by Linda Warren
Now there was a deal. He held out his hand. “Deal.”
Wyatt shook his hand. “Stay alert tonight and tomorrow. It’s usually Saturday night when they hit. Thanks.”
“Yeah, right.” Elias grimaced.
“Look at it this way,” Bob said. “You’ll be sitting down here instead of in a jail cell.”
Elias spent the evening watching the door and it was as much fun as watching grass grow. The night was slow and nothing was happening so at 10:30 p.m. he went home. He had a full day tomorrow and he needed some sleep. Getting into his truck, he felt a pang of...loneliness. It couldn’t be. He was never lonely, but sometimes lonely crept into his soul without warning.
AT SIX O’CLOCK the next evening, Elias came through the back door dirty and tired, hay stinging him around his collar and down the back of his shirt. He needed a shower and a beer. Grabbing one out of the refrigerator, he took a moment to pop the top.
“Elias?” Grandpa called.
He lived with his grandpa and was the official caretaker of the old man who aggravated him more than anyone. Quincy was Grandpa’s favorite and he’d usually done the caregiving until he got married. After that, somehow the responsibility for Grandpa fell on Elias’s shoulders. He wasn’t the nurturing kind, but he and Grandpa managed to get along.
He walked into the living room. Grandpa sat in his chair with his dog, Mutt, on his lap. Nearing eighty, Grandpa had snow-white hair and a booming voice known to stop his grandsons in their tracks.
“What’s up?”
Grandpa handed him the remote control. “Get the Western channel. I can’t find it.”
Elias took a deep breath. “I wrote it down—” he pointed to the pad on the end table by Grandpa “—right there.”
“Ah, if you don’t want to help me then don’t.” Grandpa tended to be grouchy at times and he liked being pampered.
Elias took the control and flipped it to the Western channel. “Satisfied?”
“Thank you.”
Elias shook his head. One little thing made his grandpa happy. He headed for the bathroom. “Are you going to Quincy’s for supper?” he asked over his shoulder. Quincy still helped with Grandpa, as did his other brothers.
“Yes, I’m waiting on him. He’s gonna pick me up so I don’t have to drive in the dark.”
Quincy lived across the pasture and it wasn’t that far from Grandpa’s house. Grandpa just liked the attention and that was fine. He had to get to Rowdy’s.
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, he was sitting at a table, watching the door on a Saturday night. It was like blowing up balloons, boring as hell. He looked around at the rustic beer joint where he spent a lot of his time. He never really noticed his surroundings. The joint had been in Horseshoe forever and had been run by several people. Bob had owned it for the past fifteen years. The worn hardwood floors and the jukebox were probably as old as Elias. The songs hadn’t changed in years. Neon beer signs decorated the back of the bar. Red booths lined one wall and had gray duct tape to cover the holes. Above the booths were posters of country music stars who had stopped by. In the back room, there was a pool table. A lot of guys hung out in there.
The place was filling up fast. Dee and Tracy, the waitresses, were working hard to keep up with the beer orders. Someone slipped a quarter in the jukebox and George Strait’s “A Fire I Can’t Put Out” came on. Two couples got up and started dancing. It was Saturday night at Rowdy’s.
Dee stopped by his table. “What are you doing over here by yourself?”
He held up his beer. “Drinking.”
“Want another?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He hadn’t drunk any of the beer. He wanted to be alert like Wyatt had said. The trouble was Wyatt could never tell if Elias was drunk or not. Elias could hold his beer. Everyone knew that. But tonight, for once, he was following the rules. He should write that down on a calendar somewhere.
Couples were still coming in the door and there wasn’t much room for anybody else. Suddenly he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Two couples were standing at the door and there seemed to be someone behind them. Then the figure was gone. Elias got up and went through the swinging half-door of the bar to the back room. Peering around the corner, he saw a guy open the back door. This was it.
He pulled out his phone and called Wyatt. “They’re here.”
“Don’t do anything, Elias. I’m on my way.”
Elias tucked his phone back into his pocket, walked out the front door and made his way around to the back. He crouched in the bushes and watched as three figures carried beer through the wooded area to a vehicle. Elias crept closer. The kids were laughing as they stored the beer in the back of an SUV.
“I slipped in and out and that old coot never saw me,” one bragged.
Another one said, “Now we can par-ty.”
Wyatt had better hurry or the kids were going to be gone. Just then headlights flashed from the right and from the left. Sirens blared as they pulled up to the SUV. Wyatt’s patrol car was in the back and Stuart’s in the front. The car revved up and the kid tried to go around Stuart’s car, but Stuart pulled his car over and blocked him.
Wyatt got out of his car with a megaphone. “Turn off the engine. Turn off the engine. Now!”
In response, the kid revved it up again and tried to go around Stuart’s car without any luck.
“Get out of the car!” Wyatt shouted. “If you don’t get out, I’m going to shoot out the tires. You have thirty seconds.”
No response.
Wyatt pulled his gun from his holster. The driver’s door of the SUV slowly opened and a kid crawled out with a hoodie over his head. Two other kids crawled out from the other side.
“Line up against the car,” Wyatt ordered, still holding the gun in his hand. “Frisk them,” he said to Stuart.
