Alma drew back just enough to create a little space between them. Space enough for Cash to be able to look at her. She could see the desire in his eyes and it pulled at her. She spread her arms out to him.
“You can take your first baby step now if you’d like,” she coaxed.
As if he could actually turn away. “Damn but you are hard to resist.”
She smiled serenely as she closed her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his again. “That, dear sir, is the whole idea.”
The sound of his laughter filled her heart as well as her bedroom and he forgot all about leaving. Just as she’d hoped.
*
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU Saturday?” Rick asked the following Monday morning. It was early and just the two of them for now. He found her by the coffeemaker, filling her mug. Alma raised an eyebrow in response to his question. “Olivia said you seemed to disappear about the same time that Miss Joan did, except that when she came back, you didn’t.”
Alma avoided his eyes as she said, “I had something to take care of.”
Rick smiled knowingly. “How’s he doing?” He followed her back to her desk and, nursing his second mug of coffee of the morning, he leaned against her desk. “And don’t insult my intelligence by asking who.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She knew better than to play games with Rick. He was her friend as well as her boss and she had a great deal of respect for him. “I think that he’s got something fighting him for his soul,” she told Rick honestly, then hazarded a guess. “I’ve got a feeling that something happened to him when he was out there in Los Angeles, something that he can’t get over or forgive himself for.”
Rick mulled over her words. “You have any idea what?”
Feeling helpless, Alma shook her head. “No, and I’d give anything to know. As close as I can figure it out, it has something to do with his being a lawyer. When I called his firm when he first got here, they told me that Cash was on a leave of absence.” She looked at Rick over her mug. “Not a vacation,” she underscored, “but a leave of absence. That tells me that he doesn’t know if he’s planning on going back to Los Angeles or not.”
And as much as she wanted Cash to stay in Forever, it had to be for the right reasons, not because he was running from something. He wouldn’t be able to respect himself if that was why he was here.
Rick shrugged. “Maybe he wants to stay here.”
If only it was that black-and-white. “I don’t think it’s so much a case of his wanting to be somewhere as his not wanting to be in Los Angeles.”
Rick read between the lines to get at the heart of what she was saying. “You think he’s running from something?”
“You mean like something he did?” She honestly didn’t know, but she hoped not. “I’m not sure, but there are times when I think that it’s himself Cash is trying to ditch.”
Rick laughed shortly. “Not exactly something that’s easily done.”
“No,” she agreed, then, with a quiet sigh, Alma amended her initial answer. “At least not in the usual sense.”
“You mean you think he might try to kill himself?”
Alma pressed her lips together as she continued holding the coffee mug between her hands. She could feel that it was getting cold, but hot coffee wasn’t the issue here. She wanted to unravel the puzzle that Cash Taylor had become.
She stared off into space, trying to pull her thoughts together. Trying to make sense of it all. When had life gotten so complicated? Forever was a simple, uncomplicated little town.
Or had been.
“I honestly don’t know.” And then she looked up at Rick. “But I’m going to do everything I can to keep Cash from doing anything really stupid.”
Which was as close as she would come to saying that Cash was capable of ending his life. But she’d seen the flicker of desperation in his eyes when he didn’t know she was looking. Seen the sadness, the vast emptiness that seemed at times to threaten to swallow him up. And that frightened her.
Rick nodded in response to her last words. “Let me know if you need any backup,” Rick said simply.
Alma nodded. “Thanks.” It went without saying that she could always count on him and she was grateful for that. “By the way, how’s the little one?” she asked. “I haven’t seen a new picture in, oh, at least two days. What happened? You get tired of taking them?” she teased, knowing full well that the sheriff felt he and his wife had the most beautiful little girl in the entire world and never hesitated to produce the photographs to prove it. So far, they seemed to be intent on visually documenting every day of their daughter’s very short life.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve got a few new ones to show you,” Rick said. “They’re on my desk in the office. I’ll go get them.” And then he paused to look at her over his shoulder. “That’ll teach you to ask.”
Alma’s eyes were smiling as she said, “I guess it will.”
*
SHE’D HOPED THAT CASH would either call her or just come around, but he did neither. Alma did her best to take it in stride, but despite her endless, silent pep talks, she would have been lying to herself if she pretended that it didn’t bother her.
It did. A lot.
Well, what did you expect? To have him suddenly transformed by the power of your love like in some Hollywood movie? The man has issues, there’s something eating away at him. For all you know, it might have to do with a woman he was dating. Maybe they broke it off and she took her own life, so he feels guilty. Or maybe he let her slip away and now he really feels that he lost a good thing. You just don’t know.
She didn’t, and it was driving her crazy despite promises to herself to leave it alone. About the only thing she could be certain of was that the Cash she knew wouldn’t have been berating himself this way over some minor infraction.
But what?
What had he done?
She couldn’t help him if she didn’t know and he wouldn’t tell her.
Maybe Miss Joan knew. Maybe, because the woman had shared her innermost secret with him, Cash had turned around and confessed to her.
