Making It Right (A Most Likely To Novel Book 3)

by Catherine Bybee

  Much as she wanted to crawl back into bed, she opted for a shower in case her father came home early. The man had the uncanny ability to smell alcohol on her skin after a night of drinking.

  Fifteen minutes later, with her hair wrapped in a towel and her bathrobe tied around her waist, she left her bathroom for the short walk down the hall to her bedroom.

  The outline of her father standing in the hall, holding a half-empty bottle of tequila, caused her to stumble to a stop.

  “Care to explain this?” His even, controlled voice always unnerved her.

  Jo’s breath caught in her chest.

  Her dad wasn’t a small man. Six two with a good 220 pounds of muscled bulk made him look like he needed to be a linebacker playing for the Ducks. Only instead of shoulder pads and a helmet, he wore a gun, a badge, and a hat on his head.

  She wanted to lie, somehow convince her dad the bottle wasn’t hers. But he had been the one to drop her off at Zoe’s the night before, and Jo didn’t want to rat her friends out.

  Instead of playing stupid, she stuck her chin a little higher in the air. “It was my graduation night.”

  “You’re eighteen.”

  “I didn’t drive.”

  “You don’t have a car.”

  “None of us drove.”

  He stood silent for the space of a breath; his eyes bore down on hers. “None of you . . . you mean Zoe and Mel?”

  It was Jo’s turn to play quiet.

  “Where did you get the liquor?” His voice was calm, almost too much so.

  “I’m not ratting out my friends.”

  “Zoe?”

  “No.”

  “Mel?”

  “No, Dad, stop. It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a little alcohol.” She moved past him and grabbed the duffel bag he’d rifled through to find her stash.

  “That Julian guy in Waterville?”

  The guy she needed the birth control pills for supplied her with more than booze.

  “Let it go, Dad. I’m an adult now.”

  She tried to move around him but he blocked her way.

  “Did you steal it?”

  Jo looked at the floor before remembering to make eye contact.

  Her hesitation was all her dad needed to sniff out the truth.

  “Damn it, JoAnne.”

  “I didn’t steal it,” she lied.

  “Bullshit.” His voice edged higher.

  “You never believe me.”

  “You’re always lying to me. Now tell me where you got this.” He waved Jose in the air.

  “No.”

  His jaw twitched. “I can’t have my daughter running around town stealing liquor from our neighbors.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Do I need to put you in handcuffs before you’re going to learn to keep your nose clean?”

  She shot both hands toward him, her wrists close together. “Go ahead, Dad. Arrest me for having a bottle of alcohol, something just about every kid in this town my age has access to.”

  Joseph slammed the bottle on the table. “That isn’t the point. You’re my daughter. I can’t have you breaking the law.”

  “Because you’re a cop.”

  “I’m the cop!”

  Something she’d always hated. “And because you play sheriff, I have to wear a fucking halo and pretend I’m prim and innocent.”

  “No one is expecting you to be a Disney character.”

  “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

  She tried to move around him again.

  He didn’t budge.

  “No more of this, JoAnne.”

  The noose of his presence, his uniform, started to cut off the air in the room.

  “I hate that you’re the sheriff.”

  Her words did nothing to him. She’d said them before.

  “I’m going to find out who this belongs to, and you’re going to face them, apologize, and hope they don’t want to press charges.”

  “No one presses charges against you, Dad.”

  “This isn’t about me. One of these days I’m not going to be able to stop you from sitting in that jail cell.”

  She glared at him. “So you believe what all those assholes at the school said about me, too?” Voted most likely to end up in jail had been her sentence from the graduating class at River Bend. And obviously her father had read that in her yearbook.

  “I believe that if you don’t start having a little humility, a little respect, you’re going to hate life.”

  “I already hate my life.”

  Her father visibly winced. “I’m not a perfect father, I know I’ve made mistakes, but you don’t have it that bad.”

