Back in Kansas

by Debra Salonen

  Matt gripped his beer bottle, willing himself not to smash it against the wall. Sonya knew just how to manipulate his emotions. She knew how much he loved his daughter, and she constantly used Ashley’s state of mind as a weapon against him.

  “Call when you get this message so I can explain about the dressage school. Bye.”

  Matt polished off his beer with a long gulp then tossed the bottle in the garbage. It wasn’t as satisfying, but it beat the hell out of cleaning up broken glass—he’d learned that one the hard way. A glance at his watch told him he might as well head to the airport. There were plenty of bars there, and since Bo was a reformed drinker, he could play designated driver.

  CLAUDIE SAT in the middle of the bed, her legs crossed Indian fashion. She’d changed into sweats and heavy socks the minute she got to her room. Beside her lay the road map, and she studied it as she sipped on the frappe she’d picked up at the pizza place down the street. Her motel wasn’t much to look at, but the price was right.

  She’d opted to stay in Cheyenne rather than drive any farther. For one thing, she didn’t know where she was going—South Dakota or Kansas? Her decision would depend on Zach—or rather, whether or not she could get in to see him.

  I’ll worry about that tomorrow, Claudie told herself. Tonight, she planned a long soak in the tub. The tension of meeting Yancy and the long hours in the car had given her a stiff neck. What she wouldn’t have given to have Bo there—Bo with the great hands.

  She closed her eyes and pictured him. Not tall and startlingly handsome like Ren, Bo’s looks kind of sneaked up on you when you weren’t looking. Strong and compact, he emanated power when he chose to or slipped into obscurity when it suited him. His wardrobe was a joke, but Claudie knew he dressed to fit an image he had of himself—nondescript. What he didn’t realize was, he was anything but.

  Rolling her chin to stretch her tired muscles, she imagined him massaging her neck. It had taken months of patience on his part before she let him so much as hold her hand. The massaging part had come two weeks ago after a game of tag with Brady when she slipped on the wet grass and wound up sprawled flat on her back.

  “Do you need a doctor?” Bo had asked, kneeling beside her, concern written all over his face.

  Brady had draped himself over Bo’s shoulder, his small face pinched with fear. “Claudie hurt?”

  “I’m fine, silly boys,” she said, but when she tried to sit up, a twinge of pain shot from her hip to her neck.

  Bo’s sharp eyes caught her flinch, and he moved closer, placing one hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving. “Brady boy, run get your mama. Okay?”

  The lad shot off toward the house. Claudie had groaned more from the fuss than the pain. “Now, hush, sweetheart,” he said, situating himself squarely at her back so he could place both hands on her neck. “Let me check this out.”

  Claudie hadn’t been able to keep herself from reacting. Not that his touch felt bad—in fact, it was wonderful—but she wasn’t used to such intimate contact. His fingers froze in place until she let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “Does this hurt?” he’d asked, his voice low, just inches from her ear.

  The roar of blood racing through her veins had made it impossible to speak. She’d tried to shake her head, but his hands kept her chin still. “Don’t move. Just relax. Close your eyes and feel my fingers. If I hit anything sensitive, yell.”

  Yell? Good grief. Everything you touch is sensitive. If I open my mouth, the entire neighborhood’s going to hear me.

  The whole episode couldn’t have lasted more than two or three minutes, but it changed Claudie’s life. She went from hating touch to craving it. Maybe this urge to protect her sister wasn’t the only reason she’d taken off so impulsively. Maybe she was afraid she couldn’t trust herself around Bo anymore. When she was with him, she wanted things she couldn’t have—like a relationship, a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. But that meant sex. And for Claudie, sex was commerce and she was out of that business for good.

  Jumping off the bed, Claudie walked to the bathroom to draw her tub. She turned on both handles full blast then set out her washcloth and shampoo. She paused before the small, old-fashioned sink and mirror. She eyed her image critically. Nothing fabulous, but not bad. Maybe a little older around the eyes than she’d have liked, but nowhere near as wasted as some of the working girls she’d known.

