The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3

by Jeffrey, Anna

  Her brother snorted, took the plate and sauntered to the table. "Everybody already knows he's out here fooling with your horses. It don't take somebody smart to figure out he's fooling with you, too."

  Precisely what she didn't want. What had she been thinking, not stopping John or herself before they reached her bedroom?

  She poured a tall glass full of milk and carried it to the table. "Well, you're right about one thing. What I do is up to me. So I guess if word gets out, it gets out. I'll deal with it then." She took a seat across the table from him. "So tell me what went on between you and Sherry."

  He bit into the sandwich and answered with his mouth full. "Nothing. But I know she ain't coming back."

  A heaviness settled in Isabelle's chest. "She didn't say no, though. Did you promise to quit drinking and disappearing for days at a time?"

  "She said she'd think about it. The kids want to come home. They don't like it down in Boise."

  Isabelle tried for a hopeful smile. "That's good. Isn't that good?" She reached across the table and placed her hand on his forearm that was covered by the sleeve of a faded flannel shirt. "Oh, I hope she does come back, Paul. She's so good for you. And having your kids home—"

  "But I ain't good for her, Izzy. Or them kids, either. I ain't even got a place for 'em to live. That renter don't have to give up my house for six more months."

  After Sherry left last year, Paul had leased their home and taken his travel trailer out on a logging job that had lasted all summer. When winter set in, he returned to town and continued to live in the trailer behind another sawyer's house. While she had been enjoying the balmy winter of North Texas, Isabelle hadn't known her brother was spending thirty-below nights in a poorly insulated travel trailer. She marveled he hadn't frozen to death. Just like their father.

  "If she says she'll come back, we'll manage, Paul. You can live here until the lease on your place is up. This is a big house and it's half yours, you know."

  Isabelle's better judgment shrieked at the proposal. Living with her alcoholic brother and an additional three people would be a nightmare, but the burden would be worthwhile if it saved Paul and his family. "The girls and Ava could double up in Ava's bedroom. You and Sherry could have Mom and Pa's old room."

  She hadn't been able to make herself take over her parents' bedroom. She couldn't imagine what went on inside it between her gentle mother and her brutal father. When she came back and moved into the house, she took the bedroom that had been Paul's as a child and her childhood room became Ava's.

  "Don't get your hopes up. Sherry's still pissed off."

  "She's hurt. She needs to see you're sincere. Maybe she'd be more apt to believe you if you went for some professional help."

  "Meaning what?" Paul rose from his chair and picked up his plate. "It's all too fuckin' hard to figure out, Izzy."

  He turned up his glass and drained it, then wiped off a milk mustache with his sleeve. Inside, Isabelle winced, realizing how difficult life with Paul would be for any woman.

  Even so, Sherry must have truly loved him once to have lived with him and given birth to his children. In Isabelle's mind the woman was a saint.

  He carried his dishes to the sink. "I'm gonna finish up them stalls today. We just about got that barn whipped."

  As he went out the back door, Isabelle sat at the table staring out the window at the sunny spring day, but seeing nothing. If Paul didn't keep his mouth shut about her and John, soon talk would float to the school and Ava would hear it. That prospect caused an even bigger knot in her stomach than the idea of sharing the house with Paul and his family.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning John called and reported he had run into Luke McRae at the service station. Some of the Double Deuce's mares hadn't been bred yet and Luke wanted to look at Dancer.

  Isabelle gave a breathless laugh as panic surged. She had mailed the ownership-transfer papers to Billy only a few days ago. If he signed and returned them immediately, she could safely discuss breeding Dancer. On the other hand, if Billy balked or if he was traveling, weeks could go by before she heard from him. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

  "You don't have to commit to anything."

  "I know, but—"

  "What's wrong, Isabelle? All he wants is to see the horse. He's anxious 'cause it's getting close to the end of breeding season."

