Page 39 of Don't Burn Bridges
That thought pulled everything else back into focus.
She'd come to this town expecting a battle. Not right away, of course. She wasn't stupid enough to walk up to a stranger and announce that she was his sister. First, she wanted to know who Shane Wilson was and how hard he'd fight to keep what she believed was rightfully hers.
At first, that had seemed easy enough. She'd convinced herself she already knew the answer. Then she'd met him.
She didn’t know him well yet. Not enough to predict how he'd react when the truth came out. But enough to realize he'd become a lot harder to dismiss than she'd expected.
And it wasn't just Shane.
The Wilsons reminded her of everything she'd wished her own family could have been growing up. Her mother had done the best she could, but it had always been just the three of them—and most of the time, it felt like only two. There were no big backyard barbecues, holiday gatherings, or noisy family dinners filled with cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, or close friends. She almost snorted into her coffee. Troy would've viewed spending time with family as a personal inconvenience.
Now, she'd had a glimpse of what it could be like. The problem was, none of it belonged to her—not the family, the friendships she'd started making, or Seth.
Especially not Seth.
She'd walked into Hazard Falls carrying secrets, and eventually, those secrets were going to come out. And she didn’t know how anyone would react to them.
She set the mug down and leaned back slightly. Before she confronted Shane, she needed more than assumptions and resentment. She needed facts. And somewhere in this town, the answers were waiting.
The town office sat a few blocks from the cafe and across the street from the town square. It was a tired-looking, two-story building with peeling paint and a flag that had seen better days. Shylo parked, grabbed her bag, and headed inside. The air smelled faintly of paper and industrial cleaner. A woman with gray-streaked hair sat behind the counter, glasses low on her nose, as she sorted through a stack of folders.
Shylo stepped up to the counter. “Good morning.”
The woman glanced up, gave her a quick once-over, and then smiled. “Good morning. What can I help you with?”
“I'm trying to get a feel for the area. Someone mentioned property records were public.”
“They are.”
“I've been thinking about relocating.” She shrugged. “Figured it couldn't hurt to do a little homework.”
“Smart woman.” The clerk pointed down the hall. “The records room is through that door. We finally got the newer files digitized—the past fifteen years—so those are on the computer back there. The older records are still in the filing cabinets. Haven't gotten around to scanning everything yet.”
“Sounds like a fun project.”
The woman laughed. “That's one word for it. Anyway, if you need copies of anything, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes later, Shylo was seated at one of the battered tables in the records room with a Wilson property file open in front of her—property records, deeds, surveys, and tax assessments. What surprised her was the sheer size of Red River Ranch. Twenty-seven hundred acres. It was one thing to hear people talk about the ranch. It was another to see the acreage spread across page after page of surveys and parcel maps.
She flipped to the assessment records for the ranch and stared at the figures longer than she'd intended. The property was worth more than she'd imagined. More than she'd ever dreamed of. For a few seconds, she simply sat there, absorbing what she was seeing.
Eventually, she returned the file to the drawer and continued sorting through the cabinets. Tax records. Property documents. Insurance paperwork. Most of it blurred together after a while.
Then a familiar name caught her eye. Kline.
She paused, remembering it from conversations she'd overheard around town and from dinner the other night. Curious, she pulled the folder free and opened it.
Commercial buildings. Storefronts. Investment properties. Residential holdings. The deeper she dug, the more obvious it became that the Klines had money—and plenty of it. Different money than the Wilsons. Ranching meant land and cattle. The Klines seemed to own pieces of the actual town.
Considering how often the Kline name appeared in the records, Shylo was starting to understand the rumors about Bridget and how she considered Hazard Falls her personal kingdom.
Shylo pushed the thought aside and returned her attention to the Wilson records. She already knew the basics. The private investigator she'd hired had provided names, dates, and enough information to convince her she was chasing the right man. After that, she'd found the obituaries online. Helen Wilson had died of a stroke several years ago. Seven months later, Peter Wilson had died of a heart attack.
What she didn't know was what happened afterward. That was the information she needed next.
Since the deaths had occurred a little over eight years ago, she switched to the computer. A label with a user name and password printed on it was affixed to the top of the monitor. After logging in, she noticed the computer lacked internet access. Probably to keep anyone from accessing the records through the internet.
