Return to Oak Valley

by Shirlee Busbee

  “Sure thing. I'll call you, and we'll set up a time.”

  As if running from a fire, Shelly hit the swinging glass doors and was gone.

  A disgusted expression on her face, Cleo shook her head when Sloan came strolling up to the wooden counter a second later. “You just don't learn, do you?” she scolded. “Couldn't you have left the subject alone? Or at least mouthed the conventional phrases?”

  Sloan shrugged. “OK, I handled it badly. I didn't mean to start an argument…” He smiled ruefully. “Well, maybe I did. Having her angry with me is better than being treated to that frigid Granger politeness.”

  “I just don't understand the courtship rituals these days,” Cleo complained. Glancing slyly at Sloan, she murmured, “In my day, used to be if a boy was interested in a girl, he was nice to her, polite, tried to please her.”

  “First of all, I'm not a ‘boy,’ ” Sloan replied, his eyes bright with laughter, “and second of all, I'm not ‘interested’ in Shelly Granger.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Cleo said, looking unimpressed. “Could have fooled me.” She glanced down at her scarlet nails. “Josh Granger wasn't a saint—anybody who really knew the man would agree on that.” When Sloan would have interrupted, she said, “Just a minute, then you can have your turn.” She fixed him with a look. “Now I know that you have good reason to hate him, and I don't blame you one bit for feeling as you do about him, but Sloan, for your own good you have to let it go. Put it behind you. If you don't, it's going to eat at you and, in the end, destroy you. Do you want Josh to have that sort of power over you?”

  Sloan made a face, feeling about ten years old. Worse, there was too much truth in what Cleo was saying for him to ignore. “OK. OK. I'll work on it. Will that satisfy you?”

  “Might—if you work real hard.” And as he turned to go, she added, “Something you should remember; he loved her. And whatever he did or didn't do, he did it for that reason. He loved her.”

  “Yeah,” Sloan said grimly, “and so did I.”

  Chapter Five

  Shelly raced from the store, intent upon putting as much distance between herself and Sloan Ballinger as possible. Fumbling for her keys, her mind on all the things she could have said to Sloan, she was rocked back on her heels when she slammed into an immovable object in the shape of a tall, broad-shouldered sheriff's deputy.

  “Whoa. Whoa there. Where's the fire?” rumbled a voice that struck a chord of memory as a pair of big hands caught her shoulders and held her at a slight distance.

  Embarrassed and shaken, Shelly gazed up what seemed like a very long way to a sun-dark face, the lower half concealed by an impressive black mustache. While the voice sounded familiar, she couldn't place it, and she didn't recognize him. But then, she thought, possibly only his mother would. The mustache was as effective as a mask, and the black-reflecting sunglasses and the cream-colored Western hat he wore hid the rest of his features. But there was something about him…. She was not a short woman, standing five-foot-nine in her bare feet, but the man before her was huge. Bigger, she decided, than Sloan, and he was, if she remembered right somewhere around six-four. Something about that voice and his size nagged at her. If he was someone she'd known in the past, that height and formidably muscular form should have made him unforgettable. An elusive memory slipped through her mind.

  He grinned and it all came together. “Jeb!” she cried, delight obvious. “I didn't recognize you for a moment.”

  “Now that,” he said in a deep voice, as he released her and removed his sunglasses and put them in his pocket, “just pains me no end. Not recognize your own cousin? Come on, Shelly. How many guys my size do you run into—in uniform and in St. Galen's?”

  Looking up into those laughing black eyes, she grinned. “No excuses—between your size and the uniform I should have recognized you immediately.” She held out her wrists. “So, wanna arrest me for a bad memory?”

  He appeared thoughtful. “Nah—too much paperwork,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. Throwing his arms wide, he said, “Give us a hug, kid. It's been a long time. I've missed watching that sassy butt of yours.”