  John was right. Most horse owners wanted their mares to foal in the spring and it was already the end of March. Mares bred now would give birth in late February or early March. Maybe there was nothing wrong with showing Dancer off. If Luke had a serious interest, she could make a special effort to reach Billy.

  "Tell you what," John said. "I'm holding the fort today, but if you can come to town, I'll buy lunch at Betty's. We can talk about it."

  Lunch in a public place. People talking and asking questions. "I don't know, John. Everybody in town eats lunch at Betty's."

  "Isabelle, it's okay for us to have lunch."

  "But you're the sheriff."

  "Well... only 'til I figure out something else to do. So come on to town."

  She couldn't say no. Memories of him had filled her every waking moment since he left her house yesterday. Her desire to spend time with him overrode the onslaught of doubts about carrying on an affair with the sheriff.

  She applied eye makeup and blush. Wanting him to see her as feminine and desirable, she left her hair hanging down her back, but she pulled up the sides and secured them at her crown with a leather barrette.

  As she studied her limited wardrobe, she asked herself just how long it had been since she had dressed to please a man. She put on a broomstick skirt and a Western-cut blouse, but decided against it and changed to new Rockies jeans and a long-sleeved, snap-button shirt. She finally settled on worn, but not ragged, Wranglers and a blue turtle-neck sweater, over which she would wear the tapestry jacket Nan had liked so much.

  Since the hairdo left her ears showing, she put on little silver-and-turquoise dangles and added a matching pendant. And perfume—spritzes of something she had bought in a department store in Fort Worth.

  At Betty's Road Kill, she stopped just inside the plate-glass door, taking in the hum of voices and the good smells of homemade soup, hamburgers and French fries, chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes. The aromas reminded her of the days when her mother had been the cook. As a kid, she came here after school and Betty would serve her a dish of ice cream.

  She spotted John in a booth toward the back. Nervous as a bride, she drew a deep breath and headed in his direction. As she expected, the eyes of every customer followed her.

  Smiling, he stood up and removed his hat when she neared. She saw approval in his eyes and sensed the current that passed between them. "You do look pretty, Isabelle," he said softly.

  Her cheeks warmed and she ducked her chin. "Thanks."

  They slid onto vinyl seats opposite each other and she noted he looked handsome himself, even with his hair mussed and flattened where his hat fit. The aura she had come to imagine she saw around him seemed to shimmer as her eyes moved down to his tan-and-green-plaid shirt that showed from beneath a khaki quilted vest. His silver badge was pinned on his vest and she wished she could overcome thinking of her brother every time she saw it. The thought of John and Paul clashing at some point dispelled the aura.

  "Our meeting will keep everyone busy for the afternoon," she told him. "I imagine they're speculating on what we're doing together." She cut her eyes toward the dozen other diners within shouting distance of the booth. "They probably think Paul's in some kind of trouble. That's something he doesn't need."

  "If they're eavesdropping, all they'll hear is horse talk."

  The aged waitress, Lorraine Jones, appeared, coffee carafe in hand, and poured the brew for John.

  From out of the blue, Rita Mitchell's words came to her. He's a big-time coffee drinker.

  Isabelle had always been ambivalent about coffee, but now her cupboards would never b
e without it. However, she wouldn't be buying it from Java Junction. Dear God, she wondered, would she ever be able to put Rita Mitchell out of her mind?

  She ordered a salad, then watched as John ordered the lunch special of meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

  "Guess things are quiet over at the courthouse," Lorraine said, peering through her bifocals as she wrote their order.

  "Quiet as a church," John answered with a grin. "Get those new boots yet?"

  "Not yet. My birthday's still a ways away."

  "You be sure you show 'em to me when you get 'em."

  "I will, sheriff." Lorraine's mouth tipped into a huge grin. Isabelle could see her glowing at John's attention. He had a gift for relating to people.

  The waitress turned to Isabelle. "Betty said you might have some extra manure out at your place. Soon's the ground's good and dry, my nephew wants to work up his garden spot. He likes horse manure. He'd pay you for it."

