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

by Jeffrey, Anna

  Rooster grinned. "Guess that's what Paul uses it for. In hunting season or out." The deputy started for the door, but turned back. "You know ol' Paul pretty well, don't you?"

  "We were in the same grade in school 'til he quit. Why?"

  The deputy looked at the floor and shook his head. "Something about that little dude makes me twitchy."

  Twitchy. Good description for how Paul affected John, too. "He drinks too much. Otherwise, I think he's all right."

  As the words left his mouth, John wondered if they were a belief or a prayer.

  "Guess so." Rooster gave up the discussion and left the office.

  John hadn't had time to pick up the phone and call Izzy before he heard her voice in the anteroom. He walked out to where she stood hanging on to Ava's hand in front of Rooster's desk.

  "Hey, Isa—"

  "Where is he?" she demanded by way of greeting.

  She was on edge. She wore no makeup and her face looked drawn and tired, like she had been awake since his midnight phone call. He wished he could take her in his arms and comfort her, but with her attitude about public displays of affection, he didn't want to embarrass her. Nor did he want to aggravate the already touchy situation.

  Rooster spoke. "He didn't exactly draw us a map."

  Her hot brown glare roasted the deputy, then swung to John. "You released him and you don't even know where he went?"

  John clasped her elbow and urged her toward his office, speaking over his shoulder to Ava. "Wait out here for just a minute, okay?"

  Rooster stood up and offered the kid a candy bar.

  As John closed the office door, eager to explain Paul's circumstances, Isabelle yanked her arm free. "Don't manhandle me. This is the craziest thing I've ever heard."

  "Tell me about it," John said, surprised at her ferocity. "Look, Paul's facing minor charges, nothing more. I could've—"

  "What charges?"

  "Misdemeanor drinking and disturbing the peace." He met her eyes, hoping that when she heard Paul was in less trouble than he could have been, she would become less angry. Wrong. She continued to glare at him.

  "What I started to say, Isabelle, is I could've charged him with something more serious. It's not right for me to make this personal, but it's hard not to when I'm... well, when I'm with you and when I've known him my whole life. And I feel for him."

  When she didn't reply after a few beats he pushed on. "This isn't the first scrape he's been in. When he's drunk, he's mean and dangerous. He could kill some—"

  "My brother isn't mean. Nor is he dangerous."

  Her eyes and body might teem with defiance, but John recognized bravado when he saw it. As smart as Izzy was, she had to be scared for her brother. John ached to comfort her. "Okay, maybe he's not mean. But he's got the worst judgment I've ever seen in a grown man and he drinks too much."

  She lifted her nose and crossed her arms over her chest. "I guess you should know about drinking too much."

  John had heard the accusation many times, but coming from her, it hit a nerve. "Low blow, Isabelle. You've never seen me take a drink."

  In an attempt to regain control of the conversation, he moved behind his desk and planted his fists on his belt, hoping he appeared authoritative. "I may not be a hotdog peace officer, but at the moment law and order in this town and this county are up to me." He offered a palm to accompany a forewarning. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Paul. He fucked up bad last night. If he does it again, I won't be able to cut him any slack. I won't have a choice."

  Her eyes grew shiny as lumps of coal, her chin trembled. "This is my brother, John. My family. Don't you see? He's never had a chance."

  Anger he could deal with. Tears were hard. He ducked her gaze, picked up Paul's thick file from his desk blotter and fanned through it. "He's had a lot of chances. All you have to do is look at his record. The law in this town has been turning a blind eye and giving him another chance since he was a kid."

  She looked away. A pulse throbbed in her neck. "Wha-what happens now?"

  John dropped the file back onto the blotter. "Nothing much if he shows up in court Wednesday. He'll probably pay a fine and that'll be the end of it. I'm not mentioning the knife to the judge. I figure to keep that between Paul and me."

  She bit down on her lower Up. A tear slid down one side of her nose.

