BooksBarbecue
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

Ryan shook his head violently. Shock gave way to panic when he began thinking of his father. “Please, Mr. Tippenworth, you can’t do this to us. There must be something I can do. Anything.” His voice began to break.

Tom placed his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “The wheels are already in motion. Barring a miracle, your ranch will be sold. My advice is that you get your affairs in order. Come clean with your father—and do it soon.”

Ryan’s spirits were so crushed that he couldn’t stay steady on his feet. The asphalt suddenly felt like it was shifting and sinking beneath him.

Come clean with your father.

Tom delivered those words so freely, yet he had no idea what they meant, what grave ramifications could likely result.

“I beg of you. You don’t understand what this will do to him.”

But Tom was resolute and stood there shaking his head, unwilling to hear any more of Ryan’s pleas.

“What exactly did you think was going to happen?” Tom countered. “How did you imagine this would all end? I understand your reasons for needing the money, and I understand why you couldn’t tell your father, but why on earth have you kept it hidden from him for this long? Didn’t you ever worry about what would happen if one day he decided to check the account?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I have to have more time—anything you can spare!”

“Three days, Mr. Porter, that’s all there is left. I’m sorry. I truly am. If you need to speak with me, you know where I am.”

And with that, Tom turned and walked away.

Ryan grabbed the side mirror of his truck and leaned on it for balance, fearing he was about to faint. It was like a bomb had just gone off, obliterating everything but for the small plot of gravel on which he stood.

Foreclosure. In three days.

The shocking news left his head throbbing with pain. He couldn’t think straight. He rubbed at his temple, imploring the ache to subside, when suddenly he looked up and saw a neon sign fixed to the façade of the hotel: BAR OPEN.

Though he rarely felt the draw of alcohol, Ryan gravitated toward those bright letters like a moth to a flame, in desperate need of something—­anything—to numb the shock.

8

8