Glen shook his head. “Yeah, you’re right, but I have no idea what’s going on.”
“I think we should find out, don’t you?”
Glen didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want to pry into his parents’ lives, but at the same time, he’d begun to worry about them.
In fact, he was just as worried as Cal.
Sheriff Adam Jordan hadn’t been in the best mood since that last visit with Jeannie French. He was still trying to figure out why she didn’t want to see him. Either she was interested in someone else or she was already involved—maybe, as he was beginning to suspect, with some guy from Brewster. She didn’t wear a ring, though. And as far as he knew, she wasn’t seeing anyone from around here. But a woman this special, this attractive, didn’t go unnoticed. Not in Promise, Texas. Not anywhere in Texas.
Adam sat at his desk attempting to do his paperwork, but in reality he was mulling over his options, which appeared to be damned few. Jeannie was off-limits; she’d said as much herself. He had to respect her wishes. He might not like it, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He’d just about decided to accept his fate when Frank Hennessey walked into the office.
“You look sadder’n a dead mule,” Frank said. Without waiting for an invitation, he grabbed a chair and dragged it beside Adam’s desk, which had been Frank’s not so long ago. “Don’t tell me that pretty little teacher’s still got you down.”
Adam couldn’t see any reason to pretend. Frank had a way about him that made it impossible to hold things back. It was one reason he’d been the best damn lawman Adam had ever known. Frank had the ability to look a man in the eye and without a word make it perfectly clear that he would settle for nothing but the truth. Even the most accomplished liars—like Richard Weston—quailed under Sheriff Frank Hennessey’s basilisk gaze.
“I think there’s someone else,” Adam said. It was easier to accept than the excuse she’d given him.
Frank shook his head. “Who? I don’t remember hearing that she’s hooked up with anyone.”
That was the problem; Adam didn’t, either. “There has to be some other guy. Why else would she tell me she wasn’t interested?” Adam refused to believe her rejection had been personal. On the other hand, if she was seeing someone, wouldn’t it be simpler to say so? Hmm. Maybe she had to keep the relationship a secret because—
“You know what I’d do if I were you?” Frank asked. He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands behind his head.
“What?” Not that Adam really wanted to know.
“I’d ask her a second time. School’s gonna be out soon. So you better get movin’.”
Adam dismissed that concern. “I heard she’s staying in town for the summer. But what if I ask her out again and she refuses?” Adam had already thought about trying again, but there was such a thing as pride. Without much effort, Jeannie had managed to stomp all over his, and he wasn’t sure he was up to more of the same. “She’s already kicked me in the teeth once.”
“Well, so what if she turns you down? It won’t kill you.” Frank gave a short bark of a laugh. “Show her you’ve got a little gumption. After all, you haven’t exactly put your best foot forward with that girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“You locked her keys in the car!”
“That was an accident,” Adam protested.
“You looked like a numbskull.”
Adam flushed. Frank was right, and locking her keys in the car wasn’t the worst of it, either. The first time they’d met, he’d been following her down a flight of stairs and inadvertently stepped on the hem of her dress. If not for his quick reflexes, she would have fallen. Her skirt had ripped, too. Frank didn’t know about that one. And not so long ago, he’d walked up behind her at the post office. He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but when she turned around and found him there, she gave a small yelp and her mail went flying in every direction. He hadn’t known what to say, so he’d helped her gather her mail, then stood back helplessly and watched her race out of the building as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. So asking her to dinner again didn’t seem like a very good idea.
Adam scowled, preferring to change the subject. He didn’t want to think about Jeannie French, yet she was constantly on his mind.
“Aren’t you and Dovie leaving for Europe soon?” he asked pointedly.
“Yup. We’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” Frank said agreeably. He grinned, and Adam wondered if Frank was deriving some kind of twisted pleasure from making him uncomfortable.
“Did you stop by for an actual reason?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.
Frank narrowed his eyes and shook his head as if to say it was a sad day in Promise when the community elected Adam Jordan to the office of sheriff. “She’s been in town what—about ten months now, right?”
“Right,” Adam concurred with a sigh. “About that.” Obviously Frank wasn’t going to let the matter drop.
“The Cattlemen’s Dance is coming up in June,” Frank said, examining his fingernails. “Seems to me a new schoolteacher’s kind of obliged to make an appearance at one of the town’s biggest social events of the year. Don’t you think?”
Adam’s spirits lifted and he straightened. One thing was certain; if he didn’t ask her to the Cattlemen’s Dance, someone else would. If she was going to reject him, well, so be it. But he wanted to be first in line in case she had a change of heart.
Adam sprang from his chair and scooped his hat from the peg on the door.
“Where you goin’?” Frank called after him.
Frank should be able to figure it out, but Adam told him, anyway. “To ask Jeannie French to the Cattlemen’s Dance. Where else?”
Frank nodded approvingly. “Don’t take no for an answer, either, you hear?”
“That’s up to Jeannie,” Adam said. He passed Al Green heading into the station and laughed out loud when he heard Frank ask the deputy if there were any crises that needed handling.