  Her teenage hormones wanted to scream. “I’m a cop’s kid. I’ve always had to be something I’m not. Right now half the graduating class is waking up with a hangover, and I bet their parents are yelling at them.”

  “We’ve been through this—”

  “We have, and you know what? I don’t give a shit what you think.”

  “That’s enough!” He yelled loud enough to rattle the china in her late mother’s cabinet. “You will respect me in my home.”

  “What are you going to do, kick me out?”

  “If I have to.”

  He wouldn’t.

  Only his eyes said he meant business.

  “Is that what I have to do, JoAnne? Does something tragic have to happen in order for you to get your crap together?”

  She’d lost her mother to a car accident when she was just a kid, which helped prompt her rebellion.

  “High school is over,” he said as if she didn’t know. “You’re eighteen now. You get caught stealing, even liquor, and I have no choice but to put you behind bars. That doesn’t go off your record.”

  “You’re worried about how it will make you look.”

  “I’m worried about my kid screwing up her life for something as stupid as this.” He pointed to the bottle. “I think you should join the military.”

  She shook her head, the towel holding her hair started to come undone. “I’m not joining the military!”

  He lifted his hands in the air. “Well, you’re not doing this all summer. You’re getting a job if you’re living here.”

  “I help out at Sam’s.”

  “A real job. To keep you out of trouble.”

  “Where do you suggest I get one in this one-crap town?”

  Her dad stared her down. “I don’t know if you can get a job in this one-crap town since you can’t be trusted.”

  The image of the words in her yearbook scrolled in her mind: JoAnne Ward, most likely to end up in jail.

  Instead of saying anything else, she grabbed her bag from the table and shoved past her dad into her bedroom. She slammed the door and took less than two minutes pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. With wet hair, she charged into her bathroom, grabbed the cell phone and the charging cable, and went ahead and shoved her birth control pills into her bag. A few changes of clothes made it into her duffel before she stormed out of her childhood bedroom.

  Her father sat at the kitchen table, the half-empty bottle of tequila was winning a staring match.

  When he heard her, he glanced up.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To find a job,” she told him, having no intention of actually looking.

  He sighed. “Sit down, JoAnne. Let’s try and talk about this.”

  “Why? So you can tell me what a crappy kid I am? How I disgrace you and your position in this town? I don’t think so.” She ran out of the house and half jogged the five miles of back roads and shortcuts to Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast.

  Once on the steps of the inn, she dropped her bag and caught her breath.

  She hated her dad, hated this town.

  It choked her every damn day.

  The screen door to the inn opened, and Miss Gina, with her gray-speckled long hair, sixties throwback skirt, and flowing blouse plopped down beside J
o on the steps. “Well, look what the wind blew in.”

  “I hate him, Miss Gina.”

  Miss Gina wrapped an arm over Jo’s shoulders. “You don’t hate him.”

  “He doesn’t understand.”

  It took a lot to make Jo want to cry, but she was fighting back tears.

  “C’mon inside and you can tell me all about what Sheriff Ward doesn’t understand.”

  Chapter One

  Twelve years later

  Red and blue lights from Jo’s squad car lit up the night sky, and the rarely used siren bounced off the pine trees in eerie opposition to the quiet country road. Josie had called Jo personally to ask her to stop by and handle a couple of locals that were raising the anxiety levels at R&B’s. The only real bar in River Bend sat nestled off the main road leading out of town. It took Jo less than five minutes to climb into a ready uniform, strap on her duty belt, and back out of her driveway.

  Gravel churned under her tires as she pulled to an abrupt stop in the parking lot of Josie’s bar. A half a dozen motorcycles along with a dozen familiar pickups and off-road vehicles told her the place was close to capacity. Not surprising for a Friday night. She straightened her sheriff’s hat on her head and doubled her stride up the steps to the single-level tavern.

  Inside, music pumped from the jukebox, and the smell of stale beer from one too many party fouls wafted from the floor.

  She stopped just inside and scanned the room.

