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tried to instill.
    “You’re gonna need a real house, boy,” his fatherhad said. “If you’re gonna take that woman and give a go at being a real man, then you’re gonna need a house to match.”
    A real man.
    Clayton’s lip curled at the memory. It was always that way. Every good thing Gareth Burroughs ever did for his youngest son came tainted with what he really thought of him. That he didn’t measure up. That he was nothing like his older brothers, Hal and Buck.Gareth never came right out and said it, but he didn’t have to. It was in his eyes. They were filled with the gray storm clouds of disappointment.
    Kate had always seen this place as the kindest thing her husband’s father ever did for them, but she didn’t know they’d built it in silence. A father following through on his obligation to shelter his son no matter how big a letdown he turned outto be. Those laughing rafters above his bed, the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes at night, were his penance for turning his back on his family. It was also a way to keep Clayton exactly where Gareth wanted him—rooted to Bull Mountain.
    Clayton shifted his attention from the pockmarks made by his father’s ax in the ceiling to a much more pleasant view of his wife, Kate, drying herselfoff in the open cedar archway of the bathroom. She had a routine. She would wrap one towel around her body before pulling back the shower curtain, and another around her head in that turban wrap only women knew how to do. Then she’d sit on the edge of the tub and rub lemongrass oil on her freshly shaved legs. That part would take a little longer if she knew Clayton was watching. Then, like amagician’s final act, the two towels would hit the floor, and they’d be replaced by one of her husband’s McFalls County Sheriff’s Department T-shirts. The motion was so fluid, if Clayton blinked he’d miss the split-second shot of her bare ass before she hit the light and nestled a mound of damp chocolate-brown curls on his chest.
    Kate never wore panties to bed. Just the thought of that stilldid it for Clayton even after eleven years of marriage. She adjusted one leg over her husband and nuzzled her cheek against his chest. This was their tried-and-true sleeping position, and she waited for his hands to start roaming her, but they didn’t come. “We missed you at Mom’s today,” she said.
    “Yeah, sorry about that. I swear that boy is going to be the death of me.”
    “Choctaw?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He’s a good kid, just a little misguided is all.”
    “Misguided.” Clayton chewed on the word. “That’s one way of saying it.”
    Kate shifted gears. “You remember my appointment is Tuesday, right?”
    “Huh?”
    “My appointment,” she repeated.
    “Oh, right. Of course.” Clayton warmed up to her a little in an attempt to stifle his cynicism about the “appointment.” It wouldn’t bethe first time in the past decade they got their hopes up just to be disappointed. Parenthood didn’t seem to be in the cards for them, and they were about out of time.
    She lifted her head to look at him. “Where are you, Clayton?”
    “I’m right here, baby.”
    “No, you’re not. Your body’s here, but your head’s somewhere else. You’ve been staring up at those rafters for almost an hour likethey’re fixing to come crashing down.”
    “They might be, Kate.”
    Kate looked up at the rafters, too.
    “You want to talk about it?”
    “I do, but I’m not sure you’re gonna want to hear about it.”
    “Try me.”
    Clayton ran his fingers through her damp hair and let his hand rest at her neck. Her skin always felt warm as a fever and softer than spun cotton.
    “A federal came to my officetoday, wanting to talk about Halford. They’re going to try to take down the mountain.”
    “Again?” Her tone was low and cautious. It always was when talk of Clayton’s family started up.
    “Yeah, again.”
    “And they want your help?”
    “Sort of. This guy, Holly,