THIRTY
Nathan wasn’t sure he wanted Erin analyzing him and wished he hadn’t said so much in front of her. He stood and paced the room.
Erin cleared her throat. “I’m going to get some snacks from the vending machine. You want anything?”
“No, but thank you,” Mom said.
“I’m good,” Nathan said.
Erin offered him a soft smile and he knew she was intentionally giving them privacy, considering how deeply personal their conversation had turned. She exited the room.
He refocused on the conversation with Mom. Wanting to fill Dad’s shoes. None of that mattered anymore. What did he care about being a hero, saving the day, if Dad never recovered, or if the truth about who shot him never came to light?
Everything hinged on finding out who had shot Dad.
He moved to sit next to Mom again. “Did he ever talk to you about a couple of articles that Dwayne gave him years ago?”
Her brow furrowed. “No, I don’t think so. Why would he?”
Nathan shrugged. It was worth a shot. “He said Dwayne asked him to look into a cold case. It was before Dad left us. But Dad forgot about it with the divorce and the move.”
A knock came at the door.
Henry poked his face in. Dread prickled over Nathan, and he glanced at Mom. “You called him?”
“Of course.” Her face twisted with concern. “You didn’t want me to?”
Henry strode into the room, hands in his pockets. “I got here as soon as I could. How’s he doing?”
Mom shared with Henry what she’d told Nathan. Henry studied Dad, a painful frown carved in his features.
“And did he say anything when he woke up?” Henry asked.
“I was just telling Nathan he didn’t speak. He couldn’t answer the doctor’s questions.”
Henry moved closer to the bed. “But could you tell in his eyes that he...”
“I think he understood the doctor, he simply couldn’t respond,” she said. “He has a brain injury, and it will take time for him to fully recover.” Mom’s tone had grown slightly agitated.
Exhaustion had to be weighing on her, that and maybe she didn’t welcome Henry’s appearance at this moment, though she’d called him. Was Henry asking as a friend? Or as a sheriff who wanted to know more about who shot Dad? Or was he asking as the man who had assured Dad’s boss that no one here would dig into the case? Nathan had gotten Hadlow’s explanation, but he didn’t like that Henry had agreed so willingly.
Nathan stood. “Henry, a word?” To Mom, he said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Or two or five. Nathan exited the hospital room, trusting Henry to follow. Even the hallway wasn’t private enough, so he headed to the end of the corridor where a window overlooked a parking lot, the city of Bozeman, and the mountains in the distance.
Henry thrust his hands into his pockets again and rocked back and forth on his toes.
“Thanks for coming to check on Dad.” Nathan crossed his arms to hide his clenched fists.
Henry looked like a sheriff who was about to blow a gasket, as Dad used to say, but instead held his tongue. Maybe Nathan would take a chance on his father’s longtime friend, who’d already shared words of wisdom with him.
“You and Dad have known each other and been friends a long time.”
“Indeed. That’s why I want to learn the truth about who shot him too, son.”
Nathan’s heart pounded. Should he speak his mind? Or like Dad said, trust no one? He thought he understood better now that Dad wanted to protect others as well. But trust? Henry had earned Nathan’s trust a long time ago—until that one overheard phone call.
“I’ve known you my whole life, Henry. You’ve been nothing but a good and honorable man. You’ve always had my back.”