by Stacy Finz
Cash propped up his boots on the stair rail and felt it wobble. “More than you can afford.”
“That’s not saying much.” Sully chuckled, then became contemplative. “Candy’s always saying we should get a place in the country. Something small with a little land, where we can get away on weekends.”
Cash had always had Dry Creek Ranch. Looking back on it, he wished he’d come more often, spent more time with Jasper. The old coot had been Cash’s hero. “Yep, Candy’s right, the country’s good. Soothes the soul.” Yet, as peaceful as it was here, he still had the dreams. Always Casey Farmington.
“What are you planning to do?” Sully asked.
“Haven’t decided yet.”
“I hear your cousin’s the Mill County sheriff. Can he give you a job?”
“Not interested,” Cash said. “It’s time for me to do something else. Maybe put my law degree to work.” Though the idea didn’t much appeal to Cash. He’d come up with something sooner or later.
Sully tilted back his bottle and took another long pull of his beer. “They’re serving you with a subpoena to testify at Whiting’s trial.”
So that’s why he’d come.
“Who’s they?” Sad to say, but Cash was probably more beneficial as a defense witness than he’d be for the prosecution.
“US Attorney, but for all I know, Whiting’s federal defender is planning to call you too.”
Cash pressed the cold bottle against his neck. “Great,” he said. “Just what I need.” The entire case had been a fiasco, but if his testimony helped put Whiting away, he’d be the first one at the courthouse. The problem was, he might do more harm than good. “Seems like a big risk to me.”
“Why do you think they’re subpoenaing you?” Sully said. “It’s called damage control. As long as the prosecutor gets first crack at you, he can frame the narrative any way he wants. That way there are no surprises when the defense gets its cross-examination.”
Yep, that was exactly the way Cash would’ve played it if he were prosecuting the case. “I won’t lie on the stand, Sully. You can tell those sacks of shit that I’ll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It’s all I have left to give Casey Farmington’s parents.”
There was a long silence, then Sully said, “You always were a sanctimonious son of a bitch. No one expects you to lie, Cash. Jeez, you’d think we were the Antichrist.”
No, just incompetent.
“Just as long as the brass knows what they’re getting themselves into by calling me as a witness.” They’d royally screwed up the case and he wouldn’t hide all the things that had gone wrong. Not under any circumstances, let alone under oath.
The screen door squeaked and Ellie came out onto the porch. She looked half-asleep, and Cash wondered if their voices had awakened her.
“I didn’t know you had company,” Sully said, flummoxed by the appearance of a young girl. “And who is this?” He smiled at Ellie, who looked back at him with mild curiosity.
“This is my daughter, Ellie.” Cash got to his feet. “Ellie, this is Calvin Sullivan. We used to work together.”
Cash saw surprise streak across Sully’s face and, like any good agent, he immediately masked his reaction. “Good to meet you, Ellie.” He shot Cash a WTF look. They’d known each other more than a decade and Sully was obviously stymied by the revelation that Cash had a daughter.
You and me both, bud.
Nevertheless, Cash knew that before Sully got in his car and drove away he’d get an earful.
He nudged Ellie. “Hey, what do you say?”
“Good to meet you too.” She stuck out her hand and Sully shook it.
“You ready?” Cash asked her. They still needed to have their talk, but he hoped Sully would construe the question to mean they had plans to go somewhere and take it as a not-so-subtle hint to leave.
Under different circumstances, he might’ve enjoyed visiting with his former colleague for a while. Tonight, he didn’t want to have to explain Ellie’s sudden appearance in his life or share FBI war stories over a couple of cold ones. He especially didn’t want to talk anymore about Charles Whiting. The SOB had given Cash enough nightmares.
“I should get going.” Sully stood and stretched his back. “Walk me to the car, would ya?” They strode down the driveway until they were out of earshot of the porch. “Since when do you have a daughter?”
“Since twelve years ago,” Cash said and sighed. “It’s a long, complicated story.”