Stuart did as he was told. “No weapons.”
Wyatt shoved his gun into his holster and pulled a flashlight from his car. He shined the light in the first boy’s face. “Brandon Polansky, your parents are going to be proud of you.”
The thing about a small town was everyone knew everyone, and Wyatt knew the people better than most.
Wyatt stepped over to the second boy. “Billy Tom Wentz, this is going to be a shock to your parents and your grandfather.”
Billy Tom hung his head.
Before Wyatt could reach the third boy, he leaped over the hood of the car and bolted for the woods. Elias reached out with one arm and snagged him, wrestling him to the ground. The kid came up fighting with both arms. He was skinny and tall, but he didn’t have much strength. Elias grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and squeezed. The boy continued to beat at Elias with his fist.
“Keep it up and I’ll choke the life out of you. Got it?” His hand tightened even more and the boy gasped for breath and stopped struggling.
Wyatt ran up to them, breathing heavily. “You got him?”
“Yeah. You’re a little out of breath there, Wyatt.”
Wyatt slipped handcuffs on the boy, ignoring Elias, and led him back to the group without another word being said. In the darkness, it was hard to see expressions but Elias knew Wyatt was sending him one of his custom-made cold stares.
Elias trailed behind Wyatt and the kid, eager to see how this turned out. Stuart had handcuffs on the other two boys still standing against the car. Wyatt led the kid back to his spot.
Looking at the boy closely, Wyatt said, “I don’t believe I know you. Are you new in town?”
“None of your business,” the boy spat.
Wyatt tapped his badge with the flashlight. “You see that? That means I’m the sheriff of this county and when you rob places and run from the law, it becomes my business. What’s your name?”
“Get out of my face.
”
Elias had had enough of the kid’s mouth. He needed an attitude adjustment. Before he could stop himself, he stepped in front of Wyatt and faced the kid. “You need to learn some manners and respect and if you don’t, I’m going to teach them to you. When the sheriff asks you a question you say, ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir,’ and when he asks you a direct question you answer it. Got it?”
A palpable heat emanated from the boy. And anger.
“You already know that I’m stronger than you, so give it up, kid. It’s time to face the music.”
The boy’s stubborn expression reminded Elias of someone, but he couldn’t place it. Invisible daggers from Wyatt pierced his back, so he stepped aside.
“What’s your name?” Wyatt asked again.
The boy raised his head and stared at Elias. “My name is...Chase...McCray.”
“I know all the McCray boys and you’re not one of them,” Wyatt pointed out.
“I’m not from here nor do I want to be a part of the McCrays. My mom and I moved here two weeks ago.”
“Who’s your mother?”
“Maribel McCray.”
That got Elias’s attention. This was the kid she’d been looking for—a wild teenager out of control.
“Read them their rights and take them to the jail!” Wyatt shouted to Stuart.
“It was all my idea,” Chase said. “Don’t punish them. It’s all on me.”
Wyatt placed his hands on his hips. “A few minutes ago you were willing to run away, leaving your friends holding the bag. Now you’re trying to protect them?”
The kid glanced at Elias again and replied, “Yes...sir.”
“Okay, we’re going to the jail and we’ll discuss this with your parents.”
The boys had nothing to say.
“Call Bubba to tow this car,” Wyatt called after Stuart.
“I’m on it.”
Wyatt pulled off his hat and scratched his head, staring at Elias. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re doing here, but then I know you and sometimes I wonder if you’re ever going to grow up. I don’t manhandle kids, Elias, and that was totally out of line.”
The ruts on Wyatt’s forehead were deep enough to hold molasses. But Wyatt’s ire didn’t faze Elias. He leaned against the patrol car. “Well, my daddy always taught me when you start a job, you finish it. And if I hadn’t been here, that kid would be halfway to Temple by now.”
“I would have caught him, Elias.”
“Yeah, right.”
Wyatt opened the back of the SUV. “Help me put this beer in the back of my car. Their parents will want to see the evidence.”
“You’re good at giving orders.”
“Comes with the job.”
“Uh-huh.”
They stored the beer in Wyatt’s back seat. “Do you know Maribel McCray?”
“Yeah. I went to high school with her. She was always snotty when I tried to talk to her.”
Wyatt closed the back of the SUV. “How did you expect her to be? The Rebel/McCray feud was strong back then.”
“True. She left town without even graduating. I guess she’s finally come home.”
“Do you know where she’s living?”
“Now, Wyatt, the less I know about the McCrays, the better off I am.”
Wyatt opened the driver’s door of his car. “It’s been peaceful lately with the McCrays marrying into the Rebel family. But I have a feeling this kid is going to stir it all up again.”
Elias tapped Wyatt’s badge with his finger. “You’re the sheriff. You can handle it.” With a smile, Elias walked through the woods to Rowdy’s. He went inside and locked the back door. Bob came charging in, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Did Wyatt catch ’em?”
“Yes, he did. They’re on their way to jail.”
“Is it anybody I know?”
Elias told him about the boys.
Bob shook his hand. “What were they thinking?”
“The new kid in town is a bad influence.”
