“I—” The sheriff cleared his throat.
Barbara nodded again for emphasis. “I suppose you’re worried that I’ll mistake them for something they are not, so you don’t even mention them. But it’s only polite to at least acknowledge that something happened—”
“I—” The sheriff looked a little short of breath again.
Maybe that’s why he still hadn’t moved his hand.
“You should know that I am not foolish enough to read anything into a kiss—no matter how good it was—or to make something over a little hand-holding, even if it is in public,” Barbara stated.
The sheriff’s hand moved, only not in the direction Barbara had anticipated. Instead of moving away, his hand moved around until he had hers firmly in his grasp. “You thought the kiss was good, huh?”
The sheriff didn’t look at all as though he had trouble breathing now. He even grinned.
Barbara wondered if she was the one who needed some air. “You were very good to me when I was in the hospital—I’m grateful for that.”
Barbara remembered how close she’d felt to the sheriff then. She’d told him all her secrets. She’d never told Neal things like that, not even in the early days when she’d still loved him. The sheriff had heard all her dreams and her fears. She’d thought later that it was the pain medication that had loosened her tongue. She usually didn’t trust men with her inner thoughts. But maybe it had been something more. It was odd that sitting across the table from him now in this darkened café, she was starting to feel close again.
“I don’t need your gratitude,” the sheriff said as he moved his hand away. His grin was gone. “It’s my job to help people.”
Barbara wondered when it had gotten so cold in the room. Then someone opened the outside door and enough wind blew in to lower the temperature even more.
“Who turned the lights off?” a man’s voice said from where he stood by the open door.
The room was so dark that it was hard to see the man clearly. Barbara thought she recognized Pete Denning, but she wasn’t sure until she saw the reflection from that gold-plated belt buckle of his.
“We’re closed,” Linda said as she walked out from the kitchen and into the main café area.
“How can you be closed when they’re here?” Pete said as he took a step into the café. “Besides, they’re the ones I wanted to see.”
“Is there trouble some where?” the sheriff asked, as he began to rise from the table.
“Probably,” Pete said as he walked over to their table. “But I’m not here about trouble. I’m here to do my civic duty.”
The sheriff sat back down and asked cautiously, “What civic duty would that be?”
“You never do your civic duty, Peter Denning, and don’t you pretend otherwise,” Linda said as she walked further into the room. She had a spatula in one hand and she waved it around for emphasis. “Why, you don’t even vote.”
“I voted last election,” Pete pro tested.
Barbara thought he sounded a little self-righteous.
Linda snorted. “I heard. You voted for Santa Claus. All the slots—even the school board members.”
Pete grinned. “Well, I figure Santa’s been good to me, and it’s the least I can do for him. The old man seems to have an image problem around here.”
“That’s because he’s not a real person,” Linda said as she pointed at Pete with the spatula. “No one votes for someone who isn’t real.”
Pete grinned even wider. “Half of the politicians in the world aren’t real either. They’re just images created by their public relations staff. At least Santa Claus is around from year to year and doesn’t take a dive on the voters.”
“Well, I don’t care who you vote for, you just can’t do it tonight. Not here. We have an exclusive party here.” Linda said as she marched up to Pete and took his elbow in her hand so that he had to rise up from the chair he’d pulled close to the table. “If you drive around to the alley in back, I can give you a take-out ham burger through the back window.”
“Like a drive-in?” Pete said in amazement. He stopped walking. “Since when do you do a drive-in business?”
“Since we have a date in the front dining room—” Linda ground out the words.
Barbara didn’t even think about protesting. She was having too much fun watching Linda and Pete grimace at each other. She was going to have to ask Linda if Pete was the man who had left her brokenhearted some years ago. There certainly seemed to be something between the two of them. Maybe it wasn’t as hopeless as Linda thought.
“They aren’t on a date,” Pete said as he shook his arm free from Linda’s hand. “It’s a business meeting to set up a slogan for the sheriff’s political campaign. Barbara told me that her self.”
Pete looked at Barbara, and she felt she had to nod in confirmation even though by now she was confused as to what this evening was.
“It’s both a date and a campaign meeting,” the sheriff finally said as he ran his finger under his collar and loosened his tie. “The one thing it sure isn’t, however, is dinner.” The sheriff smiled toward Linda before turning to Pete. “Not that it won’t be dinner just as soon as you let the cook get back to her cooking.”
“Well, I guess I could settle for a ham burger to go,” Pete said grudgingly. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s what around here.”
Barbara could sympathize with the ranch hand.
“I’ll throw in a batch of fries if you wait out back,” Linda offered Pete as she gestured toward the door.
Pete lifted an eyebrow, but he did begin to walk toward the door. “With some of that barbecue sauce on the side?”
“I know how you like your fries,” Linda said.
Barbara couldn’t help but notice that the ranch hand turned around to watch Linda as she walked back into the kitchen. And when he did, he had a vulnerable look on his face that made Barbara wonder.
