Free Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] by Keep a Little Secret Page B

cloudless sky, relentlessly pounding down upon anyone or anything
     unfortunate enough to be under its glare. While Minnesota summers were both hot and humid, the nights were often filled with
     soft breezes and welcoming rain. Here, an open window offered no relief from a sweltering night.
    “It doesn’t rain much, does it?” Charlotte asked as she looked out at the meager scrub. “The ground seems awfully dry.”
    John chuckled loudly. “Some days it seems the ground gets more water comin’ from my spittin’ than it does from rain. If you
     listen just right, you can hear the tin roofs out on the shacks cryin’ out like they was schoolchildren,rememberin’ what it was like when raindrops was bouncin’ off ’em!”
    “It’s just so unlike where I come from. Back home, we get so much water in the springtime that it can be quite dangerous,
     with all of the problems of flooding.”
    “Round these parts, things couldn’t be more different.” The older rancher nodded. “Most troublesome problem we got is when
     a wildfire gets a spreadin’ out of control. The winds pert near whip ’em into a frenzy ’fore you know it. When one gets a
     head of steam, why, there really ain’t no way of tellin’ just where it’ll all end.”
    “That sounds terrible.”
    “Sure is,” John agreed. “One thing ’bout a wildfire is that it’s a hell of a lot tougher to stop than it is to start.”
    “Then I suppose everyone around here is extra careful.”
    “If only that were the case. All it takes is a stray spark here or there, wherever it happens, and you got one goin’. Hell,
     if some fool tosses a match after he’s done lightin’ up his cigarette, ’fore you know it you’re so deep in flames and chokin’
     smoke that it wouldn’t be a surprise to see the devil lookin’ over your shoulder!”
    John kept on talking, switching from explaining the dangers of wildfire to describing the breadth and scope of his land, its
     history as his family’s property, and even to carrying on about the wildlife that inhabited it, but Charlotte found it difficult
     to keep her mind on what he said no matter how hard she tried to pay attention. Instead,she couldn’t keep her thoughts from traveling unbidden to Owen Williams and the strange way he had spoken to her the day before.
    Still furious at Owen that he had decided to just leave Hannah behind in Sawyer, and had raced so recklessly down the dusty
     roads that led home to the ranch house, Charlotte had been shocked when he had slammed on the truck’s brakes short of the
     rickety bridge. But that paled in comparison to her surprise at the words he had then spoken. Given the harsh, hurtful things
     he had said to her that day, she never would have expected him to have been so apologetic, so contrite and clearly emotional.
    Owen had smiled at her when they’d finally resumed their journey to the ranch, and Charlotte thought they would continue their
     conversation, but he fell silent. Once they arrived, Owen hurried off toward the closest barn without a word or glance in
     her direction. Hannah appeared at dinner alone without a hint of her brother’s whereabouts. Charlotte was so confused, so
     disheartened, that she’d even ignored Hale’s attempts to get her attention.
    Even as she lay in bed that night, listening to the strange sounds that emanated from the ranch grounds outside her window,
     Charlotte wrestled with the confusion Owen caused in her. On the one hand, he infuriated her; she couldn’t remember if she
     had
ever
met a man more insufferable; never in her life had she been spoken to so rudely. But on the other hand, when she thought
     ofhow Owen had talked about the loss of his mother, the hurt look that had radiated in his eyes, and even the way he had smiled
     affectionately toward her, she decided that whatever impressions she had formed of him were wrong or at the very least… truly
     complicated.
    Who was the real Owen Williams?
    “We’re