She hadn’t seen Miss Joan since the beginning of her bridal shower three days ago. She hadn’t gone by the diner for her ritual first cup of coffee of the morning for a couple of days.
On the fourth morning, Alma decided that it might not be such a bad idea to drop by the diner. At seven it wouldn’t be too crowded yet and she’d get a chance to have a couple of words with Miss Joan without having to worry about ten other people overhearing them.
When she walked into the diner, she saw Miss Joan, as usual, standing behind the counter. Seeing the older woman was one of those comforting things, one of the things in life she could count on.
It made her smile.
Miss Joan looked her way. “Hello, stranger. I thought maybe you’d decided to swear off the diner.” Miss Joan inclined her head in a greeting. “Nice to see you again.”
Well, there was no time like the present to get the apology/excuse out of the way. She cleared her throat. “About your shower—”
Miss Joan held up her hand like a patrolman directing traffic, abruptly halting the flow of words. “If you’re going to give me some lame excuse about why you weren’t there for the second half, don’t bother. Besides, you bought yourself a lot of leeway.”
Alma didn’t follow. “I did?”
“Don’t act dumb, it doesn’t become you.”
“I’m not acting,” Alma protested.
“Even worse,” Miss Joan said, shaking her head. And then a half smile creased her thin lips. “The way I see it, you put Cash up to going after me.” It was clear that she wasn’t about to believe any other explanation. “Best shower gift you could have given me,” Miss Joan declared unabashedly. “Because he kept after me, I got something off my chest that’s been bothering me for a real long time. After I got it out, I had the feeling that I was getting a second shot at things—a second shot at happiness—thanks to Cash
.”
Alma wondered what the woman would say if she knew that she’d overheard her confession, that she knew all about the tragedy that haunted the woman. That was best left unsaid. But something else wasn’t. Cash had lowered his voice for a couple of minutes at one point, speaking so softly that she wasn’t able to hear him. Had he confessed something to Miss Joan, to make it seem like more of an equal exchange?
“Did he happen to get anything off his chest?” she asked hopefully.
Miss Joan knew exactly what she was asking about. “You mean like what’s been bothering him? Why he came back here when he did?”
“Well, he came back for the wedding,” Alma pointed out. “But—”
Miss Joan stopped her with a shake of her head. “That was just the excuse that got him here. But he would have come back here one way or another. After all, this is where his roots are, where he had his dreams.” Miss Joan paused and looked at her significantly. “And where his best friend still is.”
She thought of her brothers and how they and Cash used to hang out together—and how much useless energy they had spent, trying to ditch her. “Are you talking about Gabe or Eli?”
“I’m talking about you, little Miss Innocent,” Miss Joan informed her. “If you ask me, Cash came back here to start over—he just might not know it yet,” she allowed. “But that’s why he came.” Clearing off the counter from the last customer, she deposited the dishes onto a tray and placed it on the counter where the cook would put completed orders. “If you’re interested, Cash is working at your dad’s place, hustling to get that flowered thing he’s working on ready in time for the wedding.”
Alma’s mouth dropped open in surprise. She thought for sure that just this once, Miss Joan and Harry had been kept in the dark. “Miss Joan,” she cried, distressed. “You’re not supposed to—”
“Know about it?” Miss Joan completed the young woman’s protest with a laugh. “Honey,” she said, coming closer so that she could lean over the counter. “I know about everything.” But then she paused. “Well, almost everything,” she amended, then pinned Alma down with a look. “The point is, why don’t you go out there and see if he needs a hand—or a shoulder?”
He’d had plenty of opportunity to lean on her and hadn’t. Turning up by his side with a hammer wouldn’t spark a soul-cleansing confession. She didn’t want to seem as if she was throwing herself at him. “He knows where to find me.”
“And you know where to find him,” Miss Joan said impatiently. “And so you two are going to do what? Hide behind some made-up excuses, waiting for the other to relent? Honey, that’s how wars get started, not stories with happy endings. Tell that sheriff of ours you’re taking some time off and go to Cash.” Her eyes narrowed down to small slits. “Just because he doesn’t say so doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you.”
Miss Joan was right, Alma thought, relenting.
So what else was new?
“Okay.” Halfway to the door, Alma turned around and called out, “Miss Joan?”
Miss Joan turned to glance at her over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Nice to have you back.”
Miss Joan nodded, not bothering to contradict the young woman. “Nice to be back,” she said just as Alma hurried out the door.
Chapter Twelve
She could have driven there blindfolded if she had to.
The road to her father’s ranch from town was completely embossed on Alma’s brain. But in deference to the many wildlife creatures that lived in and around the area and could bolt right in front of her vehicle at any given, unexpected moment, she watched the road intently.
Approaching the ranch, Alma listened for the sound of hammering or sawing, but she didn’t hear either one. Instead, she heard the sound of raised voices. Coming to a stop before the ranch house, she got out of the car and immediately recognized Cash’s voice.
But the other voice didn’t belong to anyone in her family.
