Front Page Love

by Paige Lee Elliston

  “I guess all we can do is keep on keeping on,” Julie said. “I know that sounds silly and lightweight, but I think it’s the basic thing about our people—they never give up, and they keep on keeping on, no matter how difficult it is.”

  Danny nodded and turned to face her. The air was completely still, and not even the call of a night bird broke the silence. Their eyes met, and Danny put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him. For a long moment, Julie didn’t speak—neither of them spoke.

  “Danny?” she finally said, her voice husky and strained.

  “Mmm?”

  “My shoulder harness,” she choked out. “It’s strangling me.”

  Danny released her immediately, a stricken look on his face. Their eyes met again as Julie settled back in her seat and took a deep breath. She was the first to giggle, but Danny joined her in a heartbeat. Then they were both laughing—heartily, uproariously, much harder than the event really deserved. But it was the unexpected joy of relief, of quick giddiness amidst difficulty, and it felt very good to Julie.

  Sunday rearranged himself in front of Julie and poked her with his snout. She leaned forward. “We can’t leave Sunny out of a hug,” she said.

  Danny leaned awkwardly toward Julie and the collie, reaching for them with his arms. “No—we can’t,” he said.

  The rest of the ride to Coldwater was uneventful, and Julie and Danny were comfortable in the silence.

  Danny is opening up to me—finally. He let me inside his defenses, and what a sweet and sensitive man I found there. She glanced over at him. There may be something here for both of us, she thought. Strangely, her mind flashed a picture of the cop, Ken Townsend. The image vaguely disturbed her—perhaps irritated her—and she chased it away by concentrating on Danny.

  A dozen or more pickups, cars, and a couple of SUVs were pulled to the long curb that fronted Drago’s on Main Street. The street itself was littered with the detritus of the storm. A large sheet of plywood hung from the few nails that still held it to the frame of the front window of a defunct book and music store. The tumbleweeds had found their way to Coldwater as well and were as ubiquitous as pedestrians and shoppers used to be. One scudded by, broomed along by the breeze that had just arisen, as Danny, Julie, and Sunday climbed out of the truck. They watched it until it stopped against the rear wheel of an old Chevrolet Blazer.

  Danny left the collie out in front on the sidewalk with a stay command. The front door to Drago’s was cracked vertically for almost its full length. Duct tape had been applied from the inside. The aroma of broiling hamburgers, onions, and strong coffee filled the diner. Julie took a booth and waved to a few friends, while Danny waited at the counter. He asked for three raw burgers and a soup bowl of cold water. When his order had been filled he took the paper plate and the water back outside to his dog, crouched, scratched Sunday for a moment, and returned to the restaurant. He ordered three hamburgers—cooked, this time—two plates of French fries, two coffees, an order of onion rings, and two large soft drinks.

  Danny had been right about the attire and degree of cleanliness of the patrons at the diner, Julie noticed. Men and women were grubby, sweaty, and tired. They slouched in their chairs and in the booths like weary soldiers after a long, hard march. The level of conversation was subdued, but every so often short bursts of laughter rang out, and the person laughing invariably looked embarrassed when Julie’s eyes found him or her.

  She watched Danny standing at the counter as he waited for their order. With this much of a crowd it was quicker to wait at the counter than to wait for a harried waitress to make the trip to a booth or table.

  A complex man—and a good man. But in the past it’s always seemed like something was holding him back from becoming really close. Am I certain that there’s no one else in his life, no other romantic interest?

  “Hey, Julie—I see you survived the storm.”

  Julie pulled her gaze away from Danny, slightly flustered for a moment. Ken Townsend stood at the booth, looking down at her, his teeth white against the tan of his face. He was dressed in jeans, boots, and a sleeveless sweatshirt with a washed-out picture of Daffy Duck on its front.

  “I imagine you’ve been busy today, Ken,” she said.

  He nodded. “May I?” He motioned to the bench seat across from Julie.

  “Sure. I’m with Danny Pulver—he’s getting our food. Do you know him?”

