by Gayle Kaye
“I doubt it—at least, I don’t think so.”
“All the same, I’m keeping it under lock and key. No offense, Hallie.”
She planted her hands on her trim, pretty hips. “I’m quite capable of looking after Granny Pearl—and the gun,” she said with just the right smattering of indignation in her dulcet tone.
“I’m not entirely sure of that, Hallie Cates. It seems your grandmother keeps getting herself in deeper and deeper.”
And maybe Cam was doing the same. With Hallie.
No maybe about it.
He’d made a promise to Pearl to keep his hands off her tempting granddaughter—and that was a promise he definitely needed to keep.
When Hallie entered the cabin Granny was pacing in agitation. And Hallie knew that innocent kiss with Cam was the cause. Or maybe the kiss wasn’t so innocent after all.
Hallie’s lips still sang from the feel of it. Her heart still beat a little too fast.
“Granny, maybe you’d better sit down.” She motioned to the well-worn rocker across the room.
Granny didn’t move, just narrowed her shrewd gaze on Hallie. “I don’t need to be asittin’ in my rocker,” she returned.
Her tone was testy, but beneath it Hallie sensed the worry.
Worry for Hallie.
“Okay, Granny, let’s talk about it,” she said. She knew Granny didn’t exactly like the sheriff, much less Hallie kissing him, but she had the feeling there was more to it than that.
There were a few extra unwarranted wrinkles in that frown of hers.
The old woman resumed her pacing, her usually indomitable mouth silent for a long moment—as if now that she finally had Hallie’s attention, she didn’t know how to proceed.
Hallie went to her, and noticed the faint mist of tears in her eyes, tears that if Hallie mentioned, Granny would firmly deny. “Granny, that kiss with Cam didn’t mean anything, just like Cam said. And I’m saying it, too.”
Hallie didn’t like to see Granny like this.
“I certainly hope so, Hallie, but you wasn’t exactly kissin’ like it didn’t mean anything.”
Hallie’s cheeks grew warm.
Granny drew away and paced over to her rocker, after all, and sat down. The chair began to hum on the old floorboards. Granny was agitated.
“It’s just that I don’t want to see you losin’ your head over someone from these parts, Hallie. I don’t want to see you get hurt like before.”
Like before. Hallie drew in a ragged breath. So that was what had Granny all in a tizzy. That summer she’d thought she was in love with Tommy Lamont. That summer Hallie had gotten hurt. Here in Greens Hollow. The summer Hallie had been foolishly in love, or what she’d thought was love, with Tommy Lamont.
It was why she didn’t come back here as often as she should to see Granny. The town reminded her of too much, her pain that never quite left her.
That summer just before her eighteenth birthday she’d gotten pregnant—not intentionally; she and Tommy had had a lot of growing up to do. Tommy, more than she, as it turned out.
Tommy Lamont hadn’t had the backbone to be a father, had wanted nothing to do with the baby. He’d been afraid of what his dad would say, what the town would say. The son of the town minister wasn’t supposed to get in trouble.
Hallie couldn’t deny his reaction had devastated her, but she’d wanted her baby, wanted it with every frightened bone in her body—but it wasn’t to be.
“Don’t think I don’t know about the baby, Hallie—and the miscarriage. Losin’ that child was the reason you was hurtin’—not ’cause of that louse Tommy Lamont.”
Hallie squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been so lost in her own pain that summer she’d never considered Granny could be wise to the situation. “Why—why didn’t you say something?”
She could have done with some warm hugs from Granny, that bony, old shoulder of hers to cry on.
“I reckoned you’d tell me in your own time, girL Then you went back home. I knew from the heartbreak of your letters that you’d lost the baby. You didn’t return for a few summers, and by then I didn’t know how to bring it up.”
Until now, Hallie thought. Until seeing her only granddaughter kissing another “louse” from Greens Hollow.
But Cam Osborne wasn’t Tommy Lamont.
