by Jodi Thomas
Reagan fought down an unexpected smile. Jeremiah was treating the sheriff and the fire chief like they were ten years old.
Jeremiah motioned her into the house as the cart pulled away toward the apple trees. For a second she thought about calling them back, but something inside her knew she had to face the old man alone. She owed him that much. He had a right to have his say after what she’d done.
He went to the first room to the left of the front door. It looked like an old parlor Reagan had seen once in a movie set. She’d never set foot in it and, from the layer of dust, she guessed he hadn’t either in years.
He ordered her to open the shutters. “We got some things to straighten out, girl. We might as well do it in the light.”
“Yes, sir,” Reagan said, giving him a mock salute. If she was going to get kicked out, she’d go her own way.
“Don’t get smart with me,” he said as he pulled the cover off an old rolltop desk. “We ain’t got time.”
He sat in an office swivel chair while Reagan fought with the shutters for several minutes. When the room finally flooded with sunlight, she took a seat on the nearest window bench and waited. About the time she decided he must have slipped into a coma, Jeremiah reached for something.
Reagan stared as he retrieved a roll of bills tied with a rubber band from one of the pigeonhole drawers.
He looked up at her and, for the first time, she saw sadness in his eyes. The kind of sadness that made her heart hurt to look at it. She dropped the attitude and leaned closer, recognizing grief so deep he couldn’t speak of it.
No word she could have said would have helped.
Finally, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. The mask of anger returned to all of his face except his eyes. “I have no desire to go to town and have folks hugging on me just because Beverly died. It won’t bring her back. She was a silly woman who should have stayed here with her family.”
“She wasn’t silly,” Reagan corrected. “I think she just liked her privacy.”
He glared at her. “So you did know her. That much at least isn’t a lie.”
“I cleaned her room at the nursing home where I worked after school and read the paper to her. Sometimes I even read her letters to her. We’d talk about Harmony.”
“She tell you why she left?”
Reagan shook her head. Miss Beverly had been sad, but not lonely. There’s a difference. Even though all her friends were miles away and she only talked to them in letters, Reagan got the feeling she wanted it that way. Beverly had told her once she had a hundred books she’d planned all her life to read. If Reagan had thought about it at all, she probably figured that was why Beverly stayed at a quiet place like the home.
Jeremiah huffed. “She said it was because she couldn’t live with the memories of her husband and kids in town and she didn’t want to live with me out here.”
“I guess you two weren’t close.”
He was silent for a few moments. “I was in the army by the time she started school. When I came home, she was grown and married. We were never close. A part of me still thinks of her as that little girl I’d swing around. We never had much to say to each other after I came home from the war, but she was my sister and I want to do right by her.”
He shoved the money toward Reagan. “You go into town with the sheriff. Buy a new dress for Beverly, a nice one, and order a big bunch of flowers to set on top of the casket. Beverly would like that. Just tell the store to make sure Tyler Wright gets them as soon as possible.”
Reagan almost swallowed her gum. “All right,” she managed.
He wasn’t finished. “While you’re there, you might as well get yourself some clothes. Something nice for the funeral and whatever you need for school. I’m tired of looking at those you got on. I’ve seen refugees fresh off the boat who dress better than you do.”
“But . . .” Reagan couldn’t argue with his opinion of the clothes. They were hand-me-downs from the thrift store. But the money . . . She’d never held this much money in her hand in her entire life.
“If everybody in town thinks you’re my niece, you might as well look like you’re not living on the streets.” He stared at her. “When the funeral’s over, I’ll go into town and set up a few accounts for you so you can charge what you need at the drugstore and that Lady Bug store that claims to have everything females need. I’ll not tolerate excess, but I am aware a girl needs certain things.”
“You’re not kicking me out?”
“You got somewhere else you want to go?”
“No.” She almost added, nowhere that she could go, but she figured he already knew that if she was staying here.
“Spend what you need and put any left over back in this drawer along with the receipts.” He pointed at the square little drawer in the middle of the desk. “If you want to air out this room, you can. It’s yours to use if you need it.” He cleared his throat. “Beverly always liked to read in this room when she was a kid.”
Reagan twisted the roll of money in her hand. No one had ever trusted her with a dime. “Thanks for letting me stay . . . Uncle Jeremiah.”
She waited for an explosion, but none came.
He moved to the front door. She followed and they watched a battered old pickup pull up behind the sheriff’s car. “I’m the last Truman,” he whispered, more to himself than her. “If you want to pretend to be family for a while, I don’t mind.”
Reagan shifted beside him, guessing he wouldn’t welcome a hug. “If I go to town with the sheriff, how do I get home?”
“It ain’t that far. I’ve walked it many a time,” he said.
“But, if you want, I’ll drive over about five and pick you up near the post office. We could go to the funeral home and pay our respects. I imagine Beverly will be waiting there by then.”
They walked onto the porch just as Noah “Preacher” McAllen reached the first step. The old dog, who barked at everything, including fireflies, was licking Noah’s left hand in welcome.