  To hell with her attitude about a public display. He stepped toward her, intending to take her in his arms. "Isabelle, listen—"

  She stopped him by backing away. "Leave me alone, John. I wish I'd never gotten involved with you."

  "What're you talking about?"

  "The facts," she said in a stage whisper, her voice filled with pain. "You've always been on a different level from me. From us. As crazy as Paul acts sometimes, he knew that much. I'm the one who's been living in some kind of dream world."

  Her words stunned him. He could think of nothing he had ever done to make her feel she was beneath him in any way. "Isabelle, we need to talk. Rooster's gonna do the bar patrol tonight. I'll be able to get out of here in a few hours. I'll come out and we'll—"

  She shook her head. "No. I'm going to look for my brother. When I find him, I'm taking him home with me. I may have been gone when he needed someone in the past, but I'm here now." She took a step toward the door, then stopped and turned to face him. "You're not welcome, John. You can't be around him because of your job. I know that.... Besides, you don't like him."

  "What?" He gave her a look and tucked back his chin. "Isabelle, I didn't say that."

  "And I don't like you much anymore. I don't want to see you again." She walked out of his office and slammed the door.

  He rounded the end of the desk, following her. When he opened the door to the anteroom, she had Ava by the hand and they were already marching up the stairs. His heartbeat took off. "Isabelle, listen to me—"

  She kept climbing, pulling Ava along. The kid turned her head toward him, her small brows drawn into a frown over teary eyes. " 'Bye, John," she said in a tiny voice.

  He wanted to break into tears himself.

  He became aware of Rooster's watchful gaze and faced his deputy.

  "My mama always said blood's thicker than water, John T.... And I'm pretty sure it runs deeper than having a good time."

  * * *

  Her hand clenched around Ava's, Isabelle lectured herself all the way up the stairs. Sleeping with John had been a mistake from the beginning. Carrying on an affair with the county's sheriff and trying to reform a brother who was one of the county's outlaws presented crushing conflict. Didn't she already have enough on her plate just surviving and working toward the goals she had set for herself? What kind of person had she become? What kind of example had she set for her daughter?

  Outside, said daughter wrenched her hand away, stomped to the passenger side of the Sierra and climbed in.

  As Isabelle scooted onto the driver's seat, Ava sat with her arms crossed over her thin chest, her lower lip protruding. The ten-year-old jerked to face her, magnified eyes snapping with anger. "What did you say to him? You said something bad, didn't you? Now he won't come to see us and ride the horses anymore."

  "Ava, his helping me with the horses was always temporary. He was an employee."

  "He was not. He was my friend." Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She threw her shoulder against the passenger door. "When I get grown, I'm leaving here. I hate it here."

  Emotion swelled in Isabelle's throat as she turned the key in the ignition. Not only had she been dumb letting herself get involved in an affair with John, she had been foolish letting Ava build a relationship with him. The last thing her daughter needed was to see another father figure disappear from her life.

  Well, she couldn't think about that at this moment. Paul was somewhere alone and depressed. As she backed in a loop in the courthouse parking lot, her mind ran down the list of places she might find him. "We'll talk about it when we get home, okay?"

  Her angry little girl
didn't reply.

  It wasn't eleven o'clock, so Isabelle doubted Paul had hit the bar yet. Her second choice was the travel trailer where he lived.

  As she drove the unpaved streets of Callister, disjointed thoughts careened through her head. Every waking day had become a reminder of just how out of place she was in this town and how the life she had cultivated since leaving Callister all those years back had separated her from what she thought she wanted in her small hometown.

  An idea had been growing in the recesses of her mind, one as irrational as the one that had driven her back to Callister in the first place. She had to return to Texas, where she could make a living the only way she knew how and where she could associate with people and groups with whom she had something in common. Good grief, what insanity had made her pull up stakes from an area where one out of every fifteen cutting-horse owners in the whole United States lived?

  Why hadn't she put it all together before she sold the place in Texas, before she moved back here lock, stock and barrel, before she had two mares in foal? And before she let herself fall into an affair.