“Maribel’s boy?”
“Yeah. Do you still have her phone number?”
Bob hurried into the bar area and came back with the napkin. Elias slipped it into his pocket, and headed for the jail.
This time Maribel wasn’t going to ignore him.
Chapter Two
Maribel rushed through the sheriff’s door, a total wreck. She hadn’t even bothered to comb her hair, which in hindsight she should have. It had a natural curl and seemed to be everywhere. Taking a deep breath, she tucked it behind her ears.
She’d been looking for Chase all night and had been unable to find him. She’d let him take her car and he’d promised to be home by ten o’clock. When he wasn’t, Phoenix had let her borrow Rosie’s truck. She’d searched all over town to no avail, and then the sheriff had called.
This was so unlike her son. He was a good kid, but she knew he was still angry about the move from Dallas. At seventeen, he thought the world revolved around him. That was her fault. She’d spoiled him. Her world was crumbling around her and she wasn’t sure what to do next. First thing, she had to find a job because they couldn’t continue to live with Rosie and Phoenix. Chase’s disruptive behavior was causing problems and Maribel didn’t want the stress to affect her sister, so she had to find a place for her and Chase. But she had bigger problems now.
She stepped into a small reception area that had a desk and filing cabinets, but no one was there. The hall opened into a big room. Two desks were empty and a deputy sat at another, writing in a folder. To the left, in a separate room, was the sheriff’s office. The nameplate on the open door said Wyatt Carson—Sheriff. He was a nice-looking man, probably in his early forties. She didn’t remember him, but she remembered the Carson family.
With every ounce of courage she had left in her, she walked up to his desk, ignoring Elias, who was sitting in a chair. What was he doing here?
“Where’s my son?” she blurted out.
The sheriff got to his feet and nodded toward a hall and she could see the bars of a jail cell. “He’s in there.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but she quickly straightened her back to regain her composure. Doing so, she realized she hadn’t introduced herself. She held out her hand. “I’m Maribel McCray.”
He shook her hand. “Wyatt Carson.”
“What has he done?” She decided to go with patience and politeness instead of anger.
“He was arrested with two other boys for stealing beer from Rowdy’s and two other places.”
She shook her head. “No, you must have the wrong boy. My kid is—”
“—a good kid,” he finished for her. “I’ve had two other parents tell me the same thing tonight, but I assure you, your son was involved. Actually, he confessed to being the ringleader.”
Her stomach tied into a knot so tight she had trouble speaking. Chase was never in trouble. She licked her dry lips. “May I see him?”
The sheriff picked up a set of keys from his desk. “Sure, but leave your purse here.”
She placed her purse on the desk, fully aware that Elias was watching her every move. It surprised her that he wasn’t saying anything. Elias always had an opinion. She followed the sheriff, continuing to ignore Elias, which was her normal reaction when she saw him. Her shoulders burned from his sharp gaze.
The sheriff unlocked the steel doors and they banged with a chilling sound. Goose bumps popped up on her arms. There were two cots in the room and that was it. Chase lay on one of them. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet, his eyes bracketed with fear. Her heart squeezed at the sight. Where had she gone wrong?
When the sheriff walked away, she sat on the bunk and Chase sat beside her. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
; Words rolled around in her head like loose marbles and she couldn’t pull them together to complete a sentence. She’d never been this scared in her whole life, not even when she’d been seventeen and pregnant. An angel had been watching over her and had delivered her into the hands of Mrs. Lavinia Wainwright, otherwise known as Miss Vennie—but she was Nana to her and Chase.
When her dad had discovered she was pregnant, he’d kicked her out of the house. Her mother had wrung her hands and cried, but never lifted a finger to help her. Instead, she’d shoved money into her hand and had told her to go to Mrs. Peabody’s, an elderly lady in town who rented rooms. But Maribel knew she couldn’t stay in Horseshoe, listening to the gossip and the rumors.
Mrs. Peabody had sent her to Dallas to stay with her sister, Miss Vennie. That was the luckiest day of Maribel’s life, except for the day Chase was born. Miss Vennie had a big house in Dallas and she had accepted Maribel with open arms. Maribel had learned about love and trust and family and she’d found a home like she’d never had before.
Miss Vennie had treated Chase as if he were her own son. While Maribel had worked, Miss Vennie had taken care of Chase and Maribel hadn’t needed to worry about him. For years they’d had a good life. Then Miss Vennie had died and Maribel’s whole world had come apart once again. They had to move out of the house because it was mortgaged to the hilt. She’d rented an apartment and everything had been going smoothly until she’d lost her job. She’d been scrambling, looking for work when Rosie had called and she knew then it was time to go home. Now she was wondering if that had been the right decision.
“Mom, aren’t you going to say anything? I know you’re disappointed in me...”
Words suddenly filled her throat. “Yes, I’m very disappointed in you. Where’s my kid? I don’t know this kid who steals beer. My kid sat by Nana’s bedside and read her Bible verses to comfort her in her last days. My kid served food during the holidays at the homeless shelter. That’s my kid.” She looked around the dismal cinder block cell. “I don’t know this kid behind bars.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I want to go home to Dallas. I don’t like it here.”