  Shelly smothered a giggle and launched herself into his embrace. Jeb Delaney had always been one of her favorite people, even if they had not known each other well. The ten-year gap in their ages had been one impediment. Jeb had been closer to Josh in age than to her. They were related through their grandparents; her grandfather and Jeb's grandmother, Anne, had been brother and sister. When Anne had married Mingo Delaney, it had caused no end of hard feelings—Mingo's mother had been a Ballinger, and the other Grangers had been appalled that Anne had chosen to align herself with one of the detested Ballinger clan. Anne had further enraged her family by defiantly naming her firstborn son, Jeb, after the original Jeb Granger. And Jeb Delaney, Senior, had followed through by naming his firstborn son, and the current holder of the name, Jeb. Shelly remembered Josh complaining about the high-handed way the Ballingers had stolen their family name. He had grumbled often enough that the name should have belonged to him—and not some shirttail relative of the Ballingers. Shelly had wisely not pointed out that Jeb Delaney was also a “ragtag” relative of theirs.

  It had all seemed rather silly to Shelly, and it still did—you didn't own a name, and her parents could have named Josh Jeb, if they had wished. Laughing up into Jeb's face just now, she decided that now was as good a time as any to strengthen the easy friendliness that had always been there between them.

  In a small town like St. Galen's, it was inevitable that their paths cross frequently, and despite the family estrangement, she and Jeb had made their own peace. He had teased her unmercifully at times during her youth, but he had also made certain that she knew that she could trust him. Probably one of the things she admired most about him was that he didn't give a damn about the family feud. “Hey,” he'd told her once, “the argument was between York and Jeb—the originals—not me and not you. And if that stiff-necked brother of yours were as smart as he's supposed to be, he'd have realized that fact long ago. So, whadda you say that between the pair of us, we just pretend that the rest of the family is plain nuts?” Grinning, Shelly had agreed without hesitation. She'd been fascinated by this tall, handsome cousin, OK second cousin—as much because she'd been told to ignore him by her family, as his own appealing personality. Being warned against him, and all of the Ballingers for that matter, had had the opposite effect—at seventeen she had developed a terrific crush on Jeb and had mooned over him all summer until she had returned to boarding school that fall. He had her undying gratitude by never having acknowledged all her girlish attempts to catch his attention. Better yet, showing great restraint he had never teased her about it—thank God! Josh would have had a fit if he'd known how often that summer she'd thrown herself in Jeb's path. She felt herself blush even now as she remembered the ruses she had concocted to attract his attention. And if Josh had ever learned of it…. She shuddered. Josh had barely tolerated Jeb, and she wondered if there hadn't been something else between them, some other reason than just family legends for their mutual dislike.

  They stood there grinning at each other for several seconds, then Jeb's face grew serious. Gently he asked, “Are you OK? Dealing all right with Josh's suicide?”

  She nodded, her own face sober. “It's been hard—especially the shock of it…and living in his house—seeing constant reminders of him…. But, yes, I'm dealing with it.” She smiled lopsidedly. “It's getting easier every day—I think.”

  He patted her clumsily on the shoulder. “That's my girl! Now tell me how long you're going to be around the valley, so I can figure out how many times I'll be sent out to break up all the wild parties you'll be holding.”

  Shelly grimaced. “You would remind me! Come on, Jeb, I was sixteen, and Josh was away for all of Easter week. I was up there by myself, well, except for Maria and her kids. All of my friends were on Easter break, and we were looking for something to do. What teenager wouldn't have throw
n a party? And it wasn't that wild! If that old busybody Mrs. Matthews hadn't taken it upon herself to check up on me, no one would have known.”

  Jeb laughed. “I'd forgotten how much fun it is to get your goat. You take the bait so quickly.”

  “And you are no gentleman to remind me of one of my most embarrassing moments from childhood.” She shook her head, smiling. “I'll never forget opening the door and there you were, looking just like the Terminator.” She laughed. “My God, the panic you caused. Melissa-Jane nearly broke her leg climbing out one of the back windows and Bobba Neale gave himself a black eye when he ran into a porch post trying to get away.”

  “Hey, not my fault if you guys had a guilty conscience. Did I arrest anyone? Did I take anyone away? Nope. All I did was warn you to keep it down and to remember that it was against the law to be driving and drinking. Did I comment on the pyramid of beer cans in the middle of the living room floor? Which, by the way, was pretty impressive.”