  “I know the name, but we haven’t met yet. He’s the vet, right? He owns that beautiful collie I saw outside?”

  “That’s Danny,” Julie said. “So—were you really busy?”

  “Yeah—patrolling, mostly, and some traffic control earlier. Nothing I could do about the storm except be around when people needed me. I saw lots of damage to houses and barns, stuff like that. There’s been no injuries to anyone so far, though, and I’m grateful for that. Some of the McKee cattle were roaming, but Sam and his boys went out on horseback and rounded them up. Either a section of fence blew down or the cattle panicked and rammed it, Sam said.” He sighed. “I finished my regular shift and then cruised on my own, seeing if anyone needed help with anything. I guess the worst is over. Now it’s just a matter of putting things back together.”

  Julie looked at Ken as he sat down. So, she noticed, were the women and young girls who were in any proximity to the booth.

  Danny walked up, balancing a plastic tray piled with food and drinks. Julie smiled and shifted close to the wall to give him room to sit next to her. “Do you know Ken Townsend, Danny?” she asked.

  Danny set the tray on the table and extended his hand. “Danny Pulver,” he said. “Good to meet you, Ken.” The two men shook hands. “Going to eat with us?”

  “I’d love to—I’m starved.” Then, Ken seemed to reconsider. “Unless I’d be . . . ?”

  Danny waved away Ken’s question. “A guy’s gotta eat, right? Anyway, I’ve seen you wheeling around in that rocket the PD gave you. It’s a 427, isn’t it?”

  Ken smiled proudly. “Five-speed, heavy-duty clutch, handling package, channeled exhausts, zero to eighty in about seven seconds—the whole smash.”

  “Wow,” Danny breathed. “What’s the top end?”

  “I’ll tell you this,” Ken said with a grin. “The police speedometer stops at 140. The tachometer doesn’t stop anywhere. I’d estimate about a hundred and a half flat out in fifth gear. There’s lots of long, empty roads around here . . .”

  Danny nodded as if he and Ken were partners agreeing on something that influenced them both.

  “Gee, this sure is interesting,” Julie said and then faked a yawn.

  Danny and Ken glanced at one another and broke out in laughter. “Sorry, Julie,” Danny said, “but I was a gearhead through high school, and cars like Ken’s have always fascinated me.”

  “Sorry, Julie—I got carried away too, I guess,” Ken said.

  “I was only teasing,” Julie assured him.

  “How did your places come through the storm?” Ken asked.

  “I had a little damage but nothing major,” Julie said. “Now I’ve got a desert in my house. I ran out to the barn without shutting the windows—or the kitchen door. It’s kind of a mess.”

  “After we eat we’re going to clean it up,” Danny said. “I’ve got a Shop-Vac that’ll do most of the work.”

  “Need another strong back?” Ken offered. “I’m off duty and don’t have a thing to do. I’d love to help out.”

  “Oh, Ken—that’s not necessary.”

  “Umm . . . many hands make work light and all that,” Danny said. “Thanks for the offer.”

  Ken shoved out of the booth. “I’ll get some burgers and chow down with you, then. Anyone need anything else from the counter?”

  Danny and Julie shook their heads, since they’d both taken bites of their hamburgers. Danny swallowed and took a sip of soft drink. “Ken seems like a nice guy,” he said.

  Julie nodded. “He is. I think he’s a good cop too. He was out cru
ising after he finished his shift, he told me, looking for anyone who needed help.”

  “Does he have family here?” Danny asked.

  “No—when I interviewed him he told me he was single. He was a private investigator in Billings for several years before joining up with the Coldwater PD.”

  “Those PIs have always fascinated me, just like fast cars,” Danny said, picking up a french fry. “It’ll be interesting to talk to him about that.”

  Ken came back and took his seat across from Danny and Julie. His tray held two hamburgers, two orders of French fries, and a pair of large coffees in Styrofoam cups.

  They ate in companionable silence, listening to the muted buzz of conversation around them as more people dropped by the café. Finally, they sat finishing their drinks.

  “Time to get to it?” Ken asked.

