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now.
    Several years earlier, Ted and Linda Brannock had been on Interstate 20, on their way to West Texas to visit Ted’s father, when a drunk driver in an SUV had crossed the wide, grassy median and plowed head-on into their car.
    According to the report of the state trooper who’d investigated the accident, tire marks showed that Ted had juked back and forth desperately as he tried to avoid the oncoming vehicle, but every time he’d zigged, the drunk had zagged, and they finally came together as if fate had aimed them squarely at each other. The drunk in the SUV had died, too, but that was no consolation.
    That had happened during Kyle’s one semester at college and was another reason he hadn’t gone back after the break. There didn’t seem to be any point anymore. G.W. had figured that Kyle would take a semester off and then return to school once the grief had eased some.
    Instead, he’d joined the army, failed at that, too, and after being given a general discharge embarked on what seemed to be his true calling: being a drifting, homeless troublemaker.
    Chapman opened another door that led out into the police station’s small lobby. Kyle’s grandfather stood in front of the counter, looking as stern and morally upright as ever. Behind the counter was the chunky figure of Chief Ernie Rodriguez.
    Next to G. W. was the woman Chapman had mentioned. Kyle stopped short at the sight of her.
    Even in casual clothes, she had the sort of classy beauty he wasn’t used to seeing in Sierra Lobo. She pushed back a strand of blond hair that had fallen in front of her face, and he thought the gesture had plenty of grace and elegance to it.
    â€œI’m obliged to you for seein’ your way clear to doin’ this, Ernie,” G.W. said to the chief.
    â€œIt’s fine, Mr. Brannock,” Rodriguez said. “Kyle’s just lucky no one else involved in the incident decided to press charges. If they had, I wouldn’t have had any choice but to hold him until bail was set, and the judge wouldn’t have come in for the hearing until Monday morning.”
    G.W. grunted and said, “Spendin’ the weekend in jail might not have been a bad thing for the boy.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t have done any good,” Kyle said. “I’ve spent weekends in jail before, and I’m still me.”
    â€œListen,” the chief said. “Keep your nose clean while you’re in Sierra Lobo, kid. If you wind up in trouble again, it won’t go so easy for you next time.”
    â€œI don’t suppose it would do any good to mention that the loudmouth in the convenience store was the one who actually started it.”
    â€œVern Hummel? He told Officer Chapman that you threw the first punch, and the only witness agreed that that was true.”
    So Stella had thrown him under the bus, thought Kyle. He supposed, technically speaking, he had struck the first blow, but Vern had had it coming, and the fight would have been over after that if he’d had the sense to let it go.
    Once Kyle’s possessions had been returned to him and the three of them were outside on the sidewalk, G. W. said, “How come you to show up in Sierra Lobo right now, boy? You comin’ to see me?”
    â€œI thought I’d stop and visit for a while, yeah.”
    â€œBroke, are you?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    â€œWell . . . I was raised to never turn away family.” Kyle’s grandfather put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Throw that duffel bag in the back of the pickup and we’ll head out to the ranch.”
    â€œIn a minute.” Kyle nodded toward the glamorous blonde. “Who’s this?”
    â€œI can speak for myself,” she said. “I’m Miranda Stephens. I’m your grandfather’s attorney.”
    â€œYou brought a lawyer with you to get me out of a one-horse hoosegow like this?” Kyle asked G. W. with a