Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Chris looked down at the microphone. “Fact is, Dave, last time you called me up, it wasn’t about terrorists or illegals or anything like that at all. It was about your daughter, Tammy. She’d gotten all worked up about that boyfriend of hers, Carl Rider, and hightailed it up to Monahans in that nice new F-150 of yours, the pearl-colored one you’d just bought from Sandy Dean. You asked me if I could bring her home.”
Everyone knew about Dave’s legendary battles with his redheaded nineteen-year-old daughter. She’d been dating the much older Carl Rider, who worked seasonally at the Comanche. Everyone also knew Carl still had a wife and three kids in Odessa. It was a natural fact of living in a small town that all your problems were always on display, and Dave himself had been particularly vocal about this problem to anyone who would share a beer with him at Earlys.
Dave looked over his shoulder at someone in the crowd, maybe his wife, Margaret Ann. “Yes, yes, that’s right, Sheriff. Actually, you and Ms. Reynosa. Deputy Reynosa.”
“And we got that new truck back without a scratch on it, didn’t we?” Chris asked, adding, “Of course, we got Tammy back all right, too. Not a scratch on her, either.” The laughter was loud this time, clear and honest, and now Bethel Turner wasn’t nodding. Instead, he looked uncomfortable.
Chris pulled the microphone off the stand and took a step forward, toward the bleachers. “That land of yours at the Monument is as pretty as there is around here. Tammy was born right out there, like you were. Constance Merrill did the midwifing. My daddy knew both you and your daddy, Malcolm, although I never had the pleasure. But my daddy always told me that Malcolm believed if you’re born a Wilcher, the first and last thing you were ever going to see is that land. It’s your birthright, the land your family has lived and died on, laughed and loved and cried and bled on, for more than a hundred years.”
Chris wasn’t sure at what point Mel had walked back in, or how much she had heard, but she was now standing by the propped door out into the parking lot, holding Jack in her arms. That large exit sign glowed above her and shadowed her face.