  “Might just as well,” Danny said. “We’re going to stop and pick up my vacuum.” He looked at Julie. “How about giving Ken directions to your place?”

  “I know where it is,” Ken said.

  Danny’s and Julie’s eyes met for a second, and then Danny looked back at his coffee cup. “Great. See you there, then.”

  Julie settled against the passenger door, Sunday at her feet in his usual riding position. Danny drove carefully, using his high beams as his eyes swept the road for things dropped by the storm.

  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she said. “I just about inhaled my hamburger.”

  “Me too,” Danny agreed.

  Julie reflected on the meal and the conversation, her eyes following the cones of light cast by the headlamps. She smiled to herself. I was the queen of the café with those two guys hovering around me. There wasn’t a woman in the place who wasn’t checking out our booth. Julie admitted to herself that the attention—the admiration—felt pretty good.

  Danny and Ken seemed to take to one another right away. I’d like them to be friends. And it’s so nice of Ken to offer to pitch in with the cleanup. I wonder what he’s up to? Just bored or maybe a little lonely? Maybe interested in me as a friend—or more? The candy bars and now helping out at home . . .

  Just hold your horses, she chided herself. Ken wants to fit into Coldwater. And he has no family and doesn’t know a whole lot of people here. He’s just being friendly.

  “I won’t be a minute,” Danny said as he pulled to a stop next to his home. “The vac’s in the shed.” He opened his door and stepped out of the truck. Sunday bounded out after him. “I’m going to leave Sunny here, I think,” Danny said. “He’ll be in the way at your place.”

  Julie opened her door and walked over to the barn, where Danny’s Appaloosa, Dakota, was standing. Dakota leaned his neck over his stall, and Julie stroked him. “Yuck,” she said. His coat was thick with loose dirt. “Been rolling since the storm, hey, Dakota?”

  She heard the slam of the back door of the truck. “Ready, Julie?” Danny called. She gave a final scratch to the horse’s muzzle and turned back to the truck.

  Cleaning great quantities of fine dust and dirt from inside the house was a formidable task. Even if a section of hardwood floor appeared clean, walking over it in boots resulted in a grinding, crackling sound that Danny, Julie, and Ken quickly learned to hate.

  The shovel and bucket labor in the kitchen and the hallway came first. At first they were trying to work too fast and as a consequence were getting in one another’s way. After Ken had inadvertently speared Danny in the stomach with the end of his shovel, they decided that Julie should take her bedroom and leave the kitchen, at least, to the men. With one person fewer in the room, the mound diminished quickly.

  Julie ran the Shop-Vac in her bedroom, amazed at the strength of the suction the machine offered. But as she walked across an expanse of floor that looked bare and clean, she crunched on a minute layer of grit left behind. She sighed, ran the back of her hand across her forehead, and clicked on the vac once again. The roar of the vacuum and the mindless repetition of the work insulated her from the rest of the world as she cleaned. When she turned off the vacuum twenty minutes later, her shirt was almost sopping wet with sweat and her lower back was burning. She plopped down heavily on her bed and sat on its edge. From downstairs bits of the conversation between Ken and Danny reached her. She listened with half a mind until she caught the name Maggie.

  “. . . a really great lady,” Danny’s voice said. “But it didn’t work out. She married Ian Lane, the minister here.”

  “That’s too bad,” Ken said. After a moment, he added, “I had a similar thing back in Billings a few years ago. Linda was her name. It just didn’t work out.” There was another pause. “I would’ve married her in a second.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.” Danny’s voice didn’t sound particularly sad, but there was weight to the statement that seemed more important than the sum of the words.

  Julie listened to the shovels scraping the linoleum and the shh sound of soil being dumped into buckets. The right thing to do would be to turn on the vacuum cleaner and get back to work, she realized. Listening to a conversation she wasn’t a part of was bad manners, a sort of duplicity that Julie disliked in others—and in herself. Nevertheless, she made no move from where she sat.

  “I guess things usually work out for the best,” Ken said.

  “You don’t sound like you believe that.”

  “Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. I was kinda shocked when Linda and I broke up, but moping gets old, you know?”