“Well, that was interesting,” Barbara said when Pete finally left the café. “How long ago was it that he and Linda dated?”
“Pete and Linda?” the sheriff asked in surprise. “Why there’s nothing between the two of them. Linda’s been waiting for that boy friend of hers, Jazz, to give up on that band of his and come home. She’s been waiting a good three years now. They started this café together before he left Dry Creek to try and become a rock star. What a waste of a man’s future.”
“Three years is a long time to wait for some one,” Barbara said slowly. She could already smell the hamburgers cooking on the grill in back. She also heard the sound of a pickup driving around behind the café.
“How long are you planning to wait?” the sheriff said quietly. “Before you marry again, that is.”
“Oh.” Barbara flushed. “I’m not going to marry again.”
The sheriff didn’t say anything.
“I’m just not very good at it,” Barbara finally confessed, partly because she felt un comfort able not giving any reason at all. Plus, there was nothing else to fill the silence.
The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Now me, I’m the one who wouldn’t know how to go about this family business. But you? You have it down pat already.”
Maybe it was the fact that the café was still dark and she only saw flashes of the sheriff’s face. It was like being in a confessional. Whatever it was, Barbara went ahead and told him everything. “It’s not about family life. I can do that. It’s just that I’m not any good at picking men. You know, like some women aren’t any good at picking watermelons. I don’t seem to do very well with picking men. I doubt Neal ever loved me, not even at first when I thought he did. I should have known better.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“I figure a woman can learn to pick out a good watermelon,” the sheriff finally said. “And, if she can’t, she gets a neighbor to help her pick one out.”
Barbara smiled at that. “I don’t know of too many neighbors who want to pick out a husband
for some one.”
The sheriff snorted. “You could’ve fooled me on that one. It seems everyone around here has an opinion on who should marry who.”
Barbara frowned. Now that she thought about it, that was true. “Especially who should marry me.”
She remembered the night of the wedding reception when Charley had offered his nephew and Jacob had offered himself.
“But it’s not the same,” Barbara said. “No one should pick out a partner for someone else. It should be something special that just happens between the two people.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” the sheriff said.
Love was a whole lot different than picking out a watermelon, Barbara thought. Love made a woman lose the sense she was born with. Picking out a ripe piece of fruit never did that.
She didn’t get a chance to tell the sheriff that though, because the door to the kitchen opened and Linda came out with a small plastic basket in her hands. “I thought I’d bring you some fries to get you started. Your hamburgers will be out in a minute. What kind of cheese do you want?”
“I’ll stick with the pepper jack,” the sheriff said.
“I’ll have mine plain,” Barbara said. “With lots of catsup.”
“And some mustard for me,” the sheriff added.
Linda set the basket of fries down on the table and went back into the kitchen.
Barbara and the sheriff were silent for a minute.
“I’m not planning to get married again anyway,” Barbara finally said. She thought she should tell him that. After all, he had been kind enough to understand her watermelon theory.
The sheriff nodded as he picked up the basket. “You’ve made your feeling on that subject clear. Want some fries?”
Barbara reached into the basket and pulled out a hot French fry. “I think Linda should get married though. I can’t help thinking about Pete and her.”
The sheriff grinned. “See what I mean about picking out watermelons for your neighbors? Everybody wants to do it.”
“Who would you pick?”
“For you?” the sheriff said. His grin was gone and he looked serious.
Barbara shook her head. “No, for Linda.”
“I’d pick Pete,” the sheriff said promptly. “Just to keep him away from you.”
“That’s not a very good reason.”
“It is to me,” the sheriff said with a nod. “He’s not good enough for you. Not by a long shot. You need to marry a man with—” the sheriff seemed at a momentary loss for words “—well, with lots of money, I guess.”
Barbara gasped. “I’d never marry a man for his money.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t,” the sheriff agreed and wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s why you need to let a neighbor like me do the picking for you.”
Barbara laughed. She had for got ten about the sheriff’s eyebrows. He’d told some of the best stories when she was in the hospital and, as often as not, they’d ended with that wiggle of his eyebrows. She didn’t even pay any attention to the sounds of the kitchen door opening.
When the sheriff saw she was laughing, he wiggled his ears, too. And then his nose.
“You need to read a bedtime story to the children some night,” she said when she got her breath back from laughing. “You’d do a great three little pigs.”
Barbara gradually became aware that Linda was walking toward them.
“I brought your hamburgers,” Linda said cautiously as she sat two platters down on the table. “I’ll be back with the catsup and mustard.”
Barbara wiped a tear away that she’d gotten from laughing. “Thank you, we’re really not crazy. We’re just—”
Linda held up her hand. “You don’t need to explain. Tonight I’m an anonymous waitress. Your date is private.”
“Well, it’s not so much a date as it is—” Barbara stopped to think a minute. “Well, really, it’s just two old friends having dinner together.”
The sheriff nodded. “I can live with that. As long as it’s not just business.”
Linda smiled and turned her back to walk toward the kitchen. “There’ll be blue berry pie for dessert if you want some.”
