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“Where are you going, Sebastian?” She said, frowning.
He opened the car door and turned to face her. “It’s even more important now that Mrs. Mitchell and the children have a safe place to stay.”
Laura had forgotten all about the Mitchell woman. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised that Sebastian hadn’t.
“Let’s go inside,” Boone urged. “Your grandfather wants to see you.”
Once more she started up the steps, accompanied by the sound of the rental car reversing away from The Homestead. Already Laura was conscious of the vacuum that was created by Sebastian’s departure.
Trey met her in the entryway when she walked in. There was no touching, no hugging. Such expressions of sorrow weren’t necessary between them.
“Are you all right?” Trey studied her with a twin’s sensitivity.
“I’m fine. What about Quint?” Laura asked, voicing the concern that was foremost in her mind. “Has he been told yet?”
Trey nodded. “Mom called him shortly after she talked to you. She chartered a private jet to fly him back. He should land some time early afternoon.”
A slight smile lifted the edges of her mouth, but it had nothing to do with Quint’s imminent arrival. “That’s how she knew.”
A frown flickered across Trey’s forehead. “Who are you talking about.”
“I always call her Mother,” Laura explained. “But when I phoned about Logan, I said, ‘Mom, this is Laura.’ And she knew right away that something was wrong. I didn’t understand how she knew . . . until now. I haven’t called her Mom in years.”
“She doesn’t miss much,” Trey said.
“Where’s Gramps?”
“In the den with Laredo. He decided to wait until Quint gets here before he goes over to Aunt Cat’s.”
Without so much as a glance at Boone, Laura accompanied her brother to the den. It wasn’t a deliberate snub. She simply forgot he was there.
It was shortly after two o’clock when the chartered jet carrying Quint landed at the Triple C’s private airfield. Trey and Laura waited on the concrete apron while the aircraft completed its shutdown procedures. The hot wind gusted, blowing dust across the hangar area and whipping Laura’s long blond hair. She held it out of her eyes as the cabin’s hatch door swung open and one of the pilots lowered the steps. Then Quint took his place in the opening.
As one, she and Trey moved to the bottom of the steps to meet him. Encumbered by the walking cast on his leg, Quint made a slow descent from the plane. Seeing him, Laura was haunted by the strong resemblance to his father, both sharing the same blue-black hair, sharp cheekbones, and smoke gray eyes. Only this time, Quint’s eyes were shadowed with the deep pain of grief.
Tightly jawed, Trey was the first to speak. “Dammit, Quint, I wish . . .” But the right words wouldn’t come.
Quint eliminated the need for them. “You don’t have to say it. I know how you both feel. It isn’t something you can put into words.”
A small smile curved Laura’s mouth. “You always manage to make things easier for others, Quint,” she said and kissed his cheek.
No further reference was made to Logan’s death until they were on their way to The Homestead. Then Quint turned to Laura. “Aunt Jessy said you were there.”
She had known all along that he would want to know the details. Aware that his interest was both personal and professional, Laura told him about the shooting and its aftermath as well as the circumstances surrounding it.
When she finished, Quint didn’t say anything for several long seconds. Finally, as he stared out the window at the grassy plains, he said, “I can’t remember a time when my dad wasn’t aware of everything going on around him, whether off-duty or on. I’d be willing to bet he saw the truck parked outside and knew this Mitchell guy was in there. But he wasn’t expecting trouble when he walked up to that door—at least not the shooting kind. He was in uniform, though. That’s probably all Mitchell saw.”
A silence followed, weighted by a mix of undirected anger, regrets, and grief. It lasted the rest of the way to The Homestead.
Boone was in the entry hall when they walked in. “We haven’t met before,” he said to Quint, extending a hand in greeting. “I’m Boone Rutledge, Laura’s fiancé.”
“I’ve heard about you,” Quint replied, but in a tone that had Laura studying the impassive set of his features as he briefly gripped Boone’s hand. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”
“So am I,” Boone stated, as Quint leaned on his cane for balance.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my grandfather.” He pushed off the cane, taking that first step around Boone before he moved aside.
Boone fell in beside Laura, accompanying her as she followed Quint to the den, the walking cast giving him an uneven, hobbling gait. When they arrived, Chase had already moved around to the front of the big desk. Quint walked up to him. The moment he was within reach, Chase pulled him close.