  Over the din of the water, she repeated the vow she’d taken last January when she made up her mind to change her life. Her lips formed the words with reverence: “No sex. No cigarettes. No drugs. No excuses.”

  She was finally beginning to like Claudie St. James, and she wouldn’t give that up for anything or anyone. Even Bo.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BO TUNED OUT the droning voice of the flight attendant telling the passengers to wait until the plane came to a complete stop to unfasten their seat belts. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his objective, not his fatigue. Normally, while on a job, he could go for days with a bare minimum of food and sleep, but for some reason, Claudie’s leaving seemed to rob him of his ability to concentrate. He kept imagining her in bad places.

  “We can go now,” his seatmate, a white-haired woman who’d snored softly most of the way, told him.

  Apologizing, Bo rose, leaving his laptop computer on the seat. He wrangled his carry-on bag from the overhead compartment then removed the woman’s overstuffed paisley tote as well.

  She rewarded him with a smile. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” she said, cryptically, “your girl will come around in time.”

  He leaned forward. “I beg your pardon?”

  Her powdered flesh crinkled in a road map of wrinkles. “Your gal,” she repeated, as if he had a hearing problem. “She’ll come around.” Her watery eyes twinkled from the overhead light. “I peeked at your computer board when you were in the toilet,” she said, motioning toward his laptop.

  “Oh,” he said, marveling at his sloppiness. He’d walked off and left his laptop open? Jeez, he was slipping.

  He picked up the lightweight machine and stuffed it in his briefcase. As he reached for his carry-on bag, the woman said, “You must love her a lot to follow after her like this. At first, I was thinking you might be one of those stalkers I’m always reading about, but I can tell you’ve got a good heart.”

  Bo couldn’t decide whether to be angry or amused. She seemed harmless so he asked, “How can you tell?”

  Her elfin grin made him smile back. “I’m old. You know these things when you get to be my age.”

  Bo courteously moved to one side to allow her to pass ahead of him. She patted his arm and told him, “That’s very kind, but you’d best run along and find her. She won’t wait forever, you know.”

  Bo chuckled then bowed slightly and hurried up the aisle and out the door. He put the woman’s remarks out of his mind as he scanned the terminal for his cousin. No tall, broad-shouldered guy with wavy black hair in sight.

  “Where are you, Cuz?” Bo muttered as he walked along the corridor, picking his way through throngs of incoming passengers.

  “Bo,” a voice called.

  Bo stopped and looked around. A familiar face peered at him between some artificial greenery. Bo wound his way through a maze of tall stools. The place differed little from the dozens he’d visited in airports around the country—only the colorful logos of the city’s sport team changed.

  “Hey, man, how ya’ doin’?” Matt asked, not bothering to stand.

  Bo sat opposite him and ordered a Pepsi from a waitress who drifted past. “Still not drinking, huh? Good for you,” Matt noted, his speech slightly slurred.

  “How long have you been here, Matt?”

  Matt pushed back the sleeve of his leather bomber jacket to look at his watch. He blinked, finally closing one eye to gain the focus he needed. “A few hours and twenty-two minutes. Give or take.”

  Bo paid for his soda with a five then hastily gulped half of it.
“Hand over your keys, Cuz. I hope you still live in the same place ’cause I’m not sure I trust you to give me directions.”

  Matt drew himself up offended. “I may be intoxicated but I’m not decapitated.”

  “Thank God,” Bo said, helping his cousin to rise. “I was worried about that.”

  The long trek to the parking lot seemed to help clear Matt’s head to some degree. Bo thought Matt’s limp seemed more pronounced than it had the last time they were together, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to ask about his cousin’s recovery and physical therapy but decided to hold off until morning. He knew how sensitive Matt was about the injury that had nearly claimed his life.

  Matt handed Bo the keys to his Jeep Cherokee without protest. Once they’d exited the parking lot, Bo asked, “So what’s this about? You’ve never been what I’d call a big drinker.”

