Abruptly, he straightened.
He was overthinking it like he had the night sixteen years ago when Aaron had arrested him.
“Thinking like I’m the guilty one,” he muttered. “And I am not. Not this time.”
He pushed to his feet. “Come on, Murph. Let’s go make some phone calls. And figure out where the hell I know our friend Randall from.”
* * *
By the time Heather dropped him off at the Lazy H’s main house at seven that night, Jeremiah could barely keep his eyes open, but he had to stay awake a little longer. Heather had headed home to her cabin for a shower, but she’d promised to return by eight to deliver the two casserole dishes of lasagna and enchiladas Tracie had prepared for Christina. That would give her plenty to eat without needing to cook for the next couple days until the rest of
