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Back The Lighthouse Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. PART ONE
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. PART TWO
  13. 12
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 18
  18. 19
  19. 21
  20. 22
  21. 23
  22. 24
  23. 25
  24. 26
  25. 27
  26. 28
  27. 30
  28. 31
  29. 32
  30. 33
  31. 34
  32. 35
  33. 36
  34. 37
  35. 38
  36. 39
  37. 40
  38. 41
  39. 42
  40. 43
  41. PART THREE
  42. 44
  43. 45
  44. 46
  45. 47
  46. 49
  47. 50
  48. 51
  49. 52
  50. EPILOGUE

In a futile attempt to distract himself, Ryan spent the rest of that day tending to odd jobs around the ranch. He replaced two rotting fence posts, repaired the broken hinge in stall seven, tore out some weeds, and washed down the horses. He even dragged himself into town to pick up a shift at the diner—but no amount of flipping burgers or making milkshakes seemed to do him any good. Ryan agonized over his predicament so much that by the time he had finished his shift, his overcooked brain must’ve resembled any one of the hundred patties he’d spent all afternoon turning on the grill. How much longer could this go on? Did he really think he could keep the bank at bay forever? Had he done the right thing by not telling his father the truth? He’d realized a long time ago that there were no easy answers.

A little after six, exhausted from all the worrying, Ryan hung up his apron and said farewell to Joe and Linda, thanking them for the shift. They gave him his usual wage and said there was more work tomorrow if he needed it.

“Whatever you can spare,” he told them.

Before heading home, he crossed the town square and called in on the general store, where once a week he collected the mail. He received the usual across the counter—another wad of bills, some glossy brochures, the latest edition of the local newspaper, the Seabrook Beacon—but today there was something else: an unsealed white envelope.

Dropping the brochures in the bin and shoving the bills and the Beacon into his back pocket, Ryan stepped out onto the sidewalk and flipped over the envelope. No stamp, no postmark, but there was a worryingly familiar logo printed in the left corner.

Oh no.

His heart beating fast, he removed the contents of the envelope and found a note handwritten by Tom Tippenworth, branch manager of Pacific First & Mutual, Seabrook’s one and only bank.

It read: Ryan Porter, come and see me . . .

Hands shaking, Ryan swallowed hard and tried to breathe, but his chest, already agonizingly tight, felt like it was about to cave in.

. . . to discuss a matter of utmost importance.

6

6

What do you feel like listening to, Amy?”

Kevin’s finger rested on the radio dial; the Portland station had just fizzled into static and he was searching for something else to fill the air.