And there might not be any to spare for high-priced-lawyer bills.

Tyler fisted his hands at his sides.

Asking his dad to pay for his latest screwup wasn’t fair. He’d dug himself into this hole. He should dig himself out.

Or go to jail.

Either way, the mess he was in wasn’t his old man’s fault, and he shouldn’t expect his father to bail him out.

Coming here tonight had been a mistake.

He pivoted and strode away.

“Tyler?”

Three steps into his retreat, he halted. Slowly turned back.

His father scrutinized him. “What are you doing here in the middle of the week?”

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you. But I can come back when you’re not busy.”

The Holmes patriarch snorted. “Like that’ll ever happen.” He wiped his hands on a rag and walked toward him. “Must be important if you made a special trip out here.”

“Yeah, but it can wait.”

His dad assessed him. “You certain about that? Putting off hard stuff doesn’t make it any easier.”

No, it didn’t.

But making a confession that could destroy your future was harder.

“Let’s take the load off.” His father motioned to the log bench against the outside wall that had been there for as long as Tyler could remember. The one where he’d sat as a kid whenever his dad wanted to have a private talk with him.

It was a fitting place to spill his guts—if he could muster up the courage.

Shoulders drooping, he trudged over to it and sank down. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees and watched an overloaded ant struggle across the rough dirt, weighed down by its burden.

He could relate.

His father sat beside him and pulled off his work gloves. “Must be serious.”

“Yeah.”

“You in trouble with the law?”

His dad’s uncanny knack to see straight into his soul was as unnerving now as it had been when he was a mischievous kid.

But his current transgressions were far worse than trespassing on Fred Wilson’s property to steal apples off their neighbor’s tree.

“Maybe.”

“Thought something was up on Sunday night. You want to tell me about it?”

“No.” He swallowed. “But I reckon you’re gonna find out anyway, and I’d rather you hear it from me.”

“Okay. Let’s have it.”

His father didn’t appear to be all that upset. Didn’t push. Didn’t ask a single question.

He just waited.

Tyler squeezed his linked fingers together until his knuckles whitened. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Don’t expect I will. But if you’re willing to talk to me, I’m willing to listen. And two heads are better than one at working through a problem.”

Did that mean his dad would help him? Stand by him?

Not much chance of that.

But carrying the burden alone, waiting for the sheriff to swoop in for the kill, was turning him inside out. He had to talk to somebody, and despite their constant clashes, his dad had the clearest-thinking mind of anyone he’d ever met.