“No need,” the man returned, his voice low and upbeat in an effort to defuse the situation. “That’s why I stepped outside. I saw you coming, and I thought I’d save you some time.”
“Okay, so if that rental isn’t available, do you mind telling me what is?”
“Ma’am, I don’t have anything for you right at the moment. Maybe you could try some of those new condos down by Paradise Lake.”
“I can’t afford those.”
“I’m real sorry, Mrs. Simpson. It’s just one of those things.”
“One of what things?”
The young man squirmed while gesturing helplessly.
“Look, I rented the house a month ago. Not only that, but your ad today in the Paradise Gazette says you have at least five summer rentals still available in the area. Now you’re claiming that you have none?”
“Ma’am, I’m real sorry.”
Shoulders slumped, Becca shook her head. “This is unbelievable,” she murmured.
An ache he couldn’t explain gnawed at Joe. Without thinking, he strode down the sidewalk, zigzagging around people, oblivious to a sudden flurry of shoppers creating obstacles in his path, and stepped up to Becca and the real-estate agent.
“Everything okay here, Becca?”
Startled, her brown eyes popped open and she looked up at him. “I... I have this under control, Joe.”
“Doesn’t sound like it to me,” he returned, purposely shooting the other man a scowl.
“Joe.”
He met Becca’s gaze.
“You need to stay out of this. Besides, my business is done here.” She turned on her heel and walked away, her face shielded by a curtain of chocolate-brown waves.
Behind him, Joe heard the sound of bells as the real-estate agent disappeared into the storefront.
Joe quickly yanked open the door, setting the bells into a wicked frenzy. The guy behind the desk had a solicitous smile on his face when he turned around.
Then he saw Joe.
He straightened and inched back farther behind the desk. “May I help you?”
“I sure hope so...” Joe glanced at the man’s name tag. “Jason.”
Jason came out from behind the desk and thrust a hand in greeting. Apparently his plan was to pretend that the incident outside moments before had never happened. “Have we met?” he asked.
“No, we haven’t. Joe Gallagher. Gallagher Ranch.” Joe looked the other man up and down before offering his prosthetic hand.
Jason’s eyes widened, and he dropped his own hand.
“New to town?” Joe asked.
“Yes, I am. How may I help you, sir?”
“I want to rent a house.”
“I’m sure we can fix you up. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“I’d like the one that you were supposed to lease to Rebecca Simpson.”
Jason’s face paled and he stepped backward, once again effectively putting the desk between him and Joe. “Sir, I don’t recommend that you get involved in that situation.” Tiny beads of perspiration popped out along his upper lip.
“What situation is that, Jason?”
The man swallowed hard before darting to the front door and switching the sign from Open to Closed. “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’m closed for the day.”
Joe followed him, getting squarely in the man’s personal space, towering over him with as much intimidation as he could muster. “Off the record, Jason, tell me what’s going on.”
Jason swallowed again as if he was desperate for a glass of water and a way to get rid of Joe.
“Can you tell me why you just turned down a paying customer?”
“I... I...”
Joe shook his head and growled, “I don’t like this, Jason.”
“I don’t much like it either, but I have a wife and a new baby to think about.”
Joe turned on his boot heel and left the office. Though he did his best not to slam the door, the bells were once again ringing a dissonant tune behind him as he put distance between himself and a sour situation.
It was time for a little chat with the sheriff of Paradise. Joe started toward his truck and then changed his mind. Walking was just what he needed. He headed in the other direction, cutting through the park in the center of town and past the gazebo toward the office of Sam Lawson, where he pulled open the heavy wooden door.
This wasn’t about Becca, he reassured himself. It was the principle of the thing. No one should be treated unfairly. Especially in Paradise.
Bitsy Harmony MacLaughlin, the administrative assistant, sat at a huge battered desk, guarding the entrance to Sam’s office like a geriatric bouncer.
“Sam available?” he asked.
Bitsy stood and realigned the silver braided knot on the top of her head. “The sheriff is on the phone. Give him five minutes.”
Joe nodded. He wasn’t eager to lose the momentum of his purpose by chitchatting with Bitsy, so he turned to examine the bulletin board.
“Cup of coffee, Joe? It’s fresh.”
He eyed the pot and sniffed the air. “What do you have brewing?”
“Vanilla caramel pecan.”
He did his best not to grimace. “Um, no. I’m going to pass. Thank you very much, ma’am.”
Bitsy poured herself a mugful from the carafe, all the while shooting him inquisitive glances. “I heard you’ve got some Hollywood people coming out to your ranch next week to film a movie.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “Hollywood? A movie? Where did you hear that?”
“Here and there.”
Joe met her gaze. “I never told anyone they were coming.”
“They did.” Bitsy’s blue eyes were unwavering. “Made reservations at the Paradise Bed and Breakfast and chatted with the clerk. She mentioned it to me.”