“I’ve got time.” Sully rested his hip against the side of his car.
“I don’t.” Not too long ago, Cash had considered Sully a close friend. Not so much anymore. And while Ellie was by no means a secret, Cash didn’t feel like sharing the details of Marie and her death with him. Not while Cash was still trying to sort it out for himself. “Ellie’s waiting for me.”
Sully gave him a long perusal and nodded. “Okay. It was good catching up, buddy. Things haven’t been the same without you.”
Cash went in for the one-second man hug, even though he knew Sully was full of shit. “Let’s grab a beer sometime.”
“Yep.” Sully tilted his head toward the spot where Ellie was still standing. “You owe me that long, complicated story. Pretty girl.”
“Yes, she is.” An odd sense of pride welled up in his chest. Not because Ellie was pretty but because she was his. “See you around, Sully.” Cash watched Sully do a three-point turn in the driveway, then headed to the cabin.
Ellie had gone inside and was fiddling with the television. “I can’t get it to work.”
Cash took the remote control from her hand. “Come sit at the table. I’d like us to have a real conversation.”
She screwed up her face as if he’d asked her to eat all her liver and vegetables. Despite her aversion to him, she did as he asked, plopping down on one of the dining room chairs, then propping her elbows on the table, doing her best to appear put out. Which she no doubt was. He had that effect on her.
“Where’s my sweater? It’s not in the bathroom where I left it.”
“I washed it,” which reminded Cash that he still had to transfer the clean clothes to the dryer.
Ellie went white, then bolted for the washing machine.
“The sweater was filthy,” Cash called after her, wondering what the problem was. It was a worn, old sweater that hung on her tiny frame like a gunnysack.
A door slammed, and Cash got up to find out what the hell he’d done wrong. He let himself into Ellie’s room to find her sitting on the bed, the sweater cradled in her lap, crying.
“She’s gone,” she whispered.
Cash blinked, trying to make the connection.
“Who’s gone?”
Ellie didn’t answer.
He came a few steps closer, but she didn’t look up.
“Who’s gone, sweetheart?” he asked, softer.
“My mother.” Ellie’s voice was barely there.
Cash wrinkled his forehead. He still wasn’t making the connection.
“Please,” he said as gently as he could. “Explain what you mean.”
Finally, Ellie looked up at him. “It doesn’t smell like her anymore.”
“Like who?” The mattress dipped from Cash’s weight as he sat next to her on the bed.
“My mom.” She hiccupped. “It was hers and now she’s gone and now I can’t even smell her anymore.” Ellie began to sob uncontrollably.
“Ah, jeez.” Cash scrubbed his hand over his face, at a total loss for what to do. “I screwed up, Ellie. Ah, honey…I had no idea.”
“I want her back so bad,” she said through tears. “Then I could leave this place and never come back again.”
Seeing her this way made his heart fold in half. He reached for her, awkward at first. But when she showed no resistance, he pulled her
closer. She buried her face in his chest and let the dam burst, soaking his shirt.
“I hate you,” she said between sobs.
Cash rubbed her back like he’d seen Jace do when Grady was a newborn. Between Ellie and his old bosses at the Bureau, he wasn’t too popular these days.
“Yeah?” he said. “Get in line, kiddo.”
Chapter 8
Tuesday morning, Jace set out for the office early, hoping to enjoy his first coffee of the day in peace. Annabeth, his secretary, always made sure to set the timer on the grind and brew before she left in the evening so he was greeted with a fresh pot. But today he took a detour on his way to work and braved the long line of cars and pickups in the drive-through at Dutch Bros on Highway 49.