  “Mmm,” Danny responded noncommittally.

  The men worked, grunting occasionally, as they lifted full shovels. They’d apparently staggered their times going out the door to dump their buckets near the barn in order to avoid walking into one another.

  “Have you been seeing Julie long?” Ken asked.

  “Not real long, no.” Danny’s answer wasn’t terse exactly, but it had a different sound that hadn’t been present before.

  “Hey—I didn’t mean to—”

  Danny’s laugh sounded forced to Julie. “Forget it. How about telling me about your PI work?” The rapid change of subject was apparently welcome to both men.

  “Surveillance, Danny—that’s the entire job description. I’ve spent more hours sitting in my car trying to stay awake and alert than I can count. One time I was watching a guy who’d ripped off the firm he worked for . . .”

  Julie stood and walked to the vacuum. Again, its roar separated her from the world but not from her thoughts. “Not real long, no.” What did he mean by that? Haven’t we been friends for over a year? Almost two years? Maybe that’s not really seeing one another . . . but still . . . An uninvited and unwanted headline appeared in Julie’s consciousness:

  Devious, Snooping Reporter Gets Just What She Deserves

  Ken and Danny, finally finished with the kitchen, moved their operations into the living room. The dirt and dust hadn’t accumulated as heavily in there, and the cleanup consisted of thorough dusting, gathering loose papers that had been blown about, and vacuuming the carpet.

  Julie, satisfied with her bedroom after walking across its wonderfully crunch-free floor, moved on to the bathroom after giving up the vac to the men.

  Ultimately the cleaning crew—tired, grimy, and sweaty but triumphant—met at the kitchen table. Julie passed out cans of soda and sank into a chair. “I just checked on Drifter again,” she said. “He’s fine. Alert, scrounging for an apple. He’s as good as new.”

  “I looked in on him a few times too, when I was out emptying my bucket,” Danny said. “He’s happy as can be—all the attention he’s getting.”

  Julie looked around the kitchen. “You guys are wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you. It would’ve taken me forever to clean up this mess.”

  “No big deal,” Ken said. He smiled. “Although I’ll tell you what—next storm, lock the place down, OK?”

  “Absolutely. I promise.”

  “Your kitchen window looks like a standard size,” Danny said. “The frame is sh
ot, but they’re sold as a unit. I’ll pick one up at the hardware store and put it in for you. And I’ll clean and oil the track on the barn door too.”

  “Terrific. Just charge the window to my name, and I’ll stop by and pay for it.”

  “Anything else I can help with?” Ken asked.

  “Not a thing—but again, thanks. I really appreciate all you’ve done.”

  “I actually kind of enjoyed it. Plus, Danny and I got to talk a little. I’m glad I decided to stop at the café.”

  “So are we,” Danny said.

  “I have an idea,” Julie said. “How about if next Wednesday I broil some steaks and make a fancy meal for my two heroes? Kind of a thank-you dinner. What do you think?”

  “You’ve talked me into it. What can I bring?” Ken asked.

  “Nothing—just yourself. About 7:00? Danny?”

  “Sounds great to me. Sure—7:00 on Wednesday is fine.”

  Julie watched as Ken in the Ford cruiser followed Danny’s truck down the driveway to the road. When their taillights disappeared in the darkness she went into her now-clean home. Then came a moment she’d thought about longingly throughout the afternoon and night.

  The shower was wonderful.

  Sunday morning wake-up came very quickly for Julie. It had been well after 3:00 a.m. when she collapsed into the fresh sheets she’d put on her bed—and her alarm seemed to go off within seconds of closing her eyes. Even though she was in good shape, and the riding and barn work kept excess pounds away, her body ached as if she’d played a full game with the National Football League.

  As she walked into the barn, Drifter snorted as if chastising her for leaving him in his stall overly long. She led him across the aisle to a fresh stall, filled his grain bin and water bucket, and tossed a flake of hay to him. Her manure fork seemed to weigh as much as a telephone pole, and the wheelbarrow had somehow gained weight overnight, but she felt good when her chores were finished.