“Who are you?” Jeremiah demanded. “Folks are wearing out my road today.”
Preacher removed his hat. “Noah McAllen,” he said. “And if you don’t mind me saying, there’s not much of a road to wear out, sir.”
Jeremiah snorted, and Reagan wondered if that was his idea of a laugh.
“I heard about your sister dying, Mr. Truman, and I’m real sorry,” Noah said. “I want you to know if there’s anything I can do to help . . .”
Jeremiah frowned. “News travels fast.”
Noah smiled. “Cell phones. I called my sister when I heard she’d pulled Rea out of class, and she told me. I came straight over to see what I can do.”
The old man stared, taking measure of the kid before him. “You could drive her to town. She’ll be making the arrangements. I’ve got work here that can’t wait.”
Reagan shoved the money into her pocket, and Noah barely had time to say good-bye before she pulled him toward the truck.
Once they were on the road, an awkward silence rested between them. Preacher looked like he was worried about her breaking into tears. Reagan couldn’t tell him that she’d known Miss Beverly was dead for almost a week.
Finally, she broke the silence. “How come old Dog didn’t bite you? He still looks at me like I’m a burglar half the time.”
Noah shrugged. “I’m good with dogs and babies.”
“Try again.”
He smiled. “I tossed him the last of yesterday’s lunch I’d left in the truck. He ate it, bag and all.”
Chapter 10
HANK GRABBED TWO OF THE WALKING STICKS IN THE BACK of the cart and handed one to Alexandra.
She followed along behind him, glad to be away from the scene at the house. “Does your aunt Pat really climb over the fence and steal apples?”
“Yep, and I drive the getaway car. She says they make the best pies in the county. She also considers it her duty to check on the trees now and then to make sure Jeremiah is taking care of th
ings.”
Alex pulled on one of the branches, feeling it give in her hand even though it looked dead with winter.
“Now if you’d like to join the thieving come spring,” Hank said, “you have to do it right, so listen to the rules. Only get the ones on the ground. Aunt Pat says then it’s not stealing, it’s retrieving.”
Alex laughed at the thought of Hank’s eighty-year-old aunt stealing apples. “You know I could arrest her for it whether she’s picking or lifting.”
“Go ahead,” he said as if he meant it. “One less woman at my ranch would suit me fine. I got my mom, two widowed great-aunts, two divorced sisters, and a four-year-old fairy princess. I haven’t said a word at the dinner table in five years.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. She almost felt sorry for him. No wonder he spent so much time at the fire station. The old family ranch had been his unofficially since he turned eighteen, but his mother had always lived there. When Hank’s two great-aunts retired from teaching school years ago, they moved in. Then Hank’s sisters came home a few months ago, both broken from divorces. She couldn’t imagine how Hank handled them all. Two old women, two divorced women, a mother who thought of herself as an artist, and a four-year-old niece too ill to walk.
When Alex looked up, he was smiling. She’d almost forgotten what he looked like when he smiled.
“Arrest them all,” he said. “I could use the silence. Aunt Pat may steal them, but Aunt Fat eats them.”
Alex laughed. Hank had always called his two great-aunts Pat and Fat, even though his aunt Fat was thin. She’d known the two old ladies all her life and had no idea what their first names were. When they’d taught they’d both been called Miss Matheson.
“How long have you been helping your aunt in these robberies?” She pointed a finger at him.
“All my life.” He held the old walking stick up as if on guard. “Plan on arresting me, too?”
“No. It’d just be a waste of time. Your aunt would recruit another mule to haul her loot. I might as well wait until I catch you all red-handed.”
She swung her stick in challenge. He blocked. She swung again, and the fight was on. They moved into the shadows of the trees where the air was still and cold. Something seemed different here. As if they’d stepped out of the real world and into the Sherwood Forest of their childhood dreams.
The aroma of freshly watered soil circled around them. She wondered if Hank felt it, too, but she didn’t ask for fear of breaking the spell.
When he raised his hands in surrender, she laughed, remembering how it had always been Hank who let her win when they were children and never her brother Warren.
She looked at him, wondering if he, too, was remembering how the three of them had played in the trees as children. But Hank’s eyes were smiling. They were two outlaws now. Old man Truman had chased them off so many times, he’d learned their names.
When they set the sticks in the bed of the cart, he grinned. “Thanks for the memory, Little John.”
“You’re welcome, Robin,” she returned. “But next time, I want to be Sundance and you can be Butch.” She rubbed the mud off her boot on the dried grass. “We go for the gold on a train.”
He touched two fingers to his hat. “You bet.”
They climbed into the cart and drove back to the farmhouse. By the time they’d said good-bye to Jeremiah and were in her car, they were no longer outlaws—just two responsible people doing their jobs.