Adam was driving toward Promise Elementary when he saw a deep blue Toyota that looked just like Jeannie’s turn into the Winn-Dixie parking lot. He made a left-hand turn himself, hoping fate was with him for once.
It was. He waited as Jeannie got out of her car and entered the store, all the while rehearsing what he’d say.
True, the grocery store didn’t allow him any privacy, but he wanted this invitation to seem spur-of-the-moment. As though he’d run into her by chance. As though asking her to the dance had occurred to him the very second he spoke to her.
Feeling better than he had in days, Adam loped into the store and collected a cart. The office was about out of coffee; he might as well add a package of filters, too. Never mind that the department had about ten thousand of them stacked in the kitchen.
It took him fifteen minutes to locate Jeannie French. By then, he’d added cookies, coffee cream, paper towels and a number of other things to the cart. He’d be lucky to escape for under fifty bucks. The woman was already costing him money—and she hadn’t even agreed to go out with him yet!
“Ms. French,” he said as he pulled his grocery cart alongside hers. He noticed she’d chosen the same brand of pecan cookies he had. He saw this as a positive sign.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff.” Her greeting was cordial, if a little reserved.
To Adam, she seemed prettier every time he saw her. Today she wore a white silky blouse with frothy strips of lace bordering the row of buttons on either side. She’d paired it with a slim black skirt that reached midcalf. She looked elegant, sophisticated, classy. Adam approved.
“I, uh, was wondering if you had a few minutes,” he said, when he realized he was staring.
“Ms. French! Ms. French!” Emma Bishop, Travis Grant’s stepdaughter, raced up just then, a look of panic in her eyes. “I can’t believe I found you. Do you know where the spare key to the card catalog is? I volunteered to work in the school library this afternoon and I can’t remember where I put it.”
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“Emma, of course. The spare key’s in my purse. Oh, dear, I do hope you haven’t lost the other one.”
The two carried on an animated conversation over the missing key while Adam was left to twiddle his thumbs.
“Excuse me.” A grandmotherly woman approached him. “Can I tempt you into sampling our new barbecue sauce?” She led him to a card table draped in a red-checkered tablecloth and holding several trays of small white cups. These were filled with nibbles of chicken speared on toothpicks and liberally doused with Texas Fred’s Sizzlin’ Barbecue Sauce.
It’d been several hours since lunch and Adam didn’t object to trying a piece of chicken. He helped himself to a cup and had to admit it was some of the best barbecue sauce he’d ever tasted.
“Take one for your lady friend,” the woman suggested.
Adam hesitated, then thought it couldn’t hurt his cause. It was never a bad idea to come bearing gifts, even small ones. He could see that the conversation between Jeannie and Emma was almost finished. Jeannie had handed the girl a key, and Emma was nodding solemnly.
Adam started toward Jeannie at the same time as the girl turned down the aisle, moving rapidly in his direction. Seconds later she slammed into him. The force of the jolt knocked him back a couple of steps, but he maintained his balance. However, the accident was not without consequences. The small white cup filled with chicken and barbecue sauce flew out of his hand. Adam watched in horror as it soared between him and Jeannie and landed squarely in the middle of her chest. In the middle of her lacy white blouse.
She screamed and leaped back as the bright red sauce spattered her and the paper cup fell to the ground.
“Oh, Ms. French!” Emma cried in fright, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have been running.”
Jeannie’s shocked disbelieving gaze was riveted on her blouse.
Adam pulled his handkerchief from his hip pocket. “Here,” he said.
Jeannie bit her lower lip. “This is the first time I’ve worn it.”
“Oh,” Adam murmured, holding the cloth in one hand and his heart in the other. Every time he was anywhere near this woman something awful happened. Something for which he was responsible.
Jeannie accepted the handkerchief. She seemed about to cry. She did her best to dab off the worst of the mess, but that only made the stain worse.
“It’s my fault,” Emma wailed, sounding close to tears herself.
“No one’s to blame here,” Jeannie said, but she refused to look at Adam. “I think it might be best if I just went home.”
“I’ll drive you,” he offered, figuring that was the least he could do.
“Thank you, but no.” Her voice shook slightly.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” He was willing to offer her his life savings, his badge, his—
“No,” she said miserably. “You’ve already done quite enough.”
Days like this it was pure pleasure to be a writer. The words flowed effortlessly onto the computer screen as Travis Grant worked on the latest in his T.R. Grant series, called Billy the Kid and Jessie the Teen. His publisher was sure to change the title, but it was fine for now. He always needed a working title, no matter how clumsy.
Nell’s writing desk was placed against his; that meant they faced each other when they worked on their respective books. After winning first prize in the local chili contest a few years ago and selling the use of her recipe to a restaurant in town, Nell had gathered together her family’s favorite recipes. Sometime within the next year, her first Texas cookbook would be published. Travis was very proud of her.
Nell had run an emergency errand in town after Emma had phoned about some disaster concerning a key for the library. She hadn’t returned yet.
Leaning back in his chair, Travis threaded his fingers behind his head and read the computer screen, convinced he was a genius. Either that or a fake. No one should get paid the amount of money he did and enjoy his work so much.