No, perhaps he was someone a little more risky.
Hallie was older, wiser now, but there was still a part of her that was vulnerable. That she didn’t want to fool herself about.
“I‘d’a torn that Lamont kid limb from limb for the hurt he caused you—but he left town and ain’t been seen around here since,” Granny added. “I s’pose it was good riddance though—even if it did deny me a little justice.”
Hallie forced a smile to her lips. Granny would always be there for her, no matter what—had always been there. She knew that, but she loved to hear her grandmother say so—and so eloquently.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “Thank you for being you.” She hugged the old girl and got a big hug in return.
“Hallie, you’re the only kin I got in this world. I’m an old woman—and an old woman worries.”
Hallie smiled. “I know, Granny, but there’s no need. I don’t intend to lose my head, or my heart, to anyone, especially not some sheriff who goes around arresting little old ladies.”
Granny gave her a piercing glance, studying her intently. Her words seemed to satisfy the old girl for the present. She moved to get out of her rocker. “I better get them cobbler dishes washed up now,” she said, as if putting the conversation behind her.
“I’ll do it, Granny,” Hallie insisted.
Hallie needed something to do at the moment—and time to think about this turn of events.
Somehow last evening had derailed Hallie from her primary objective, her grandmother, and the trouble the woman had gotten herself into—not facing the past again, the hurtful, painful past. And definitely not thrilling to a kiss on a warm Arkansas evening with the town sheriff.
She intended to be single-minded from now on; she intended to get to the bottom of just what it was her grandmother was up to. She’d promised Cam Osborne, but she also needed to know for herself.
And for Granny’s well-being.
Making moonshine was against the law, though it had once been a cottage industry in these hills, a part of the area’s history. And Granny Pearl had no business dabbling in it.
Hallie slipped into her jeans, pulled on a big shirt she tied at the waist Daisy-Mae style, drew her hair up in a bouncy ponytail and headed out in search of “evidence,” anything Cam might have on her grandmother.
The late morning sun felt good on her face, the dogwood bloomed in profusion and Hallie had a hard time believing all wasn’t right in this part of Granny’s world.
The ever-curious George and Myrtle trailed along behind, keeping close tabs on her as she poked in every clump of tall grass. She checked under every bush and beneath piles of abandoned trash. She searched a deep well and inside the rusted-out shell of a car that had been her grandfather’s.
Hallie remembered him. He’d been a simple man, smelling gently of tobacco and Ben-Gay for his rheumatism—and she’d missed him terribly after his death when she was seven. Her father had died a few years later in a light plane crash. Both deaths had been very hard on Granny Pearl.
But the old girl was made of stern stuff. She possessed an inner strength Hallie had to admire.
An inner strength laced with perverse stubbornness—Hallie reconsidered.
But perhaps that stubbornness had gotten her through a lot.
With a struggle she tugged a pair of old tires out of a low ravine, searching for any signs of a still, even though she could tell the debris hadn’t been disturbed in years. She jumped back with a startled yelp as some furry creature skittered away, squeaking with indignation at having his morning nap disturbed.
It was just a possum, she decided, feeling fortunate it hadn’t been an
ything more ominous—like a snake.
A short while later she decided there was no still anywhere on the property, despite Cam’s claims to the contrary. If Granny were indeed up to something illegal, there was not one shred of evidence of it around there.
She was determined to drag Granny to a lawyer, kicking and screaming if necessary, to fight these ridiculous charges. As far as she was concerned they were frivolous, and she wanted to get the matter settled once and for all.
“Come on, Myrtle, George. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” She ruffled their ears. “Next time that sheriff comes around here,” she told them, “you have my permission to butt him to the other side of the county.”
By the time she returned to the cabin she found Granny’s old clunker of a car was missing. A note sat propped on the kitchen table, resting neatly against the sugar bowl. Gone quilting it read, and Hallie knew her grandmother, and the other ladies of the town, were stitching and gossiping about everything that went on in these parts.