“I see.” He nodded. “Except your source got it wrong. It’s not a movie. They’re coming out to film ranch life and take a few pictures. In and out. No big deal.”
“They don’t need any extras?”
“Extra? Extra what?”
“You know. Like actors. Walk-on parts.” She offered him a knowing smile. “I had high hopes of becoming an actress myself, once upon a time.”
Joe ran a hand over his face. “Bitsy, I’m telling you, it’s not a movie.”
“If you say so, Joe.” She glanced down at the lights on the desk phone. “He’s done. Let me buzz him.” She picked up the receiver. “Joe Gallagher here to see you, boss.”
Moments later, Sam Lawson came out of his office and crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me ‘boss’ anymore.”
Bitsy shrugged. “Coffee’s fresh.”
The sheriff’s expression made no effort to conceal what he thought about the coffee. Joe nearly burst out laughing.
“No, thanks,” Sam finally said. He looked to Joe. “Come on in.”
The two men walked into his office. Sam shut the door and took a deep breath. “The woman would try a saint. No doubt she’s listening at the door right now,” he muttered.
“I figured as much.”
Sam turned on the tower fan in the corner.
“You’re warm?” Joe asked.
“White noise. She can’t hear us when the fan is on.”
“Ever thought about replacing her?”
“Only about three dozen times a day, for the last four years.” His eyes narrowed. “But that’s for cowards. I am no coward. My plan is to wait her out. She has to retire eventually.” Sam sat down behind his desk and took a deep breath. “What can I do for you?”
“Rebecca Simpson is back in town,” Joe said as he eased into the banged-up oak chair.
“The woman who was in
all the newspapers? I heard she was found innocent.”
Joe’s head jerked up. “What are you talking about?”
“Rebecca Simpson. Isn’t that who we’re discussing? I’ve never met her, but I read about it in the Denver Post.”
“Read about what?” Joe asked, becoming as agitated as he was confused.
“The accident.”
“What accident?”
“Are you telling me you don’t know?” Sam rubbed his chin. “Rebecca Simpson was arrested for vehicular manslaughter. She was driving in the rain when the vehicle skidded, ran off the road and overturned. Her husband Nick wasn’t wearing a seat belt. The news said he was killed on impact.”
The air whooshed from Joe’s lungs and he froze, unable to speak for moments. Finally he cleared his throat. “That doesn’t sound like vehicular manslaughter to me.”
“Exactly what the jury decided. Her father-in-law, Judge Nicholas Brown, was the one who insisted she be charged.”
He shook his head. “How did I miss this?”
“Two-and-a-half years ago, you were in Afghanistan. Then your dad died.” He nodded toward Joe’s prosthesis. “Your arm. I don’t suppose reading the Denver paper was on your radar, although by then they were probably onto something else.”
“Hard to believe my mother didn’t mention anything.”
“Maybe she thought you had enough on your plate.”
Joe released a breath. “I guess.”
“Did you know Nick Simpson?” Sam asked.
“No. Though it was hard to avoid the gossip when he and Becca eloped. His parents have a summer home near Four Forks. He went to boarding school out East. I hear he spent most of his summers doing whatever it is that rich kids do in the summer. Never saw him in Paradise.”
“How’d she meet him?”
“College. Becca had a full ride to Colorado College. I went local. We ranch boys like to stay close to home, so we can smell the loam in our own backyard.”
“Is that how it works? Didn’t someone tell me you two used to be an item?”
“We were kids. Too long ago to even remember.” Joe shifted in his seat. “So what do you think about the accident?”
“I don’t know what to think, Joe. Why wasn’t a smart guy like that wearing his seat belt was my first question.”
Joe shook his head, thinking.
Sam shrugged. “Truth is, I can’t tell you anything that wasn’t in the news or on the television. I remember thinking at the time that the whole situation seemed sensationalized to sell more papers.”
The only sound for moments was the hum of the fan as Joe considered the information Sam had shared, while trying to piece it all together.
“Funny how one moment can define the course of your entire life,” Sam finally said.
“Tell me about it.” Joe stood. “Thanks for your time.”
“Sure. I can’t say I’ve told you anything everyone else doesn’t already know. You can probably read the newspaper account at the library.” Sam stood as well and came around his desk.
Joe nodded.
“Any idea if she’s here to stay?” Sam asked.
“To stay? No idea. She’s doing the certification on my prosthesis. That’s all I know.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I thought there was. The real-estate agent refused to rent her a house.”
“You think Judge Brown could be behind that?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you want me to investigate?” Sam asked.
“No. But thanks, Sam. After what you told me, I’m sort of looking forward to figuring this one out myself.”
Copyright © 2016 by Tina M. Radcliffe
ISBN-13: 9781488018053
Second Chance Father
Copyright © 2016 by Renee Andrews
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