The phone on his desk pealed, disturbing his moment of self-appreciation. He grabbed it rather than risk waking the twins from their nap. Dianna and Devon had recently turned two.
“Hello,” he said absently.
“Travis, is that really you? My goodness, you sound as if you’re in the next room, instead of the wilds of Texas.”
He looked up from the computer at the sound of his ex-wife’s voice. It’d been months—no, longer, perhaps a year—since they’d talked. While the divorce had been friendly, or as friendly as any divorce was likely to be, he had no reason to keep in touch with Val. He would always be grateful to his ex-wife, though. Indirectly, she was the person responsible for his meeting Nell. Val would never have guessed that when she persuaded him to go to Texas to check out Richard Weston’s story about a ghost town.
“What can I do for you, Val?” he asked a little warily.
“Aren’t you going to ask how I am?” she responded sweetly.
“No.” No use pretending, Travis thought.
“Well, then I’ll ask you. How are you? How’s the family?”
She wanted something. Travis recognized the slightly pleading sound in her voice. They’d been married for eight years, after all.
“You and Nell had twins, right? Boys? Girls? One of each? I can’t remember now, but it was a real surprise, wasn’t it?”
“One of each,” Travis supplied. “Dianna and Devon.”
“How cute. Planning any more additions to the family?” she asked, ignoring the lack of welcome in his voice.
Travis didn’t think that was any concern of hers. “What makes you ask?”
“I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.”
He decided to change the subject. “How’s New York?”
“You’d know if you visited more often.”
After he’d married Nell, Travis had decided to keep his Manhattan condo, but his visits had become few and far between. Once last year and twice the year before. He didn’t like being separated from Nell and the children. As it was, promotion tours kept him away more than he liked. In fact, he was seriously considering putting the condo on the market. Perhaps that was the reason for Val’s unexpected call, something to do with the apartment.
“Did you hear Charlie and I divorced last year?” she asked.
So Val was already through with marriage number two. “No. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I never should have left you.”
Travis didn’t believe her, not for a minute. He’d been a struggling young writer when they first met, while she’d recently passed the bar. They’d fallen into bed and then into marriage, far too soon to know their own minds. It had been a stupid mistake on his part, one he’d paid for dearly in the years that followed. Val had scorned his writing and his chances of success and soon left him for one of the senior partners in her law firm, Charles Langley. A year or so after she’d remarried, Travis’s children’s-book series had begun to succeed—beyond his expectations, and certainly beyond hers.
“Did you call to cry on my shoulder?” he asked, remembering the many arguments in which she’d urged him to “get a real job.”
“Of course,” she joked and laughed lightly. “Actually, I do have another reason.”
“I thought you would.”
“Do you and Nell still have that dude ranch?”
Now, why would she need to know that? The dude ranch was in operation, but only on a limited basis and only in late summer. Mostly it catered to senior citizens. Since Nell no longer needed the income, several retired ranchers had more or less taken over the operation. They delighted in leading groups of greenhorns around the countryside. Travis got a kick out of watching these men and women in their sixties and seventies get on a horse for the first time in their lives. Granted, the horses Nell gave them were generally ready for retirement themselves, but the “senior dudes” enjoyed the sense of adventure, the camaraderie and the outdoor experience. His mother-in-law, Ruth Bishop, managed all the paperwork, plus tag
ged along as cook.
“Why?” he asked bluntly. He hated to sound suspicious, but he simply didn’t trust Val.
“I was thinking of taking a vacation and visiting your area.”
“You’re coming to Texas?” He didn’t try to hide his surprise. Val was as urban as they came. “Whatever for?”
“I need some time away and you seem very impressed with the great state of Texas. After reading what you’ve written about it, I figured I’d have a look for myself.”
Travis counted to ten to keep from saying something he might later regret.
“I was hoping you’d be willing to rent me a room,” she went on.
“There’s a wonderful bed-and-breakfast in town,” he suggested.
“I tried booking a room there, but apparently the Pattersons aren’t taking guests these days.”
Travis hadn’t heard that, but Val must’ve called them; otherwise she wouldn’t have known their name. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come to Promise,” he finally said.
“Why not?” Val challenged.
“If you’re so interested in Texas, try San Antonio,” Travis murmured. “Or Dallas. Or Houston—plenty to entertain you there.” No way in hell did he want Val anywhere near Nell and his family. The two women had never met and that was the way Travis preferred to keep it.
“But I want to see the hill country—Promise and the ghost town and everything,” Val purred, just like she always did when she was intent on getting her own way. It astonished Travis that he could ever have thought himself in love with this woman.
“Goodbye, Val,” he said firmly.
“I’ll call back in a couple of days.” He heard her words as he replaced the receiver.
“That was Val?”
Travis glanced up to find Nell framed in the doorway. She was a large woman, tall and big-boned, but graceful. From the beginning, he’d seen real beauty in her strong features and honest expression. It seemed a miracle that they’d found each other. He’d been soured on love and marriage; Nell was a widow who’d still grieved the only man she’d ever loved. Nell and her family had welcomed him into their home on a stormy night, his first night in Texas. That storm was the beginning of his new life….
Promise, Texas Page 8