At least she wasn’t off dabbling in moonshine, Hallie decided with a certain relief. Tomorrow she would happily report to Cam that she’d found nothing on Granny’s property—no still, no evidence one had ever been there.
At last she had that settled.
Now if she could only forget the kiss she’d shared with him last night, the feel of his hands in her hair, the male scent of him with that hint of soap and fresh mountain air. Her heart still fluttered like a skittery bird in her chest, the dreams she’d had last night failing to dissipate with the cool light of day. When she tried to put him out of her mind, she found she couldn’t.
Damn the man and his sensuality.
Maybe she’d bake a pie to take her mind off everything. Mmmm—a cherry pie baked with those fat, tart cherries Granny had picked from her trees last fall and industriously canned. She’d surprise Granny with it when she returned.
Dutifully she began to assemble the ingredients, cherries, sugar, flour—but then her scoop caught on something in the flour canister.
Hallie peered inside and drew out a white-dusted piece of paper, the spidery script definitely Granny’s handwriting.
A forgotten recipe?
Hallie shook the flour dust off it and smoothed it out on the countertop, scanning it with her gaze. Then she scanned it again.
“Why that little weasel!”
It was a recipe all right—and it was for moonshine.
By the time Hallie’s scalawag relative returned home later that evening Hallie was fit to be tied. Somehow she’d managed to finish the pie—it was baking nicely in Granny’s archaic oven—but the excitement of surprising the old girl with it had definitely waned.
“Granny, we need to talk.” Hallie fluttered the “recipe” in front of her. A few small particles of flour dust wafted softly to the floor, leaving no doubt as to where Hallie had found it.
The crafty old girl eyed the bits of falling flour, then the thin paper in Hallie’s hand. She grabbed at it, but Hallie was quicker.
“Oh, no you don’t, you little outlaw. I’m keeping this—and you are going to tell me how you’ve been putting it to use.”
Not if, no more its—the old biddy was up to her neck in mischief and Hallie knew it. Oh, Lord, Cam had been right. Her grandmother was as guilty as sin.
“Tell me where you’ve hidden that still. I’ve searched every square inch of this property and couldn’t find it. But I know it’s here. You’re not going to get away with this.”
Granny set her worn pocketbook down on a nearby chair and absently poked a white hair back into her bun atop her head. “Hallie Cates, I don’t know what in thunder you’re talkin’ about—and I’ll thank you to give me back my recipe.”
Hallie’s eyes narrowed. “Aha! Then you admit it—it’s your recipe!”
“Of course it’s my recipe. Been in my family for generations. Now give it to me.” She reached for the paper again.
“Not...on...your...life.” Hallie lifted the paper higher. “Now, I suggest you talk. And fast.”
“I don’t know what about,” Granny said innocently. She marched past Hallie toward the kitchen and the smells emanating from it
“Granny!” Hallie called after her, her tone laced with annoyance, exasperation.
Granny ignored her.
“I see you’ve done something useful around here besides pokin’ in my business.” She popped open the oven and sniffed deeply. “Mm-mmm, cherry pie—my favorite,” she said, then snapped the oven door closed. “Don’t you go givin’ none of it to that sheriff neither,” she warned.
Hallie gave a groan. Her grandmother could change the subject faster than anyone she knew. The old girl wasn’t about to spill the beans. Hallie knew her only too well. She could pull the old gal’s fingernails out one by one and the ornery woman still wouldn’t talk.
“Granny, I thought you asked me here to help you, but how can I help if you refuse to level with me?”
Granny’s bright eyes snapped. “I asked you here to bounce me out of that hellhole that sheriff calls a jail.”
And now that she had, Hallie was to just back off? Cam would certainly find that still before Hallie did, all the evidence he’d need to send Granny up the river, for sure.