  Josie stood behind the bar, her eyes narrowing on Jo before she nodded toward the back of the room in a silent signal of where the trouble brewed.

  Jo wove her way through the bar, nodding in acknowledgment as many of the patrons said hello, using her first name instead of her title.

  Steve Richey and Billy Hoekman crowded a table opposite the Ryan brothers. The four men had been friends at one time, but that was before Dustin Ryan ditched Billy’s baby sister shortly after they were engaged. Never mind that the rumors around town were pointing to Billy’s sister having a second boyfriend in Waterville, the blame of the breakup went on Dustin. In their midtwenties, the four men should know better than to take their problems to the bar. Unfortunately, alcohol only brought out their differences in bright, shiny sparkles.

  A few yards away, separated by half a dozen people, Jo heard the jabs over the music and scraping of chairs on the old laminate floor, which was covered in a layer of sawdust to help soak up the nightly spills.

  “Let it go, Billy.” Cody was the younger Ryan by only a year. The two brothers didn’t give Jo any trouble, and as she saw it, were probably the ones keeping the fists from flying.

  Billy, on the other hand, had brushed elbows with her more than a few times. He wasn’t a happy drunk, but he knew better than to push her.

  “A man stands by his promises. Then again, maybe you’re not a man. Maybe you like men . . . that pretty face of yours probably attracts all kinds of boys when you’re in Eugene.”

  Dustin, who had been sitting with his fingers clutching a longneck beer, pushed his chair away from the table with the last insult and turned his six-foot frame toward his would-have-been brother-in-law.

  Everyone had a breaking point, and it looked like Dustin had met his.

  “Boys?” Jo stepped close enough to the party of four to be seen and heard, but far enough away to avoid a fist if one were thrown.

  Cody noticed Jo first and visibly took a step back.

  Dustin never stopped looking at Billy as he nearly bumped chests with the man.

  Steve flanked Billy’s side; his gaze skated over Jo with a look of contempt.

  “I’ve heard just about enough of your mouth, Billy Ray.”

  A few nearby patrons moved away from the five of them, and the noise in the bar started to dwindle. Everyone knew that Billy Ray didn’t like his middle name being used. It sounded hick, according to the man, and he refused to be labeled as such even if the title fit.

  Billy bumped up against Dustin, the move just shy of a shove.

  “You really wanna do this?” Billy asked.

  “Hello? Am I invisible?” Jo stepped closer.

  She knew both men saw her, but only Dustin hesitated.

  “C’mon, Dustin.” Cody took hold of his brother’s arm and pulled him back.

  Jo looked to Steve to do the same for his team.

  He didn’t.

  “I really don’t think your mother wants to bail you out of my jail, Billy. My guess is her hip still aches since her fall last winter.” Jo wasn’t above using family guilt to have her needs met. Besides, processing a bar fight and having to sleep in her chair all night because she had someone in the one holding cell in River Bend’s sheriff’s station didn’t sound like a good time for any of them.

  Buddy, the short-order cook from the back of the bar, stepped to the other side of the party, his size and presence there in support of Jo, should she need it. “Josie doesn’t want any trouble.”

  Jo watched the flick of the fingers, the twitching of the eyes . . . the breaths of both men facing each other off.

  Cody tugged his brother a second time and broke the tension. “He’s not worth it.”

  Dustin pulled out of his brother’s grip but did the right thing and backed away.

  Jo released the breath she held when Billy lowered his eyes for one brief second.

  His body language changed in a heartbeat and he charged Dustin’s turned back.

  Well, hell!

  Jo jumped in, one hand reaching for Billy’s wrist at the same time her forearm pushed into the space just above his elbow. With a pivot and a full-body push, Billy Ray Hoekman was flat on his face with Jo reaching for her handcuffs.

  He reared beneath her, would have had a shot at bucking her off if her knee wasn’t grinding into the man’s kidney. She took a breath only once he was cuffed.

  Cody held Dustin back, and Buddy stood between her and Steve.