  She smiled at the memory. “Yeah, it was.”

  “All kidding aside, how long are you going to be around?”

  Briefly, Shelly explained her decision to return to Oak Valley for good. Jeb was pleased.

  “I'm glad. You belong here. The ranch needs you. The community will be glad to have you back.” He hesitated, let out a long breath, and said, “The past few years, Josh didn't seem to care much about what happened in the valley.”

  Staring at the shiny badge on his khaki shirt, she asked quietly, “Were you one of the deputies called to the scene?”

  He sighed. “Yes, I was. I'm not stationed here anymore—I'm a detective these days, working out of the Willits substation. One of the reasons I was called to the scene. Don't see many violent deaths up here, but it's almost always someone I know. Never thought it would be Josh.”

  “I know. One of the hardest things for me to deal with has been that he committed suicide. I still have trouble believing it.” There was just the faintest change in Jeb's expression, but she was on it in a flash. “It was suicide? No doubt about it?”

  “That's what the coroner put on the death certificate,” he replied in that neutral tone of so many law enforcement officers.

  “You didn't answer my question,” Shelly persisted, her eyes searching his.

  Jeb sighed, pushed back his hat. “I didn't see anything at the scene that raised alarm bells, but like you, I knew Josh and suicide just didn't do it for me. Besides…”

  “Besides?”

  “Oh, dammit, sweetheart, I don't want to put ideas in your head or fill you with a lot of conjecture, but you might as well hear it from me as someone else.” Jeb took a deep breath. “The last couple of years Josh was running with a bad crowd—pot growers, and not your home-garden variety either—the big guys—the guys who fund some of the little growers.” Jeb paused, putting his thoughts in order. “Josh,” he said eventually, “had always been a gambler, you know that, but about five years ago, with all the Indian casinos springing up all over the place, he really got into it. Lots of people from the valley saw him all over the place and carried back gossip of some big wins…and losses.” He made a face. “You know the valley. You can't spit without everyone noticing and a half dozen people saying that it's raining—people notice and they talk and they don't always get their stories straight. Anyway, the nearest casino is outside of Willits on 20—they're scattered all up and down every major highway in the state. Hell, there's one north of Ukiah and a big one over in Lake County and of course, a lot of people from the valley enjoy a night out and the chance maybe to win a little cash.” He smiled. “You know how it is—you can't leave the valley without running into someone from the valley—even as far away as Santa Rosa. And it wasn't like Josh was trying to hide it. He didn't. But my point is that just a few weeks before he started hanging out with the unsavory types, rumor had it that he'd taken some hard hits. Lost a lot of money. It could have been a coincidence that right after that, he and Milo Scott and Ben Williams are suddenly the best of friends.” Jeb grimaced. “I'm better acquainted with that pair of vermin than I'd like to be—the two of them are behind just about every dope deal in northern California, and when Josh started being seen around in their company…well, I'll confess it made me wonder.”

  Shelly frowned. “You mean, you think they might have lent him money? Did they do that sort of thing? Loan sharking?”

  Jeb glanced around as if becoming aware that they were standing together right out in front of God and everybody having a very private, very serious conversation. “Look, I shouldn't have started talking about this right now—if ever. Let's just leave it that there are things that happened prior to Josh's suicide that didn't sit right with me.” At Shelly's mulish expression, he said, “I know. I shouldn't have started if I didn't mean to finish. And I will. But not here. And not now.” He glanced around, his gaze narrowing as he caught sight of a dark blue pickup truck pulling into the small gravel parking lot of the Blue Goose. “Oh, hell, speak of the Devil.” He gave a faint jerk of his head. “There's Milo Scott getting out of his pickup at the Goose.” His eyes on Shelly's, he said, “Invite me up to the house for dinner tomorrow night—I'd say tonight, but we're a little shorthanded right now, and I'm subbing for one of the other sergeants—the reason I'm in uniform and not in plain clothes. I still live up here, but I work out of the Willits office…unless someone dies violently. I don't mean to put you off—I promise, I'll tell you what I know.” His mouth thinned. “Which is damn little. Deal?”

