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Well, well, if it isn’t Randall Tanner’s whelp come home to roost. In the hunting lodge that’s no more yours than your daddy’s. The land and everything on it is Buck Tanner’s, God rest his soul. And before he passed, Buck made clear that no kin of Randall’s should ever live long on Buck’s land.
So first a warning or two, to let you know you ain’t wanted around Tanner’s Crossing.
.....
Luke shook his head sadly as he parked his truck in front of the old lodge. Buck Tanner had been a stubborn man, one whose life was filled with more drama than all the soap operas on television put together. And he had been mean. He was probably rolling in his grave right now at the thought of his brother’s daughter moving into the old lodge.
With a sigh, Luke climbed down from his truck, snugged his hat low over his brow and walked to the front door. Freshly turned earth marked a long trench that ran from the well house to the lodge, suggesting a plumber had recently laid new lines. Making a mental note to report the repairs to Ry, he rapped his gloved knuckles against the thick cedar door, then waited, silently praying that his knock wouldn’t be heard and he could leave with a clear conscience, knowing he’d at least tried. He was just about to turn for his truck, when the door swung open with a creak.
.....