Ten minutes later, he sat in the Dry Creek City Hall complex parking lot, contemplating whether to crank up his AC and drink his travel mug from the comfort of his truck. But the stack of reports on his desk, which had probably grown in his one-day absence, beckoned, and he figured it was now or never. As he made his way to the sheriff’s office, a 1920s’ white-brick one-story, he checked his phone to see if the boys had run off yet another babysitter. Since December, he’d gone through four. Bellamy Woods had quit after Grady stuck a barn mouse down her shirt. The second, whose name now escaped Jace, left after three days, saying the boys were bad for her blood pressure. To be fair, Jace was responsible for chasing off the third sitter when he’d told her where she could stick her unsolicited parenting advice. Jana Horowitz had outlasted all three sitters put together but had resigned recently to move closer to her grandkids in Eugene, Oregon. At least that’s what she’d told him.
“Morning, Sheriff.”
Jace tipped his Stetson. “How you doing, Red?”
“I’m retiring in”—Red made a show of checking his watch—“ten days, two hours, and forty-two minutes and three seconds, so pretty damned good.”
An investigator with the Bureau of Livestock Identification, Red Buckley had been stationed in Mill County for as long as Jace could remember. “Who’s going to catch the cattle rustlers without you?”
With the price of beef being what it was, cattle theft was on the rise in California. Ranchers in the Golden State lost roughly a million dollars a year from rustling.
“Why don’t you go for the job? It may not pay as well as sheriff, but the perks are good.” Red nudged his head at the sheriff’s building. “I don’t remember the last time I spent a full day indoors.”
No, Jace suspected Red spent most of his days in a four-wheel drive, riding across Northern California from ranch to ranch.
“I think I’ll keep my current position until the good voters of Mill County kick me out.” He slapped Red on the back. “See you around, buddy, and don’t forget to invite me to the retirement party.”
He avoided getting wet from the sprinklers on his way into the office and, as predicted, the stack of paperwork on his desk was a few inches taller than when he had left it. He finished his coffee while tackling reports. Annabeth trudged in a few minutes later and dropped a load of library books on her desk.
“Sure is hot out there,” she said, then crossed the bull pen to the kitchenette to fix a cup of the herbal tea she drank instead of coffee and returned to his open doorway, clasping the mug her granddaughter had made her at one of those artsy ceramic shops in Nevada City. “You enjoy your day off?”
“Went fishing with the boys and Cash’s daughter, Ellie. Had a barbecue in the afternoon.”
Annabeth leaned against the doorjamb. “How’s the little girl holding up?”
“As well as can be expected.” It hadn’t taken long for word to spread. By now, all of Dry Creek probably knew.
“I’m planning to hide in here for a while and get this paperwork done. If you don’t hear any sounds coming from my desk, come inside and wake me up.”
She tucked a wisp of white hair behind her ear. “Will do,” she said and shut his door behind her.
Not twenty minutes later, there was a ruckus outside his office. Before Jace could get up and check out the commotion, Tiffany Sanders, his unofficial campaign manager, crashed through his door.
“I just got off the phone with Sally Reynolds. Do you know how much clout that woman has in this county?”
He leaned back in his chair and propped his Justin boots on the top of his desk. “Relax, Tiff. We’ve got sixteen months until the election.”
“Did you forget the June primary? Count, Jace.” Tiffany held up her hand and flicked off the months with her fingers. “Eleven months. Eleven freaking months. You and Aubrey need to hold a press conference. Now!”
“A press conference?” He screwed up his face. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Hell no, I’m not kidding you. How do you think a sex scandal will play here on Little House on the Prairie, huh?”
First, he took issue with her calling Mill County Little House on the Prairie. Last he heard, Chesterville was getting a Kohl’s. Besides Dutch Bros, there was a Starbucks on the county line and an El Pollo Loco in Mill Town. And in Dry Creek…okay, here, time had stood still.
“It’s not a sex scandal, Tiff.”
She held up her hand. “Stop…don’t say anymore. Whatever you two have going on has to end. She needs to move off the ranch…uh, like yesterday…and preferably out of the county. Then we need to find you a”—she shut the door on Annabeth, who had tried to block Tiffany’s way in—“beard. Someone noncontroversial, preferably a Sunday school teacher who’s never been married. Or a widow. A widow’s good. Voters love widows.”