  She had been kidding herself thinking she had something worth hanging on to with John Bradshaw or any other man she might meet in Callister.

  Even before she arrived at the sawyer's house behind which Paul lived, she saw her brother's boat parked beside his travel trailer. Being an ardent fisherman and white-water river runner, he owned a modified sledboat with an engine powerful enough to take him from here to Portland. The boat was bigger than the travel trailer.

  She came to a stop behind it as Paul picked up a plump roll Isabelle recognized as a sleeping bag and tossed it over the side onto the deck. "Stay in the truck, Ava."

  She slid out of the Sierra and approached him. "Are you taking the boat out?"

  "They're catching some good ones down on the Snake."

  "That's eighty miles away." She threw a pointed look at the sleeping bag. "You'll be back by Wednesday, right?"

  He stopped and looked at her, his expression dark and insolent. "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "Paul! Don't say that. You have to be back."

  "I don't have to do anything, Izzy."

  She almost screamed in frustration. A memory rushed at her—all the times she had seen Paul, even when he was no older than fourteen, stand toe-to-toe with their father. He'd had a rebellious streak from the day he was born and he feared nothing he could see. The tormentors he couldn't see were another story.

  "Okay." She threw a hand in the air. "Be an ass. Make life hard on everybody. I don't blame Sherry for not wanting to come back to you."

  He came to where she stood, his eyes red and tearing. "Izzy, I gotta get outta here. Don't you see that? It's all falling in on me." He released a sob and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. "I ain't no good in town. Don't you see? I gotta get on that river where there ain't nobody but me and that black water."

  She thought of the times she had followed him into the forest and found him in a cave or curled in sleep under a tree. Perhaps, in his adult life, the boat and the river had replaced the dark woods as an escape from a pain greater than he could manage. She swallowed the tears that had been pressuring her throat all morning. "I understand, Paul. Honest, I do.... Look, a travel trailer is no place to call home. When you get back, I want you to come to the house. Be with me and Ava. John says you only have to pay a fine. I can cover it, then we'll work on putting your life on track. We'll find a counselor and we'll talk to Sherry. Together, Paul. We'll work it out together."

  He hefted a Styrofoam cooler over the side of the boat.

  "We're family, Paul.... We're family." Even she heard the desperation in her voice.

  He wiped his eyes again. "I can pay the fine, Izzy. I got money. You go on home and don't worry. I'll be back in time."

  She let out a held breath. He seemed to be more in control of himself. Of course he could pay the fine. He made good money when he worked. "Okay, good." She started to walk backward toward the Sierra. "You bring us a big fish and we'll cook it. I'll make fried potatoes like Mom used to."

  "Izzy?"

  She stopped. "What?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get between you and somebody you care about. I just ain't good for—"

  "That isn't true, Paul. The only people I care about are you and Ava. You just come home. Ava and I'll be waiting for you."

  He turned and lifted his tackle box over the side of the boat. "I'll see."

  More words would fall on deaf ears. Her brother had a stubborn streak that ran as deep as his penchant for self-destruction. She climbed behind the Sierra's steering wheel and lowered the window. "We'll be waiting, okay? Don't let us down."

  Chapter 22

  By law, the sheriff acted as bailiff in Wednesday court.

  John half expected Paul to ditch his court date, but the guy showed up on time—sober, scrubbed and shaved and wearing pressed clothes. So Izzy had honed him into good shape for his appearance before Judge Morrison.

  She accompanied her brother. The minute John saw her pass through the old courtroom's tall double doors, his heart pitched into a jitterbug. He hadn't seen her or talked to her since Saturday morning in his office.

  Duty-bound to stick close to the judge, he had no opportunity to speak to her. From the corner of his eye, all through the hearing, he watched her sitting alone on the long front bench. She ducked her head and dabbed at a tear with her fingertip as the judge delivered a stern warning to Paul, levied a heavy fine, then released him. It could have gone a lot worse.