  “Damn it, Billy . . . you just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

  “She’s my sister, Jo.”

  “That’s Sheriff to you, Mr. Hoekman. And Opal is capable of dealing with her own relationships. You don’t need to beat up her boyfriends in front of a cop.”

  Billy cussed in a not so quiet way, the sawdust pushing away from his open mouth as he lay on the floor. Every patron in the bar had their eyes focused on them. The only sound came from the jukebox, which blared out a Led Zeppelin song from the seventies.

  “Okay, folks. Show’s over.” Josie made her way to Jo’s side, shaking her head. She knelt down so Billy could hear. “I don’t wanna see you in here for six months, Billy . . . you got that?”

  “C’mon, Josie . . .” Even from the floor, Billy was trying to work his way back in.

  “Six months!”

  Jo brought Billy to his feet, sawdust stuck to the side of his face. He stumbled, evidently from one too many drinks. She glanced over to Steve, his eyes glossy. “I think you might need to walk home, Steve.”

  He shuffled his feet, turned away from Buddy, and walked out the back door.

  “Dustin, Cody . . . you should probably make your way home, too.” Jo didn’t expect an argument.

  The patrons of R&B’s parted a path and held the door open for her as she passed through. Buddy walked behind her as far as the bottom steps. “You got this?” he asked.

  Jo had to smile. “I’m good.”

  Hours later, Billy snored in the holding cell, and Jo clutched an ice bag to her left forearm. The takedown was going to leave a bruise. She lay down on the worn brown leather sofa in her dad’s old office and put her head on a tiny pillow.

  “You know, Dad,” she said to the ceiling, as if her father was hovering over her in some angelic, biblical way, “I always thought you were full of it when you said you slept on this couch. I always thought you had a girlfriend you were keeping from me when you didn’t come home at night.”

  The room grew silent when she stopped talking to the air.

  Her father di
dn’t answer.

  But she smiled into the thought that maybe he heard her as she closed her eyes and let the clock lure her to sleep.

  “Knock, knock!” Zoe’s voice shot Jo out of her sleep and straight up off the sofa.

  “Holy . . .”

  Daylight.

  Office.

  Bar fight.

  Billy Ray.

  She grabbed the back of her neck, certain she managed whiplash with the simple task of jumping from a dead sleep.

  “Did I wake you?” Zoe was all smiles and rainbows.

  “What time is it?” Jo closed her eyes against the light.

  “Six thirty.”

  Zoe held a basket that smelled of yeast and sugar. “Got a call from Josie late last night letting me know you were probably camped out here keeping watch over Billy Ray. I thought you might need something to eat.”

  Jo’s hand moved from her neck to her back as she stood. “I’m getting too old for this.”

  Zoe laughed as she turned away and into the center of the station. “You’re not even thirty.”

  “Another month.”

  Jo followed her out, forcing the kinks out of her joints with every step. She probably should get a new sofa for her office, even if the budget couldn’t afford her one. Summer always posed the opportunity for her to spend a night in her own jail. On the right side of the bars, at least.

  Jo glanced around the reception desk and scratched her head. “Is Glynis here?”

  Zoe removed what looked like something sinfully sweet, along with a small crock that smelled of eggs and cheese. “Nope. She doesn’t come in until eight, right?”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “C’mon, Jo . . . really? We’re the ones that hid the spare key the summer of our junior year.”

  She dumped yesterday’s day old coffee into the sink and rinsed it out. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

  “I can’t believe you talked me into breaking into your dad’s office back then.”

  “We didn’t break in . . . we had a key.”

  Zoe licked her finger as she leaned against the table. “Oh, yeah . . . and what would you say to anyone who gave you that line now?”

  Jo paused. “No wonder my dad was turning gray before he hit fifty.” She’d been thirty shades of shitty when she was a kid, something she could never atone for since her father was gone. She scooped out the coffee grounds and made a thick blend that would help her wake the dead, namely her.