Sticks and Stones (6 page)

I
T WAS
warm enough that they could leave the windows of Ty’s Bronco down as they drove along the winding roads that led to Bluefield, West Virginia. The fall leaves had turned, making the road a blinding corridor of oranges, yellows, and reds. And even though the sun had just barely risen, the sky was an amazingly clear blue as they headed higher into the Appalachian Mountains.

Ty didn’t say much as he drove. He didn’t even have the radio on. He was obviously distracted, resting his head in his hand as he propped his elbow on the open window. Even behind the dark aviator sunglasses and the mangled straw bullrider-style hat that sat low on his head, shielding his face, he was frowning unconsciously. He’d purposely taken the scenic route, avoiding the highways as much as possible, but he got more and more tense as they got closer to their destination.

Zane was distracted as well, but more by the scenery than by his thoughts or by his companion’s mood. He’d never been up in the mountains, and while Texas had trees, it didn’t have trees like this. Trees in every direction, up the mountains, down the mountains, as far as the eye could see.

He frowned and shifted his jaw from side to side, trying to pop his ears. “I need gum,” he muttered, looking over to Ty. “You could have warned me. I didn’t even think about altitude change.”

“Hold your nose and try to blow air through it,” Ty advised seriously.

Zane peered at him, trying to decide if he was joking. With Ty, it was usually a safe bet that he was jerking him around, no matter how serious he sounded. But since his partner still looked as distracted as before, Zane decided to try it. And damn if it didn’t work.

“Does it all look like this?” he asked as he pulled at his ears. “All the trees and sky and nothing else?”

“The sky is usually there, yeah,” Ty answered with a firm nod. “So are the trees, come to think of it,” he added thoughtfully.

Zane thwacked him, earning a surprised, “Ow!”

Ty glanced at him and grumbled as he rubbed his chest. Grinning, Zane shifted in the seat to extend his legs across the floorboard as they drove into the town of Bluefield. It wasn’t what Zane had expected. It was large and fairly modern, nestled in a valley and sprawling across a gently rolling landscape. There were sections that were older and slightly dilapidated, but for the most part it looked like Bluefield was doing pretty well.

They drove through the Main Street area, historic buildings that had been rejuvenated and hosted little boutique shops and cafés. An old man on the corner of the street waved at Ty as they drove past, apparently recognizing the Bronco, and Ty raised his hand out the window and grinned as he waved in return.

Zane was smiling slightly as Ty took the truck through several turns. Then they were heading further up the mountain. Zane’s brow furrowed as he watched the rustic scenery pass, and he asked, “You don’t play banjo, do you?”

Ty looked over at him quickly, shock written plainly on his face even behind the sunglasses. “Did Dick tell you that?” he demanded.

Zane stared at him for a moment and then broke down laughing. “Oh hell, no. I was just making a
Deliverance
joke!”

Ty glared at him for as long as he was able before he was forced to look back at the road. “I learned when I was little,” he finally said defensively. “Banjo, fiddle, guitar. The whole family plays.”

“That’s great,” Zane said once he calmed down a little, though he couldn’t resist another snicker. That just seemed out of character for tough guy Marine Ty Grady. It was almost charming.

“Shut up,” Ty muttered. “And FYI,
Deliverance
took place in Georgia. In West Virginia we kiss our cousins.”

Zane laughed softly. Soon they were out of the city, climbing even further up into the mountains. He had to yawn a couple times to pop his ears again.

Another five minutes and they were turning off the paved two-lane and heading up a winding dirt road. Ty was getting more and more fidgety, shifting in his seat as he put the Bronco through its paces. Just when it looked like the road might be tapering off into rugged wilderness, Ty turned onto a narrow gravel drive that seemed to go straight up into the heart of a mountain. He glanced at Zane again and smiled. “You can get a car up here, but you better hope the weather sticks.” Then he frowned and slowed the truck further. “Here we go,” he murmured as they topped the steep incline and a house came into view.

Zane’s lips compressed. Ty was still edgy, and it was getting to him. He leaned forward to look out the windshield at what awaited them.