Her voice was solemn. “Granny, I think we should see a lawyer.” If Hallie couldn’t convince her how much trouble she was in, perhaps an attorney could.
“A lawyer? What fer? I ain’t never needed one of them fellas in my life, and I don’t need one now.”
Hallie decided this was not the time to point out there were just as many females among the lawyer ranks as “fellas.” All Granny knew was Greens Hollow—and the way things used to be “in her day.”
Hallie unfolded the recipe she had clutched in her hand and glanced down at it. A smoking gun? Not quite—but it definitely did not look good for Granny Pearl’s innocence.
Hallie didn’t know what she was going to do with Granny.
And she didn’t know what she was going to tell Cam.
Chapter Five
By the next afternoon things were testy around the small cabin. Granny remained mum on the subject of her recent escapades, and Hallie couldn’t budge another word out of her.
She needed air and a little space, a little perspective. She made a shopping list and decided to go into town for supplies. She left Granny behind, puttering around the yard, tending her two precious goats and replanting the flower bulbs they’d dug up—again. Hallie only hoped Granny didn’t have that alleged still planted somewhere in that backyard, as well.
But she didn’t want to think about that today, nor about what she should report to Cam. She hadn’t yet decided to tell him about her find in the flour canister. It was far too incriminating for Granny.
Granny wasn’t taking a whit of this seriously—except for her feud with Cam. And her granddaughter’s kissing him.
Perhaps that part Hallie should take seriously as well. She had a life to get back to in Fort Worth as soon as this was settled, a small class of second graders to teach next year. She had no business involving herself with someone from Greens Hollow. Not now. Ever.
But she would have to deal with Cam—at least until she had Granny’s ever-looming problem settled.
Hallie only hoped he wasn’t still angry Granny had aimed her shotgun at him—or that he was harboring any plans to press charges against her for it. What penalty did assaulting an officer of the law with a loaded weapon carry? she wondered. She hated to think.
She’d better stay on Cam’s good side. And if Granny knew what was good for her, she’d do the same. Cam was holding all the cards at the moment.
Hallie made the small grocery store her first stop, putting off that little talk she knew she had to have with Cam until later. She picked up Granny’s mail at the post office, had a bite of lunch at the small deli next door—and had effectively run out of errands.
It was time to beard the lion in his den.
She found the sheriff�
��s office full of boys ranging in age from four to ten, Cam in the midst of them.
“Arresting children as well as little old ladies now?” she asked him as he broke away from the group and sauntered over to where she was standing, just inside the door.
Hallie had never considered herself a sucker for a man in a uniform before, but Cam looked enticing. His shoulders seemed even broader than they already were, his hips leaner, his legs, his stride, more powerful.
It would be hard to remember that she didn’t need a man from Greens Hollow in her life.
Very hard.
She swallowed a lump in her throat—and thought of her folly with Tommy Lamont. She didn’t need to be a little fool again, didn’t need to get hurt again.
Cam gave her a slow once-over that heated her blood all the way to her toes and back up again.
“Not arresting anyone today,” he said, a hint of a smile teasing at his lips. “Just teaching the kids a little fly casting.”
And the boys seemed to be enjoying it, too. Reveling in the attention they were getting from this man. Did he have that effect on everyone?
“I wouldn’t think that would be part of a sheriff’s job description,” she said.
Cam laughed.
One of the boys held what looked to be a serious fly rod—Cam’s?—and was experimenting with it, no doubt the way Cam had shown him.
What would Granny think if she could see Cam with these kids? This touch of humanness in him? Would she change her opinion of the man?
Hallie didn’t want to think what it did to her shaky admiration level.
She could easily picture him with a child or two of his own. He’d wear the mantle of fatherhood well. Ever kind, ever patient, loving—that would be Cam.
“Come in and meet the kids,” he said, waving her into the room, his gesture, and his meaning, expansive.
Hallie moved forward from the doorway a little shyly. She was used to children. So what was wrong with her?