  Shelly studied the wiry, sandy-haired man who slammed the door of the blue pickup and ambled into the restaurant. He looked nondescript, and she didn't recognize him. She turned her attention back to Jeb. “Deal. Come out about six thirty tomorrow night,” Shelly said. “And don't you try to wiggle out of it.”

  “I won't—honest. But don't fret over what I've told you and convince yourself there's some big mystery. Like you, I'm having trouble dealing with Josh's death, and I'm probably jumping to conclusions to keep from making the obvious one; he killed himself.” His expression disgusted, he muttered, “Me and my big mouth. First time I see you in years, and I have to dump this on you.”

  Shelly forced herself to smile. “Tact was never your strong point.”

  Following her lead, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Honey, with my charm, I don't need tact.”

  Laughing, Shelly threw herself into his arms again, burying her face into his warm neck. “Oh, Jeb, I've missed you…the valley…everything. I can't believe I stayed away so long. Until I came home, I didn't realize that this is my real home, this is where I belong.”

  He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “I know, kid. You just had to have time to realize it yourself.”

  “How did you get so damned smart?” she muttered against his skin.

  He hugged her tighter. “Just those Ballinger/Granger genes, I guess.”

  Neither was aware of Sloan pushing out of Heather-Mary-Marie's and walking past them until he said in arctic tones, “Afternoon, Delaney. Doing some private detecting?”

  Jeb grinned and held Shelly firmly against him when she would have jerked away. “You bet. I'm a man who takes my work seriously.”

  Sloan snorted and slipped into the big Suburban parked next to where they stood. His mouth grim, he gunned the engine, reversed right smartly, and sped away.

  “Brrrr.” Jeb said. “Is it just me, or did you feel that glacial blast, too?”

  “I felt it.” Her mouth twisted. “Some things never change, do they? Simply because I'm a Granger, the Ballingers hate me.”

  Jeb chuckled. “Honey, that wasn't hatred that made Sloan all lemon-lipped and grumpy. I know a jealous man when I see one—I'm a detective, remember? And that was one jealous man. It's a wonder I'm still standing upright and not lying on the ground nursing a broken jaw. I thought he was going to take a swing at me, throw you over his shoulder, and gallop away. Whew! Sloan was pissed, no doubt about it.”

  “You're wrong. Sloan w
as just being Sloan.”

  “If you say so, kid.”

  Not wanting to discuss the matter, Shelly moved away from him, and muttered, “I've got to go now. I'll see you tomorrow night.” She glanced at him. “Anything in particular you'd like for dinner, or should I just cook whatever comes to mind?”

  He grinned. “Whatever comes to mind, darlin', will do just fine. I'm a bachelor—what more can I say?”

  Shelly paused. “Again? Josh said something about you getting married a second time a couple years after I left.”

  “Yeah, well, you know me—I'm great at the chasing, but just can't seem to keep 'em when I catch 'em. About twelve years ago when my second wife left, I decided that marriage wasn't for me. Tried it twice and struck out both times, and I ain't looking to try it a third time.”

  Privately Shelly thought that his two wives had to have been crazy to divorce him. She'd known Ingrid, his first wife only a little, but had not cared for her—in fact few in the valley had liked the German baron's daughter Jeb had married so impetuously. The fact that the marriage failed within six months came as no surprise to anybody and had brought forth a collective sigh of delight from the female portion of the population—married and not. If his second wife had been anything like Ingrid, his second divorce was perfectly understandable. Keeping her thoughts to herself, she asked, “Josh never said, but any kids from the second marriage?”

  “Now that's one mistake I didn't make,” Jeb said with a hard note in his voice. “Guess I knew from the git-go it wouldn't last.”

  Shelly pressed a quick kiss on his cheek. “And maybe you just planned it that way. If your second wife was anything like Ingrid, I'm not surprised the marriage didn't last.”

  “Now don't you start. You're beginning to sound just like my mother.”

  Shelly grinned. “And how is your mother? No, never mind. You can tell me during dinner. If we start talking family, we'll be here the rest of the afternoon. I'll see you tomorrow night.”