It was only belatedly that she realized the other person involved in what was apparently an argument was Cash’s grandfather. So much for the arch being a surprise for either the bride or the groom, because obviously Harry hadn’t been kept in the dark about what was going on, either. But that wouldn’t have prompted his shouting at Cash and there definitely was shouting.
What the hell was going on? she wondered, quickening her pace.
Alma hurried around the perimeter of the house and made her way toward the barn. Her brothers were nowhere to be seen and it seemed that no one was working on the seven-foot-tall wedding gift.
Standing in front of it were Cash, his grandfather and her father, Miguel. The latter attempted to defuse what threatened to become an explosive situation at any moment, and he wasn’t having any luck. Neither side paid any attention to him.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Alma asked, raising her voice so that it all but drowned out the sound of the other two voices.
The element of surprise was on her side and for a split second the two men stopped trying to outshout each other as both turned to look at her.
Looking just a little like one of the prophets straight out of biblical times, thanks to his full head of silvery gray hair that came an inch shy of dipping down to his shoulders, Cash’s grandfather frowned at her abrupt intrusion.
“No disrespect, Alma,” he told her, “but this doesn’t concern you.”
“Maybe not,” she allowed, casually hooking her thumbs just above her gun belt, “but keeping the peace does and you two are disturbing it.”
Clearly frustrated, both by his grandfather’s attitude and by her sudden appearance in the midst of the argument, Cash narrowed his eyes as he looked in her direction.
“Who filed a complaint?” he asked. “The horses?”
Alma pretended that he hadn’t said anything. She was not about to get sidetracked into an exchange of words with him.
Shooting Cash a look that would have cut down a lesser man, she said, “We need to talk later,” then turned her attention back to the immediate situation. “Now, why are the two of you shouting at each other?”
“We weren’t shouting,” Harry protested. “He’s just too stubborn to listen so I had to raise my voice a little to make him hear.”
“I’m the stubborn one?” Cash cried incredulously. “Isn’t that a lot like the damn pot calling the kettle black?”
Alma held up her hand to silence him, but when that didn’t curtail either of the raised voices, she let loose with an ear-piercing whistle. That brought the two men to a grinding halt.
“That’s better,” she pronounced with approval when they both were struck silent. “Now, let’s put away the aforementioned kitchenware and one of you tell me what seems to be the problem.” Because she was still trying to work through a fresh batch of hurt feelings, courtesy of Cash, she turned toward his grandfather. “Harry?”
“The problem is Cash just won’t listen,” Harry accused.
“The problem is he’s too full of pride,” Cash complained at the same time, their voices blending to produce one nearly unintelligible answer.
It took Alma a minute to separate the two sentences and make sense out of what the men were saying. She turned toward her father for help. “Dad, can you possibly shed a little light on what they’re talking about?”
Her father lifted his broad shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I would if I could, Alma, but I came out when I heard them arguing.”
“It’s not arguing,” Harry insisted firmly. “I’m just trying to talk some sense into this stubborn mule.” He gestured disparagingly at his grandson.
“Funny,” Cash countered pointedly, “I was just about to say the same thing about you.”
“What is this all about?” Alma asked again, enunciating each word slowly, deliberately. And then she pointed to Cash’s grandfather. “You first, Harry.”
Harry tossed his head, his mane regally flying over his shoulder. “I told him I didn’t need his charity.”
Cash broke into the narrative. “It’s not charity,” he insisted angrily.
“What’s not charity?” Alma asked before the argument could escalate again.
“He went and paid off my note on the ranch,” Harry accused, saying it the way he would have if he were reporting the commission of a crime to the proper authorities.
Alma blinked, surprised. “You had a note on the ranch?” she asked. “I thought you paid off the mortgage a long time ago.”
“I did, but times got a little rough and I needed a loan to tide me over,” he murmured, his voice dropping as he looked away.
“He took out a note to pay for my college education. Then the economy went bad and he started losing money, so he couldn’t meet the loan payments,” Cash said, jumping into the narrative. “All of which he kept from me. If I hadn’t seen the notice-of-foreclosure letter on his desk—”
“Which you had no business reading,” Harry protested angrily. “He snuck off and paid the note on the house behind my back!” the older man said indignantly.
The situation had a definite déjà vu flavor about it, reminding Alma of the way she and her brothers had pitched in to help pay off all their mother’s medical bills.
“Harry,” Alma interjected kindly, “family always has the right to butt in. That’s what makes them better people. You rely on each other. That’s what makes you family.”
“I don’t want charity,” Harry declared again stubbornly. Scowling, he crossed his arms before him, looking every inch like the Norse god of war.
Very deftly, Alma turned the tables on him. “Was it charity when you took Cash and his mother in after his dad was killed in that offshore drilling rig accident?” she asked the older man.
The very question offended Harry. “Of course not,” he said indignantly, “but that was different.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she pointed out patiently. “They needed you and you were there, opening your doors and taking them in. You gave them a home, Harry. There is no price tag on that, and Cash just wants to try to return some of the favor. And he can do that by saving your home—and his,” she reminded the rancher. “It is his home, you know. You told him that your home would always be his home as well, remember?”
Lassoing the Deputy Page 12