  Matt slumped down as far as the seat belt would permit. He kept his face aimed toward the passenger window. “Your basic drowning of sorrows, I guess. Turn off the antennae and go blank—booze helps.”

  Bo understood. In his youth, alcohol had been his drug of choice. By the time he was sixteen he’d lost count of the number of times he’d puked his guts out. Bo counted himself lucky that more exotic drugs hadn’t been readily available or he might have fried his brain before Larry Bishop and his son came along to help him find sobriety.

  “It’s a little late in life to become an alcoholic, bud. I really wouldn’t recommend trying—it just prolongs the agony of whatever it is you’re trying to escape from.”

  Matt didn’t respond.

  “Is it the divorce?” Bo caught Matt’s negative motion but his long sad sigh said otherwise. “What’s it been? A year?”

  “Almost two,” Matt muttered. “Sonya and Alan have been married a year.”

  Bo nodded. “How’s Ashley?”

  “Great—considering her parents are immature jerks who fight for every spare second of her time,” Matt said bitterly. “That’s what set me off tonight. This was my weekend to have her but Sonya called at the last minute to say Ashley had been invited to a dressage sleep-over.”

  Bo frowned. “I thought dressage had something to do with horses.”

  “It does. That’s Ashley’s new passion. It goes with her age, I guess. She and a couple of friends are sleeping at the dressage school.”

  “Isn’t that an expensive hobby?” Bo asked, knowing it was none of his business.

  Matt’s sigh sounded heartfelt. “Money isn’t a big problem when your stepfather is the nose-man of the stars.”

  “I take it you’re referring to plastic surgery, not cocaine.”

  “Dr. Al,” Matt said, snorting with disgust. “Don’t get me started.” He sat up a little straighter. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here? Isn’t New York the last place on earth you want to be? You heard about your old man, right? He moved in with his mistress a month or so ago.”

  Bo’s stomach gripped what was left of his airplane food and punched it toward his throat. He swallowed the taste of bile. “Yeah, I got the lowdown when I spoke to my mother.”

  “How’s Aunt Ruth taking it?”

  Bo shrugged, grateful the traffic wasn’t as constipated as usual. He pictured his mother at Ren and Sara’s wedding last August—his father had claimed a prior commitment. Short and a little pudgy, Ruth Lester never seemed to change. She’d worn her salt-and-pepper hair in the same style—a chin-length page-boy—for twenty years. “She sounds more resigned than hurt,” Bo said truthfully. “I got the impression she finds his behavior a bit silly but not all that surprising given his age and gender.”

  Matt seemed to swallow a laugh. “That Ruth is one cool lady. My mother would have my dad’s balls embalmed and strung on a necklace.”

  Bo smiled. He hadn’t planned to see either of his parents this trip, but a nagging sense of guilt made him wonder if his mother was truly as blasé about the news as she’d sounded. Maybe he’d find some time tomorrow to look in on her at work.

  Following Matt’s pointers, Bo pulled the Jeep into a parking garage three blocks from Matt’s apartment building. “How much does this set you back a month?” he asked, curious.

  Matt groaned. “Enough to send my daughter to Harvard. I’m seriously considering moving. Maybe Sacramento,” he said, flippantly. “Got a job for me, Cuz?”

  Bo had never heard such a defeated tone in his cousin’s voice. Matt was the proverbial golden boy—the person to emulate. Handsome, smart, top student, heroic cop. He was four years younger than Bo—which would make him 36 years old. What happened? Bo wanted to ask, but he knew that would have to wait for the morning, too.

  CLAUDIE TOOK her time admiring the chiseled faces of the Mount Rushmore National Monument. When she’d called the prison early that morning, she’d been told her name would have to be added to Zach’s visitor list before she’d be allowed to see him. Her disappointment must have traveled through the phone line because the control-room guard told her they would try to expedite the process. She was told to show up Saturday at twelve-thirty and they would let her know.

