Page 117 of Daybreak

The newlyweds were wrapped close in each other’s arms, sated from lovemaking and nestled down beneath the covers as the cold Texas wind blew its way south.

The next day, Gunner sent an email to his lawyer, Wes Bradley, with notes to change the beneficiaries in his will. Everything went to Holly, then any ensuing children if she preceded them in death.

It was the last T to cross and I to dot.

* * *

It was the new year, but winter was still holding on with icy fingers as Maggie Bluejacket gave birth to identical twin boys with a shock of black hair, wearing remnants of their father’s face. She took to being a mother as easily as she took a brush and paint to create the masterpieces that were her art.

Every day that Sonny looked upon their faces, he could see his vision from long ago coming to life. They would grow tall and strong like him, because he’d seen it. They would shadow her every step as babies and grow into men who would become her shadows as she walked through her life of fame. Pearl was the only grandmother Maggie could give her sons, just as Pearl had become the only mother Maggie could trust, but Sonny Bluejacket had a whole tribe of people who would ground them into the culture of their people.

It was a new beginning for them, just as Holly and Gunner were branching out into their new life.

* * *

Jacob was building a wing onto their house for his growing family, and Gunner was building that apartment building for Holly that she’d talked about before. The whole town was excited. It would mean an opportunity to keep Crossroads alive. With new people came growth, and the residents of Crossroads were watching the building going up one board at a time.

Gunner’s whole purpose was putting delight in Holly’s eyes.

Six up and six down, just like she suggested. Entrances at each end of the building, and one main entrance in the front. Covered parking circled the building, and all entrances to the apartments were from the interior hallways. Not like a motel, but a real apartment building.

Even though Jacob told the banker Gunner had given him the money, he’d hesitated on Gunner’s behalf not to mention the lottery, which meant very few people knew, and every day Gunner lived within that anonymity was one more day of bliss.

But secrets never stay hidden.

And one cold day in March, the bubble popped.

* * *

Holly had driven out to the Dillon Ranch to have lunch, and Gunner was headed to the Yellow Rose to pick up food for him and his dad. He was wearing the old bomber-style leather jacket from his years in Homicide and opted out of a hat because of the wind. An armadillo was digging at the ground beneath a large boulder as he drove down the hill toward the highway.

“Someone else is digging for dinner,” he said and kept driving, then turned left on the highway, passing the bar and a gas station to get to the Rose.

The parking lot was filling up, but he’d called in their order. All he had to do was pick it up. He parked near the highway, making it easier to drive away, and then entered the café.

The immediate absence of wind was a relief. A couple was headed to the door, so he stopped to open the door for them, then closed it behind them.

But before he could walk across the room to the pickup station at the register, he heard someone call out his name.

“Look who’s here! It’s Gunner Kingston. Hey, Gunner! How you likin’ your castle on the hill?”

Gunner turned, gazing out across the room full of customers who, sensing an oncoming conflict, had now stopped their own meals and conversations. His expression was unreadable, and he had yet to respond.

“What? Don’t you recognize your old friends anymore? It’s me, Dave Randall.”

“I don’t remember calling you friend,” Gunner said and kept walking toward the front register.

Randall shoved his chair back and stood up, as if itching for a fight.

“We see you slinging money around for that big house. Your daddy’s fancying up his place. You’re building your wife an apartment building to run. How you doin’ all that, boy? Maybe you dug up some more money Brenda Kingston buried and forgot to mention it to the Feds.”

He was immediately bombarded with angry comments from locals, calling him a drunk and telling him to sit down and that he was making an ass of himself.

But when Pearl came flying out of the kitchen with her shotgun, everybody sitting behind Randall got up and moved to the other side of the room.

“It’s okay, Pearl. No need to shoot his ass and mess up the dining room. I’ve got this,” Gunner said, and then he made an announcement to the whole room. “Not that it’s ever been anybody’s damn business, but I have money. I have a whole hell of a lot of it now, because one morning on my way to work, I stopped at a Gas and Dash in Dallas to refuel. I also went inside and bought a candy bar and a bottle of pop, and on a whim, a lottery ticket.”

Now the whole room was silent, and Dave Randall’s belly was rolling, and he was wishing he hadn’t ordered cheese on his fries, and Gunner was still talking.