The house was a classic old farmhouse, but well-kept, with a stone foundation, white siding, dormer windows on the second story, bright red shutters, and a matching tin roof. A porch wrapped around the entire front and side of the house, complete with an array of old rocking chairs and oversized stairs leading up to the front door. The outbuildings were in worse shape, the paint peeling slightly on the clapboard frames; some of them tilted precariously. Several of them were nothing but cedar beams and tin, while a few were cinderblock and much sturdier.

In the gravel driveway were four other vehicles: a crew cab Ford F-150, a Chevy Blazer, an old Ford Ranger, and a brand new black Lexus coupe. Ty parked beside the Lexus and cocked his head, peering at it curiously.

A man drew Zane’s attention when he came out onto the porch, pushing through the screen door and shielding his eyes as he stepped into the morning sun. He was young, much too young to be Ty’s father. He still bore a striking resemblance to Ty, though his hair was a little longer and lighter, and he was taller and thinner. He had to be Ty’s brother. The man thumped down the stairs, walking with a pronounced limp, and Ty opened up his door and slid out of the Bronco as he came closer.

Taking his cue from Ty, Zane got out as well but stood just inside the door as he looked around at the towering trees that surrounded them. He tore his eyes away from them to watch Ty approach the house. He felt like he should hang back for now, at least until after the reunion.

Ty grinned as he and his brother embraced. He gave the man an affectionate pat on his cheek and then turned and gestured for Zane to come closer.

“’Bout time y’all got here,” Ty’s brother said to them.

“Shut up,” Ty grunted at him. “Zane, this is my brother, Deacon,” he said with a wave of his hand at his brother. “This is Zane Garrett.”

“Special Agent Zane Garrett, I assume,” Deacon said with emphasis as he stepped forward and took Zane’s hand, pumping it hard. His voice wasn’t as deep as Ty’s, but it still had that gravelly, drawling quality to it that Zane liked. “You can call me Deuce.”

“Okay, Deuce,” Zane agreed. He liked him already; he seemed like a friendlier version of Ty. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Deuce drawled, grinning. “Come on in,” he invited as he turned and threw his arm around Ty’s shoulders. “Mom’s fluttering,” he said to his brother, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.

“As long as she’s cooking while she’s doing it,” Ty muttered. “I’m starving. Did you get a new car again?”

“You like it?” Deuce asked.

“No,” Ty answered candidly with a shake of his head and a glance back at the Lexus.

“It has Bluetooth,” Deuce answered with a grin, unperturbed. Ty groaned and shook his head.

Zane walked up the steps behind them, rubbing his hands together to ward off the slight morning chill. He’d pulled the jacket off when they’d gotten in the truck at the last rest stop. He’d known it would be cooler up here, but it had to be a good twenty degrees cooler here than in DC. He spared another look around and shook his head. It was so totally different from any other place he’d been—Washington, LA, Baltimore, New York. Texas. Especially Miami.

Ty stopped at the door and looked back at him. “Welcome to West Virginia,” he murmured as he held the screen door open. The smell of frying bacon and fresh bread wafted out to them.

Zane nodded and followed Ty inside, where it was quite a bit warmer, and the smell of the bread made his stomach growl. “Oh Lord. Fresh-baked bread.”

Ty sniffed at the air as he tromped through the house toward the back, where the dining room opened up into a large kitchen. “Morning,” he greeted as he stepped into the kitchen.

The woman at the stove turned and smiled widely. Ty went over to her and hugged her close, kissing her on the cheek as she patted his back without letting go of the spatula in her hand. She was a tall woman, the top of her head hitting past Ty’s broad shoulders, and her round face was almost devoid of wrinkles until she smiled. Her graying hair had once been the same color as Ty’s, and her eyes were a bright, striking green.

She stepped back from Ty and took his face in her hands, the spatula smacking against his temple. “’Bout time you got here,” she said to him. She looked over Ty’s shoulder at Zane and smiled again. “You must be Zane,” she said as she unceremoniously pushed Ty aside. She went up to Zane and pulled him into a hug as well, just like he was another son she hadn’t seen in some time.

Zane’s eyes widened in surprise, and after a beat he halfway closed his arms around her, not sure what to do. “Uh. Hi,” he said weakly, patting her shoulder gently.

“Zane Garrett, Mara Grady,” Ty introduced with a smirk as he met Zane’s eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Zane said as she patted his back, oblivious to his discomfort. Then she turned away and bopped Ty in the head with her spatula.