“Not gonna happen, Tiff.” He was sorely tempted to fire her on the spot even though she wasn’t on his payroll. “Aubrey and I have been friends since kindergarten. That’s it. And friends don’t let friends marry assholes.” Technically, he’d had nothing to do with Aubrey and Mitch’s breakup, but knowing what he knew now, he would’ve advocated for it.
“Mitch is one of your best friends.” Tiffany folded her arms over her chest.
“Was one of my best friends. ‘Was’ being the operative word. Now, I’ve got police work to do, so…” He swung his head toward the door.
“We need to talk about this, Jace, and get a strategy in place.”
After running one successful campaign for an obscure candidate’s bid for the state legislature, Tiffany now thought she was in the big leagues.
“My strategy is to be a good sheriff and let the people decide,” Jace said, because in a perfect world that should’ve been good enough. Unfortunately, he knew all too well that there was no perfect world and voters could be fickle.
But instead of dwelling on something that was out of his control, he could finish his paperwork. So he herded Tiffany out of his office and shut the door.
* * * *
Aubrey arrived at Cash’s a little past ten, giving both her clients time to sleep in. It was a good thing, because she found father and daughter in the kitchen fixing breakfast. And despite the eighty-degree weather, there was a distinct chill in the air. In fact, the hostility radiating off Ellie was palpable.
Aubrey exchanged glances with Cash, who silently relayed that he’d tell her whatever the problem was later.
“Ready to paint stripes?” she asked, her voice overly chipper.
Ellie’s response was to shove a spoonful of cold cereal in her mouth while Cash answered, “Let’s do it.”
He followed her into Ellie’s bedroom and leaned against the window frame. “I washed that sweater she wears every day, not knowing it had been her mother’s. She’d been clinging to it because it still held Marie’s scent. Now it smells like generic laundry detergent. Needless to say, she flipped out.”
“Oh boy.” Aubrey sat on Ellie’s unmade bed. “Is there anything else of Marie’s that can take the sweater’s place?”
“Nothing I know of. We shipped a bunch of stuff from
Boston that should arrive in a couple of weeks, though I’m not sure there’s anything of Marie’s in the boxes. Marie’s best friend, Linda, was in charge of packing up her clothes, and because they’re too large for Ellie, I assume she kept what she liked for herself.”
Aubrey heard a television go on in the other room. Apparently, getting a new bedroom wasn’t as fulfilling as Full House.
She glanced up at Cash, who looked like a hot mess. His dark hair was mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it a few too many times, and he hadn’t shaved, though she liked the trail of scruff that covered his lower face. It enhanced that whole rugged thing he was working. He had on a Salinas Rodeo T-shirt and a pair of worn 501 button-fly Levi’s. His feet were bare, and she noted that his toes were slightly furred. The entire package sent a tingle up her spine, an odd reaction when they were supposed to be talking about Ellie.
He sat next to her on the bed and she felt it again. Tingles. Which set off all kinds of warning alarms. I’m not ready for these feelings of attraction, not after a breakup like the one with Mitch.
“You got any other ideas?” he asked, absently touching his leg against hers. “I’m fresh out.”
“Um…uh…I think we just need to find another talisman that will remind her of her mom, maybe a piece of costume jewelry that still has Marie’s perfume on it. Could you call that Linda woman?”
“I’ll do it this afternoon,” he said, but didn’t seem too thrilled about it.
“You don’t like her?”
“It’s not that. Linda’s been very helpful; she loves Ellie. I just feel like I’m failing.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the TV. “Last night, she said she hated me.”
Something about seeing a two-hundred-pound male made of pure muscle appear so dejected by the offhanded scorn of a sullen twelve-year-old melted Aubrey’s Mitch-hating heart.
“I’m no expert on kids, but I think it’s fairly common for them to throw around the ‘hate’ word. There’s a certain drama to it.”