“Blue berry is my favorite,” the sheriff said. “We’ll sit here a bit after we eat our hamburgers and have some.”
“And we do need to think of a slogan for you,” Barbara said.
“We’ve got time,” the sheriff said. “I’m not fussy and I don’t mind lingering over dessert.”
Barbara felt the sheriff’s hand cover the hand she had on the table again and give it a squeeze before letting it go.
“Right now you’re probably hungry for these hamburgers though,” the sheriff said as he unfolded the cloth napkin by his plate and put it on his lap.
Barbara couldn’t remember when she’d tasted a better hamburger.
“Uhmmm, that’s good,” the sheriff said as he took a bite of his own hamburger.
Barbara smiled. She liked watching the sheriff enjoy his meal. She liked the way the evening had slipped into friend ship as well. She took another bite of her ham burger.
After a minute, Barbara sat her hamburger down on the plate. “Now isn’t this better than being on a date? Just two friends eating together. No pressure. No—you know—”
The sheriff lifted his eyebrow as he put down his own ham burger. “‘No—you know’? What’s that?”
Barbara shrugged. “Holding hands. Kissing. That sort of thing.”
The sheriff smiled. “Oh, I intend for there to be kissing.”
“But—”
“It wouldn’t be fair to have Linda go to all this work for us and us not even to kiss after,” the sheriff said. “It might discourage her from doing this sort of thing for others.”
Barbara knew she should protest. But somehow she didn’t really want to argue about it. It seemed churlish to argue when the stereo in the kitchen was playing old love songs now. She could afford to kiss the man again. In fact, she’d begun to wonder what it would be like to kiss the sheriff again now that she was free of pain and not sedated at all. She’d probably find out that a kiss now wasn’t the same as the one had been back then anyway. It would actually be good for her to kiss the sheriff. It’d be an experiment of sorts.
If the sheriff had expected an argument, he didn’t say. He just kept eating his ham burger as though everything were normal. But Barbara knew that things were far from normal. For one thing, the temperature in the café had shot up as though someone had turned the furnace on. For another, the ham burger that had tasted so good a moment ago now tasted like sawdust.
Barbara had finished her ham burger before she convinced herself that the sheriff had been teasing her about the kiss. He must have been teasing, because he looked as if he’d completely for got ten about any kiss. Between bites, he kept humming along with the tunes on the stereo. When he did talk, it was about the weather. A man didn’t do that if he had kissing on his mind. Yes, he must have been just teasing her.
Barbara and the sheriff had both finished their hamburgers and folded their napkins when Barbara realized how wrong she had been. The sheriff hadn’t for got ten and he hadn’t been teasing.
The sheriff stood up and offered his hand to Barbara. “Would you like to take a stroll before dessert?”
Barbara didn’t even have to answer him; he just put her hand in the curve of his elbow and escorted her out of the café and onto the front steps. Together they stepped down onto the ground.
“Let’s step out a few feet,” the sheriff said as he led her away from the building. “We can see the stars better then.”
On the walk over to the café, Barbara hadn’t paid any attention to the sky. Now she was surprised anyone could walk beneath it and not notice the spattering of jewels up there.
“The clouds left at least,” the sheriff said as he looked up. “I was hoping they would.”
So that’s why he was wondering about the weather during dinner, Barbara realized. He wanted to be sure the
y could see the stars.
“It’s beautiful,” Barbara said softly.
They were silent for a moment, just looking upward.
“I guess this makes it a date officially,” Barbara said with a little laugh. “We’re out looking at the moon and the stars.”
“No, that doesn’t make it official. This does.”
Barbara felt the sheriff turn toward her and she lifted her face to his. She told herself it was not a real kiss. It was just a kiss to knock the memory of that other kiss out of her mind.
The next thought she had was that looking at the sky wasn’t the only way to see stars. She felt the sheriff’s kiss all the way down to her stomach. Or was it her toes?
“Oh, my.” Barbara breathed when she could.
The sheriff took his own deep breath. “—dear.”
Barbara looked up in panic. The sheriff was going too fast.
The sheriff looked at her for a moment before smiling a little ruefully. “That’s the way it all goes. It’s ‘oh, my dear.’”
“Oh,” Barbara said in relief. “That’s right.”
Trust the sheriff to think about things like completing a phrase at a time like this, Barbara thought to herself as they walked back into the café. But it was good that one of them was thinking of something sensible. She didn’t quite seem able to at this time.
Chapter Twelve
It seemed like a long walk to Sunday school the next morning even though the church was only two doors down and across the street from the place where Barbara and the children lived. Barbara could see that the children were much more excited about going there than she was.
“They have a birthday bank,” Bobby had confided to her this morning over a break fast of toast and cereal. “On your birthday, you get to go up and put a penny in the bank for every year old you are. Then they sing Happy Birthday to you and give you a pencil.”
Barbara had no idea that Bobby knew so much about what happened in the Sunday school at the Dry Creek Church. The other kids had obviously told him all about it.
Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek Page 26
