Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

“How can we find out what’s wrong with that bridge?” Paul asked.

“We know about the scouring, but that wouldn’t have been what Zack’s dad was looking for. To know if the bridge was built to spec, the actual dimensions would have to be compared to the plans, and that might not even be enough. My guess is it wasn’t. To prove it we need plans and a really good engineering inspection.

“I think Captain Brady got us those plans, and I think that’s what got him killed.” Gabe walked back to the kitchen, and Carol refilled his mug. He stood, leaning against the counter, focused on the depths of his cup with clenched teeth, remembering the dead German shepherd and the shootout in Captain Brady’s home office. Gabe loved animals. He wasn’t sure if he didn’t actually prefer them to many of the humans he knew.

“There’s a good chance my grandfather has the plans or at least copies,” Zack said.

Gabe looked up and refocused. “Right, and I don’t believe he’s in a sharing mood at the moment. There has to be another way. Maybe tomorrow.”

They sat watching the fire, now mostly embers. Smith had stealthily encroached her way onto the couch beside Mickey and was encouraging her new friend to continue scratching behind her ears. Emily was beside her mother looking very sleepy. Wesson was contentedly curled at Gabe’s feet.

Paul was on his feet. “I could use a shower.”

“Hot water tank isn’t big enough for all of us, so make it a short one, okay? Best do it in shifts, some tonight, some in the morning,” Gabe said.

“I know how we could save a lot of water,” Zack offered.

“Forget it. Not a chance bozo.” Mickey retorted and popped him in the ribs with her elbow. It was the first laughter in what had been a tense evening.

Zack and Paul took the twin beds. Emily and Mickey shared a double bed, which left the master bedroom and a sagging couch by the fireplace. The fire was almost gone as Gabe tossed a sleeping bag on the sofa and folded an extra blanket for a pillow.

When the living room was empty, Carol came from her shower wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a University of Texas logo, which Gabe remembered her wearing in high school. It fit just right. She sat in an old recliner by the couch and noticed a short-barreled Remington 12 gauge on the floor under it.

“Do you think . . . ?” She said, pointing to the gun.

“Not really. The dogs are light sleepers. Deer and coons wake them. Had a bear once. They went nuts.”

“Did they chase it?”

“No, they just wanted to play. But the bear wasn’t having it. Didn’t come back.”

“Is there a gun in the bedroom?”

“I hung my Colt Cobra with Black Talon hollow points for you on the bed frame. Paul said you know how to use it. He’s proud his mom is a shooter.”

“Cobra? Nice. I’ve seen them but never fired one. I’ll look forward to that.”

“It’s a collectible now. But in the day they were the gun to carry,” Gabe said. “Do you shoot often?”

“Of course. Like most women, I have great hand-eye coordination. Charlie used to take me to the range. I enjoy punching paper.”

“How about if you had to punch flesh and blood?”

“To protect my kids? You kidding?”

“Mama bear.”

“You bet.”

“There are two more boxes of shells in the nightstand. Top drawer.”

“Gabe, I . . .” She looked tired and worried.

“Carol, I’m sorry I brought those boxes to your house. I had no intention of involving you in this mess. But we’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“Well if it helps us catch Charlie’s killers, I guess it’s okay. Good night then.”

“You are safe here. Sleep well.” As he watched her walk to the bedroom, he couldn’t help thinking, I never realized how much I like that shirt on her. Then he felt guilty.

Gabe woke in the winter, pre-dawn darkness to the chill in the house, the smell of eggs and venison sausage, and soft light in the kitchen. Carol was at the stove, comfortable in the same UT sweats from last night, which made Gabe smile. Emily was making coffee. The dogs were underfoot looking for handouts. Gabe moved slowly on the couch, savoring not only the aroma of breakfast but also the unique sound of women’s voices and a warmth alien to his bachelor life. After a quick visit to the bathroom, he rekindled the fire. When it was burning nicely, he went to the kitchen.

“Coffee’s ready, and the dogs have been out. Do you want toast?” Carol asked.

Not yet fully awake, the most he could respond with was a nod. She understood and dropped bread in the toaster.

Back at the table, coffee mug in hand, breakfast on the plate, his first word was, “Nice.”

“Thanks. Emily and I were starving. Did you shoot the deer?”

“And the hog.”

“Wild hog?”

“Lowlands are overrun. Meat’s tough, but okay ground and blended.”

“How do you keep the meat without running the generator all the time?”

“Propane freezer in the shed. The stove, fridge, and hot water heater are all propane. Solar charges the twelve-volt system for lights. Doesn’t work well, too much shade, so the generator kicks in when the battery voltage drops, but the batteries are enough for a few lights for three or four hours.”

“Like a big RV?”

“Same.”

“We had one, my dad I mean. We used to camp a lot. I loved it.”

“You and Charlie went often, didn’t you?” Gabe recalled.

“For a city boy, Charlie could handle himself. The Marine Corps taught him that. You know he loved to fish and hunt, especially with you, but he was not a rancher.”

“You?”

“Summers on my grandfather’s ranch, even during nursing school. I loved horses, and I worked my tail off,” she laughed.

“I went last summer,” Emily said. “Grandpa said I was a natural. Best hand ever.”

“My dad has the place now, and he loves it. He’s officially retired, but the Rangers keep