  "Sure," Isabelle answered, "but he doesn't have to pay me. I'm always looking to get rid of it. All he has to do is call me and come get it."

  The waitress gave her a wrinkled smile. "I've been meaning to tell you, we're glad you came back."

  As Lorraine sailed away, John grinned. "See? Selling manure. There's another financial opportunity for you."

  "Don't kid. The way things are looking in the income column, I may have to resort to that."

  "That's what we're working on today. Income. When should I tell Luke to come out?"

  "I have a problem with that, John." In a voice she hoped was too low for eavesdroppers, she leaned across the table and explained the ownership of the horses. "I'm not sure Billy will sign off," she said in conclusion.

  "What's the worst that can happen? He gets half the money. Not a deal you'd like, but not impossible, right?"

  "It upsets me to think of Billy getting part of Dancer's standing fees. He didn't like Dancer. He couldn't handle him."

  "That blue devil's a handful. I'll be the first to agree."

  "It wasn't Dancer's fault. Billy was rough with him. He knew Billy didn't like him, so he threw him many times. Even bit him."

  John tilted his head back and laughed and was still laughing when Lorraine brought their lunch. Isabelle waited until she left before continuing. "The reason Billy gave me all three of the horses I have is because he found something wrong with every one of them. He didn't want Trixie because he doesn't like the shape of her head. I've already told you about Polly." She seasoned her salad and speared a tomato slice. "If I hadn't been willing to take the three of them, I don't know what he might've done with them. He doesn't deserve income from them. They're his castoffs."

  Just like me, she thought, but didn't say it. Years before she returned to Callister, seeing how her former partner's attitude blew hot and cold with various horses and even with his own child had given her a premonition that someday he would abandon her, too.

  John's hand came up like he might reach across the table and touch her, but she sat back and avoided it.

  "Okay, I get it. No touching." He didn't say it angrily, reminding her that his easygoing attitude was what made him so likable. "Let Luke come out," he said. "Can't hurt for him to look. If he's interested, you can take the next step. Besides, Luke's wife's from Texas and she wants to meet you."

  Isabelle cocked her head to the side in resignation. She was such a sucker, but she valued John's opinions and had faith in his advice. Unlike her, he was smart and educated.

  Now another worry pestered her, something more personal. And something she hadn't intended to discuss with John, at least not yet. If Luke liked Dancer's looks and his pedigree—and what horse breeder wouldn't—an agreement would have to be signed.

  She had to go home immediately and find the copies of previous breeding agreements Billy and she had executed over the years. Then she would have to somehow get a new one made and hope no one guessed she had never read a one of them all the way through. Billy always told her what they said, shoved one in front of her and she signed without argument.

  They finished lunch and John strolled with her to her truck. The balmy spring day was bright with sunshine and the busyness of people emerging from their winter shells. When she rejected his touch, he bumped her arm with his. They reached her Sierra and he opened the door and helped her up into it. She ducked away when he attempted to kiss her good-bye.

  "Oh, no, you don't. You're not gonna escape without kissing me." He took off his hat, darted his head through the open window and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

  She giggled like a silly girl. "John, you're going to get us in trouble."

  "So, Miz Rondeau," he said, drawing back from her window and resetting his hat, "what kind of a story am I supposed to tell if somebody asks me what's going on between me and Isabelle?"

  She smiled, masking her apprehension about the subject. "You're supposed to say, 'Isabelle Who?'"

  John was still standing there grinning like a goose as she put the truck in reverse and drove away. Damn his cowboy charm anyway.

  * * *

  Back in his office, the date circled on the calendar caught John's attention. April 1, a day past the mental deadline he had set to hear from Julie about travel arrangements for his sons' impending visit. Since he had reminded her that he expected her to live up to the agreement she had made, he had heard nothing. Imagine that. April Fool.

  In California it would be two thirty. Julie should be home. He sat for a few minutes, drumming a pencil on the desk blotter, working past the dread of calling her. When he thought he had readied himself, he stood up and closed his office door, then dug her phone number from his wallet.