“Ow!” Ty protested with a surprised laugh.

“Shoulda been home months ago,” she scolded. “Sit down, Zane dear, breakfast is almost ready,” she said in a much sweeter voice.

Zane swallowed a laugh, although he didn’t even try to hide his smile. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, pulling out a chair on the far side of the table next to the wall so he’d be out of the way.

Ty sat down opposite him, grumbling. “You got bacon grease in my hair,” he said to his mother as he rubbed at his head.

“Serves you right,” Mara responded. She tossed the spatula into the sink and fished out another from a nearby drawer.

Deuce sat next to Zane and plopped an empty glass in front of each of them, snickering softly and avoiding meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Where’s Dad?” Ty asked as he made a rude gesture at Deuce. Zane could feel his smile grow wider.

“Went up to the mine early this morning; someone called about some kids messing with the gates,” Deuce answered. At the mention of the mine, Ty tensed visibly, and he nodded and looked toward the back door uncomfortably.

“If he’s gone much longer,” his mother said to them, “I want you boys to go fetch him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” both brothers answered in automatic response. Zane had seen Ty snap to attention for Dick Burns before. He’d always assumed it was some latent response from his military training. But it clearly went back further than that.

He also noticed Ty’s reaction to hearing about the mine, and he remembered what little Ty had told him about growing up here. Ty had always been scared of the mines, afraid of something happening to his father while he was there, and terrified of being trapped in them himself. After his experience in New York and being buried in a dark hole where he thought he’d never see light again, the thought of going into those mines now had to be outright terrifying. Zane had to admit Ty hid it well.

Mara set down a platter overflowing with biscuits, warm slices of fresh bread, bacon, and sausage links. Then she set down a bowl of grits, two jars of what looked like homemade jam, and two pitchers of orange juice. Last came a bowl full of scrambled eggs.

She tapped Ty in the back of the head as he reached for a piece of bacon. “Manners,” she reminded as she wiped her hands on her apron before beginning to untie it. “You go ahead and load up, Zane, you’re going to need a full stomach to deal with these two all day,” Mara advised.

Zane nodded but stood up. “I need to take a quick break first. We didn’t stop much during the drive,” he explained.

“Out that door and first tree to the left,” Deuce told him as he pointed at the back door.

“Put a sock in it, Deacon,” Mara scolded. “It’s the door under the stairs, dear,” she told Zane as she sat at the head of the table.

As he walked out of the kitchen in the direction she’d pointed, Zane got a better glimpse of the rest of the house. It was a typical old farmhouse with scuffed hardwood floors covered by handmade rag rugs. The plaster walls were covered with neatly framed black-and-white photographs; some of them had to be a hundred years old, and some of them were new enough that Ty was wearing his FBI windbreaker in one.

Zane looked at a few of them, stopping for a little longer when he found a photo of Ty in uniform. He looked much younger, and while it was the same hard, unsmiling face he’d seen in every Marine’s photo, there was a hint of something in the hazel eyes that Zane didn’t think he’d seen in Ty before. He couldn’t quite place it. The man did look good in a uniform, that was for sure.

Zane stared at it for a long time before pulling himself away and going to find the staircase.

“Grandpa!” Zane heard Ty exclaim in a pleased voice from the kitchen.

Zane shut the door with a smile. About five minutes, later he stood in the doorway of the kitchen again. An old man had joined the table, and he sat next to Ty, holding his hand and patting it affectionately.

“Grandpa, this is my partner, Zane,” Ty said as soon as Zane sat. “Zane, Chester Grady.”

“FBI agent, huh?” the old man said to Zane with narrowed eyes.

“Most of the time,” Zane admitted.

“Won’t hold that against you,” Chester said. “Yet,” he promised.

Zane arched an eyebrow at the old man. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Behave, you old goat,” Mara chastised. “We’ll start without your daddy,” she told the rest of them with a frown. “He better be stuck in a hole somewhere,” she grumbled as she bowed her head.

Zane glanced around the table as he slowly crossed his hands, figuring a prayer was coming, and his eyes stuck on Ty, who looked even more tense than before.

“One of you say grace,” Mara ordered after waiting for one of the brothers to take the lead. Ty looked up, meeting Zane’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the screen door creaked and interrupted him.