  Since Claudie had never traveled as a tourist, she decided to make the most of this opportunity, starting with the Black Hills of South Dakota. She’d headed north out of Cheyenne and soon found herself in some of the prettiest country she’d ever seen.

  She’d stopped for breakfast in a cute little town called Custer, then paid a remarkable fee to see a hole in a hillside, which if you squinted was starting to take on the shape of Crazy Horse. The project truly was a labor of love, and she hadn’t regretted the expenditure once she learned the whole story behind the mammoth undertaking. After Rushmore, she planned to hit a few tourist spots around Rapid City, ending her afternoon with a tour of the Badlands. Tonight, she planned to stay at a place called Wall Drug, then on Friday she’d complete her trip across the state to Sioux Falls.

  As Claudie leaned forward for a better view, an older woman accidentally jostled her elbow. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” Claudie said, slightly embarrassed by the way she’d jumped back. Old habits, she thought, moving away to take a seat at a small bench. She watched the woman interact with a man, presumably her husband. The couple were taking turns snapping pictures of each other with the four faces in the background. Without really intending to, Claudie rose and approached them. “Would you like me to take one of the two of you together?” she asked.

  The woman let out a small of squeal of delight. “That would be great. This is our fortieth anniversary. We were married in The Little Chapel in the Woods,” she said, apparently assuming Claudie was familiar with the place.

  “Congratulations,” Claudie said.

  The husband put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and hugged her close. He was a distinguished-looking man with a kind face. Claudie snapped two photos then handed the camera back to the man. “Thank you, miss,” he said with a pleasant smile. “Do you have a camera? We could return the favor.”

  Startled by the question, Claudie realized she’d never owned a camera, and aside from the photos of Sara’s wedding, she had very few pictures of herself. “No, I don’t, but that’s a good idea. I saw one of those disposables for sale in the gift shop. I think I’ll buy one.”

  He nodded and smiled, as if pleased to have contributed to her trip. “Well, we’ll be drifting around here for another hour or so. If you want to find us, we’d be happy to do the honors.”

  She hurried to the shop and made the purchase before she could change her mind. Maybe if they turn out, I’ll give one to Brady, she told herself. And Bo.

  BO AWOKE to the smell of coffee. Grudgingly he opened one eye. Sunlight streamed through the room’s single window, highlighting spots of rust on the ornate bars. “Why does a cop have bars on the windows?” he asked, sensing his cousin’s presence in the adjacent kitchen.

  “Ex-cop,” a disembodied voice returned.

  “Is that official?” Bo aske
d, sitting up.

  There hadn’t been much chitchat once they’d reached the apartment last night. Matt’s eyes had been at half-mast. He’d handed Bo a set of sheets and a blanket and pointed to the couch. “It folds out or you can sleep on it that way. It’s not bad,” he’d said. “I slept on it for a full year before Sonya kicked me out.”

  His cousin entered the room carrying two steaming mugs. “With sugar, right?” Matt asked. “Mom always called you Mr. Sweet Tooth.”

  Bo took the cup, inhaling the aroma. “Yep, and your sister always called me Mr. Sweet Spot. I bet Aunt Irene didn’t know that.” Chuckling, he asked, “How is Deborah, anyway? Last I heard she was married to a banker and had a dozen kids.”

  “Jack’s a stockbroker and they have four kids, two are adopted. Deb’s great. Is there something about this ‘Sweet Spot’ name I should know?”

  Bo laughed at his cousin’s suspicious look. “You ought to be ashamed of those incestuous thoughts. Deborah used to tickle me until I’d cry. At the time she was bigger than me, but I bet I could take her now.”

  Matt visibly relaxed. “Do you want something to eat? I bought Cheerios…for Ashley.”

  Bo planted his feet on the floor and rose, stretching. “What time is it?”

  “A quarter after eleven,” Matt said sheepishly. “I guess neither of us thought about setting an alarm.”

  Bo experienced a momentary jolt of panic, but took a deep breath and let it out. “No biggie. You’re gonna crack this case wide-open in a matter of minutes, right?”