  "I don't know yet," she said when John questioned her about preparations for Trey and Cody to travel. "Carson hasn't said."

  "Julie, this isn't up to Carson. And this is the only phone call I'm gonna make."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  Her voice sounded giddy and uptight and John couldn't figure out why. When had she ever been afraid of him?

  "Nope. Just telling you the facts and giving you time to get their stuff ready. School's out the end of May. I'll be there on June first."

  "That could be a big mistake, John. Carson still hasn't gotten over what you did—"

  "Cut it out, Julie. I'm coming to get my kids on June first. And Carson can kiss my ass."

  * * *

  John arranged an appointment for Luke McRae and his wife to come on Thursday afternoon to look at Dancer and Isabelle worked herself into a frenzy. She had dealt with a multitude of millionaire horse owners and breeders and not been nervous. In the Texas cutting-horse world, Isabelle Rondeau was a horse handler who could correct the seemingly uncorrectable in the unruliest of animals. Knowing her name meant something gave her boundless confidence.

  This was different. In Callister, Idaho, she was an immoral runaway and the redheaded, freckle-faced, dumb-as-a-fence-post daughter of a drunk. The locals couldn't care less what she had accomplished two thousand miles away.

  John showed up early to help her. He seemed to sense her anxiety and as they curried Dancer he tried to calm her with overblown but reassuring words—what good shape the horses were in, how well trained they were, how impressed Luke would be when he saw Dancer. The efforts were clumsy, but they endeared him to her all the more.

  As for Dancer, he seemed to know he was the horse of the hour. He strutted and stamped around the corral.

  Luke came soon after lunch, accompanied by the woman Isabelle had heard the Callister grapevine discuss as the brainy half-Asian beauty from Texas who had put a halter on the elusive Luke McRae. According to gossip in Betty's Road Kill, Dahlia's entrance into the McRae clan had changed all of them as much as it had changed Luke. Claire McRae, Luke's mother and the Double Deuce's matriarch, had stepped down and totally turned management over to Luke and his new wife. That fact alone gave Dahlia revered status among Callister's citizens.

  The thought of meeting this perfect, powerful woman
made Isabelle as anxious as having Luke come to look at Dancer.

  Luke parked in John's usual place, walked around to his truck's passenger door and held his wife's arm as she scooted out. "Careful, now," he cautioned as her feet touched the ground, his tone gentle and solicitous. It appeared indeed that Dahlia had turned the edgy Luke McRae into a kinder, gentler man.

  She smiled up at him, then moved from behind the truck door. She looked ten months pregnant.

  "This is my wife, Dahlia," he said.

  Isabelle hadn't seen Luke since school. When she was a sophomore, he had been a senior. Still, in a high school population that totaled fewer than a hundred, she had known him. Rich, good-looking and reckless was the description that came to her mind. She had forgotten that he, too, had red hair and freckles.

  He looped his arm around his wife's shoulder and looked down at her with pride and an affection that seemed to have a life of its own. He placed a large hand on her huge stomach and said, "And this is Corazon."

  Dahlia laughed and covered his hand with hers. "Corazon Matilda McRae. An interesting mix of cultures, don't you think?"

  Everyone laughed with her. Isabelle felt an immediate affinity with the black-haired woman. They had to be roughly the same age. "Are those family names?"

  "My mother's name. She was Filipino. And Luke's paternal great-great-grandmother's. We're going to call her Cory."

  "My daughter and I are both named for grandmothers," Isabelle said. "French-Canadian. When are you due?"

  "Next week, but I look like it could be any minute. That's why I wanted to come and meet you while I have the chance. I heard you've been living in West Texas. I'm from a little town named Loretta. My best friend still lives there."

  "Oh, I've heard of it. Do you miss it?"

  "I miss a few of the people, but living at the Double Deuce makes me feel like I've come home after a long journey. It's strange. I have a hard time explaining it."