  Though Paul fared well with the judge, John still felt a stricture in his chest knowing and seeing firsthand just how much Izzy had been hurt by her brother's latest stunt.

  After the hearing she followed Paul out of the courtroom but didn't so much as nod to John. With two more cases slated to be heard, John couldn't break away. At the end of court, Judge Morrison called him into chambers to discuss pending issues, which consumed another hour.

  When he finally escaped the prosecution process, John stopped by the clerk's office and was told Paul's fine had been paid. He only hoped the payer wasn't Izzy. Not wanting to add to gossip, he didn't ask.

  Back in his office, the state of affairs with Izzy and her brother continued to peck at him. Surely, as soon as she worked past her anger and embarrassment, she would call and thank him for what he had done for Paul. She had to know his decision not to charge him with a felony had saved his ass from a fate far more serious than a fine.

  For the rest of the week John waited for the call that didn't come. Misery weighed on him like a heavy cloak. He had lost his taste for food, thus his belt fit a little looser. The red mark he had made on the calendar glared back at him. She should get her period any day. He fought to keep from calling her.

  On Sunday, a week later, the person who did call was Luke McRae, reporting that Smokey Jane was pregnant.

  The news brought both joy and sadness. Izzy would be thrilled. John longed to be a part of her happiness and felt disappointment she hadn't been the one who called and told him.

  At the same time he celebrated the prospect of a new foal, he wondered if Izzy, too, was pregnant.

  Nah. Why was he worried? Maybe she wouldn't call him and tell him about a horse being in foal, but she would call and discuss herself, wouldn't she? She had promised.

  At the beginning of the third week, John felt he was on the road to recovery. He began to accept the facts. The romance was over. Like a man who had been trapped underwater, he struggled to the surface and appreciated the breath of fresh air. Kicking the Izzy habit made him feel as triumphant as when he gave up booze.

  A serious relationship with any female was pointless anyway. He didn't make enough money to be squiring a woman around and soon he wouldn't have the time. In a few weeks he would be going to Los Angeles and bringing back his sons for the summer.

  He approached the role of sheriff with new resolve. It had taken more than three months to penetrate his psyche, but he now
realized the scope of the job of a county sheriff, the complicated function of the only law enforcement agency in a large rural county. He wasn't just another administrator of a government bureaucracy as he had originally—and erroneously—believed. He was everything—the department's operation and finances manager, the server of warrants and subpoenas, the guardian of the county's prisoners and their transporter between Callister County and other jurisdictions. And he was an officer of the court, a role in which he took some pride.

  And most important of all, he was the county's only policeman and jailer, the last bulwark between anarchy and Callister County's thirty-five hundred citizens. Daunting as the responsibility was, he had discovered he liked the challenge.

  Other than perfunctory supervision by the county commissioners, he answered only to himself. He could see the possibilities for rampant corruption if a man—or woman—was dishonest. If he had a notion to continue in the job—which he didn't—he would press the commissioners to understand that if they desired an ethical, trustworthy individual filling the office of sheriff for a lengthy span of time, they would have to vote in a decent salary. If he knew the commissioners, that wasn't going to happen.

  Saturday rolled in wet and gray. After the weather had teased them with spring, a squall had sent the temperature plunging all the way down to the low forties again, but the forecast for Boise was for sunshine.

  Rooster would be coming in at three and taking the Saturday night patrol. For his night off, John decided to wander down south to Boise, call up an old friend, have dinner in a good restaurant, maybe go to a movie. A change of scenery and an evening away from the TV would boost his morale.

  Betty's was still crowded when he took a break for a late lunch. Sitting alone at a table near his usual seat in a booth in the back corner of the spacious dining room was Rita Mitchell. He was almost glad to see her, wondered if she would like to go to a movie in Boise.

  Hell, why not? he said to himself and ambled to where she sat. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked her.

  She looked up at him and smiled. "Please do."