brows rose. “Elizabeth Templeton’s name came up?”
“She goes by her middle name, Greer, now. We found a picture of her and our victim nailed to a tree by the body. The picture was taken about twelve years ago.”
“That would have been right around the time of the accident.”
“Correct. The picture was taken at Shady Grove Estates. A camp for troubled teens.”
He opened a thick, dog-eared file. “I heard Elizabeth had been sent away after she tried to kill herself. Hell of a burden to know you drove the car that killed your brother and his girlfriend.”
“Tell me about the accident. The Internet articles gave bare facts.”
He reached for a pair of
She left him, retreating into the main tasting room to the chairs still needing assembly. A large picture window framed the west wall and a view of the horses and Mitch. He didn’t move quickly but with a halting, uneasy pace as if his body was relearning how to move again.
Grief and sorrow could rob you of will and energy so that all you wanted to do was crawl under the covers and let life pass you by. Giving up was a little too easy unless there was someone waiting on you to get out of bed each day. It was one thing to disappoint yourself. But it was another to let a loved one or an animal down.
She picked up the phone and dialed. Next came a calm and steady, “Dr. Stewart.”
“Dr. Stewart, this is Greer.”
“Greer.” His chair squeaked as he leaned back. She imagined his desk piled high with papers and the shelves behind him crammed full of books, papers, and pictures of his family. “Mitch arrive?”
“He’s with the animals now.”
“Greer, this is great.”
“I don’t know, Dr. Stewart. I didn’t expect paying off my aunt’s favor meant babysitting a soldier with PTSD.”
“You’ve been in his shoes. You get him. You’ll be good for each other, Greer. You’ll see.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I ended up buying a couple of old nags and told him his job was to take care of them.”
“That’s a great idea!” His rich voice was ripe with approval.
She cleared her throat. “What if Mitch wants to quit?”
“Think back to what it was like for you, Greer. Mitch is no different. He lost his buddies in a roadside bombing.”
“He shouldn’t blame himself.”
“But he does. And you know logic and emotion don’t go hand in hand.”
“What if this doesn’t work?”
Dr. Stewart laughed. “Don’t you worry, Greer. I’ve all kinds of tricks up my sleeve.”
Chapter Six
Tuesday, June 3, 11 A.M .
Why did Greer Templeton need Mitch? Growing up on the ranch, Bragg had worked the land long enough as a kid to know when a farm was efficient and Bonneville Vineyards was a well-run farm. His boy was smart. Quick on his feet. But he knew less about wine than Bragg.
And as much as he wanted to let go of the reins and trust this was good, he couldn’t. It wasn’t his nature to avoid trouble. Last night’s Internet searches didn’t come close to satisfying what he wanted to know about Greer.
He dialed his phone and after several calls he was connected to Hays County Deputy Eric Howell, who’d been the chief investigator on the Templeton accident. Bragg identified himself, explained what he needed. Howell promised to pull the files within the hour.
Bragg drove straight to Howell’s office located in San Marcos, halfway between Austin and San Antonio. He found the tall, slim officer with thick graying hair in a small back office waiting for him. The man rose and extended his hand.
“Ranger Bragg?”
They clasped hands. “Deputy Howell. Appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”
Deputy Howell extended his hand toward a chair. “Got to admit I was surprised. I haven’t heard the Templeton name in awhile. Can I ask why the interest?”
“Her name came up in a murder investigation yesterday.”
Thick brows rose. “Elizabeth Templeton’s name came up?”
“She goes by her middle name, Greer, now. We found a picture of her and our victim nailed to a tree by the body. The picture was taken about twelve years ago.”
“That would have been right around the time of the accident.”
“Correct. The picture was taken at Shady Grove Estates. A camp for troubled teens.”
He opened a thick, dog-eared file. “I heard Elizabeth had been sent away after she tried to kill herself. Hell of a burden to know you drove the car that killed your brother and his girlfriend.”
“Tell me about the accident. The Internet articles gave bare facts.”
He reached for a pair of
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