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Chapter Twenty-Two
Spencer ran his fingertip along the scar on his left hand, reminding himself that he didn’t want his father in his life. Not the version who’d caused that scar, and not the man who’d shown up uninvited in his house a few weeks ago. They were the same person, and while he’d hoped the man had changed, he hadn’t.
He groaned as he stood, and he took a moment to stretch his arms above his head. His back was so tight from lifting all the crates of milk yesterday morning. Lee had just hired two more men to work in the milk parlor, so he wouldn’t be packing milk for pick-ups for much longer. Two or three more days, at the most.
Today was one of them, so Spencer showered, caffeinated himself, and got over to the milk parlor. The scent of dirt and warm dairy mixed together, and he didn’t particularly like it. It lessened inside the refrigeration unit, and while Texas was plenty hot in the middle of July, he didn’t much like spending time in the fridge either.
It was quiet, however, and he did like that. He filled the crates and stacked them by the door until their buyers arrived. When they did, he helped them carry out their orders. This progressed normally for this Friday morning, and Spencer didn’t see Lee, Will, or Travis in the office, though he sometimes did.
With only one more order to go, Spencer got the job done and stepped out of the fridge just as someone else darted down the hall and outside from the office. He froze, because it hadn’t been one of the Coopers. They all had big, broad shoulders, and that man had been…skinny.
With no cowboy hat.
Spencer’s pulse rioted in his chest, in the veins in the his throat, and up into his head.Go!his mind screamed at him, and he got his feet moving quickly down the hall and past the office.
“Hello?” he called, jogging as he burst out of the building.
A light blue truck peeled out, the back end fishtailing—but not so badly that Spencer couldn’t see the South Carolina license plates on it.
“No,” came out of his mouth. His father had returned—and he’d been coming out of the office. Not just coming out—running out.
He’d likely taken something, and while Spencer didn’t know the extent of what Wayne and Lee Cooper kept in the office here in the milk parlor, he suspected there might be some money.
Fumbling now, he quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Wayne.
“Morning, son,” he said easily. “Pick-ups go okay?”
“I think someone just robbed you,” Spencer blurted out. “There’s a light blue truck leaving, and he doesn’t belong here.” He couldn’t believe what he was saying. Why had he called Wayne? He should’ve called the police.
“A light blue truck?” Wayne asked. “I’ll send Lee over.”
“He’s leaving,” Spencer said, watching his dad make the right turn onto the road that would take him back to the main highway. “He’s headed up past the cowboy cabins.”
“Will’s over there,” Wayne said. “I’ll call ‘im.”
“I’ll call the cops.” Spencer took a deep breath. “Sir, it’s my dad.”
Wayne said nothing for a few seconds—which actually felt like years—and then he said, “I’ll call you back,” and ended the call.
Spencer let his hand drop to his side, pure adrenaline rushing through him. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move.
He absolutely couldn’t let Ernest hurt the Coopers. They seemed to have plenty of money, but that didn’t mean his dad was entitled to it.
The extra buzz inside him prompted him to move, and he ran toward his rickety white truck. He got behind the wheel and got it moving in the same direction his father had gone. He dialed nine-one-one as he rounded the corner, and he nearly lost the phone in the turn.
“State your emergency,” a woman said.
“Hi, yeah, this is Spencer Rust. I’m out at Sweet Water Falls Farm, and there’s been a robbery. Ernest Rust is here. He’s wanted by the police in New Jersey.”
The sky started to fall, but Spencer pressed against it, holding it up piece by piece. He couldn’t look at everything fast enough. Which way had his father gone? Surely to the right again to get off the farm. He wouldn’t know all the back exits.
“Slow down, sir.”
“He’s going to get away again,” Spencer said, making the turn and gunning the engine. The truck lurched forward, and Spencer dropped the phone. He cursed under his breath, but the world was moving too fast for him to retrieve the device.
He left it on the floor over on the passenger side of the truck and gripped the wheel with two hands. The cowboy cabins came into view—and so did a mess of vehicles.
Trucks in all colors and sizes blocked the road—all of them converging around a light blue one. As Spencer applied the brake so he wouldn’t go crashing into the trucks, the driver’s door on the blue truck opened, and his father came tumbling out.
