CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Friday Evening
Travis was drunk. Not so drunk that he couldn’t function, but he was ready to call it a night—even though it was only five thirty.
The rain had lessened a bit, but it was still coming down and the wind was picking up.
He checked on Timber, who wagged his tail when he saw him. He cooked up a couple hamburger patties—one for him, and one each that he broke up and added to the dog dishes over their kibble. Timber limped over to eat, a good sign.
On his bun, Travis put a couple pieces of cheese, a thick onion slice, and his grandma’s barbecue sauce.
He drank water and popped four aspirin while he ate his burger and thought about what Clive told him earlier. Something was going on with Verdacorp. There was no logical reason that Mitchell would trade eight hundred prime acres of Baldwin’s former land for the two-hundred-acre square that was better for grazing than growing.
Maybe he should have sobered up earlier, so he could think about the why.
And what about Monday morning was important? Why did Ellen have to sign before then?
If it wasn’t raining, he’d drive over there and look around.
He almost laughed. He’d grown up on this land. Heknewthis land. Until he was eighteen and enlisted in the Army, he had left Cooke County only to play football at neighboring schools. His parents weren’t big on vacations or time off—they lived and breathed farming.
There was nothing about that area that should appeal to Mitchell Robinson, except for the fact that it connected Robinson’s property to Coulter’s.
He rinsed his plate and stacked it in the drying rack. He took the dogs out to do their business, watching carefully that they didn’t wander. Timber returned first, and Travis dried him off with a towel and opened the door to let him inside. He then waited for Titan, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Titan!” he called. “Come!”
He counted to twenty; the dog didn’t come.
“Titan!”
The German shepherd responded with a bark from the far side of the house.
Dammit, he didn’t want to get wet. “Titan!” he ordered in his most commanding training voice.
Titan barked twice.
Resigned that his dog had something to show him—probably a dead animal—Travis shrugged on his rain parka, put up the hood, and walked down the stairs with his cane. He hated using his cane, but the mud was slick and he needed the support. His fake leg was fine for walking around the house or going to the grocery store, but uneven terrain was problematic.
Though it wasn’t yet six, the low, dark clouds made it look almost like night. The outdoor lights illuminated Titan, who stood fully alert at the door of his sub-basement.
Was it flooded? He had a pump down there because keeping it dry was always a problem. The doors weren’t locked, and they didn’t even close fully, but because of the awning his grandpa had built over the stairs, it usually didn’t get too much water.
He heard a hiss and thought snake, but he rarely saw snakes on the property.
Please don’t be a skunk.
Titan had been sprayed once as a puppy and it was days before he smelled more like dog than skunk.
He couldn’t see what captured Titan’s attention. “Come on, I’m getting wet.” He started back around the house; Titan didn’t follow. Instead, he barked again.
Travis went back inside, grabbed his flashlight and a crate. If it was a wild animal, he would trap it and take it out of the area tomorrow. If he tried to shoo it away, Titan would chase it.
Titan was a good dog and mostly well-trained, but he still loved chasing rabbits, foxes, and any critter smaller than him. He didn’t kill them, but Travis certainly didn’t want to chase his dog in this storm.
He went back outside. Now Titan was lying in the mud, head up, tongue out, tail wagging. He looked like he wanted to play.
Travis shined the light down the stairs.