Chapter 11
TYLER WRIGHT LEFT A NOTE FOR WILLAMINA AND DROVE out before dawn. He wanted to get to Oklahoma City and back before two. That was when he liked to send his first e-mail to Kate, his hazel-eyed pen pal. She usually didn’t answer until close to five, but it didn’t matter; he got a kick out of waiting, checking, anticipating.
When she did e-mail back it had been the same answer for four days. Yes, she’d have dinner with him. He’d fill his plate and stare at the screen while he ate.
He took the back roads so he could speed, knowing that on the way back, he’d stay on the main highway out of respect for dear Miss Beverly. She’d dropped by his office about a month after her husband died and made plans for her own funeral. She had little left besides her Social Security, but she wanted to pay for her funeral so no one would be out anything.
Tyler doubted that her brother, Jeremiah, had any money. He was land rich and money poor, like most folks around. Beverly had said she didn’t want to bother anyone. She’d cried when she told him that her husband had borrowed money from almost everyone in town and never offered to pay any of it back. Her husband had thought of it as a game, but she’d been ashamed for years. Ashamed enough to change back to her maiden name after forty years of marriage. She’d paid for her funeral, then given Tyler a slip of paper with all the people in town she owed. She asked him to keep it until Jeremiah died and then ask whoever handled the family farm if they’d pay each one back with her half from the sale of the land.
Frowning, Tyler doubted the slip of paper would hold up in any court. Jeremiah wouldn’t sell any of the land, not even to pay his brother-in-law’s debts, and now that he’d outlived Beverly, he owned all the land.
As Tyler drove, the sun was coming up. He was forty years younger than old Jeremiah, but in a way they were the same. When they died, so did the family line. When Tyler had been younger, he’d always thought there was plenty of time ahead in which to have children. He had a business to run and his hobby to keep him busy. He was too young to marry in his twenties, not ready in his thirties, and now in his forties he could not think of a single woman he would want to date. Or, to be fair, who would want to date him.
Tyler would never sell the funeral home, not for any amount of money. If he did, he’d have no home, no roots. But he had thought he’d have a wife and children living with him by now.
Three years ago he’d had a blind date with someone’s cousin who was visiting Harmony after her divorce. They’d gone out a few times for dinner and managed to keep a conversation going, but when he’d reached for her hand, she’d pulled back. When he walked her to the door, she explained that she couldn’t stand the thought of touching a hand that had touched dead people all day.
He hadn’t bothered to explain the thousand things about his job that didn’t involve touching dead people.
Tyler smiled suddenly. Tonight, when he visited with Kate, he’d ask her what she thought of blind dates. Everything they talked about was interesting. They’d discussed a dozen topics, and she’d never hesitated to tell him her opinion. She loved Mexican food, hated lines at the grocery store, loved her country, hated subways in every town in the world, fought against gun control, and had campaigned for women’s rights since she could walk.
He had a feeling Kate was a woman no one would ever talk into anything, but no discussion would ever be dull. He even liked the little codes she had for her favorite swear words.
A little after ten, Tyler picked up Beverly Truman’s body, then drove three blocks and pulled around the drive-through at Sonic for a foot-long chili-cheese dog and tater tots, and headed back to Harmony. He’d be home in time to send his e-mail.
Chapter 12
“ARE YOU SURE YOUR UNCLE TOLD YOU TO SPEND ALL THIS money?” Noah asked for the third time.
“All I need, he said.” They’d already stopped by the flower shop and were now searching through racks at the Lady Bug for a dress for Miss Beverly. Reagan took her mission as seriously as if it were life or death. Jeremiah trusted her, and she’d decided she would not let him down.
Noah pulled out T-shirts that said things like BORN TO BE WILD and TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER. “How about buying something like this, Rea?” he asked, holding it up to her as if trying to guess her size.
Reagan closed her eyes and repeated her orders from her new uncle. “Flowers for the casket, a dress for her, and clothes for me.” She shoved the T-shirt away. “Nothing else. I can’t waste money.”
Noah scratched his head. “I don’t see anything in t
his place that looks like dead old lady clothes.” He picked up a sundress with tiny pink flamingos on it.
The sales clerk hovering around them must have heard him. “You’re looking for a dress for someone who’s passed on?”
He nodded and explained everything to this woman Reagan had never seen before. Then to Reagan’s surprise, the lady told them to go to the funeral home. The woman was missing a sale, but was still trying to help them out.
So they drove over to the funeral home, where they found boxed clothes for the dead.
Reagan dug through the boxes while Noah wandered around. “This is great,” she said. “I never dreamed they had this kind of thing. Every one of these looks like Miss Beverly. She’s probably been buying her clothes here for years.”
Noah leaned out from behind an open coffin. “You mean your grandmother?”
“Yes,” she said without meeting his eyes. “I didn’t really know her.” She tried to think of something that wasn’t a lie. “The people where she lived just called her Miss Beverly, so I guess that’s the way I think of her.”
Reagan picked out a pretty blue dress with a white lace collar. She handed it to the woman, who’d followed them from the front desk, who smiled and promised Miss Beverly would be ready for viewing in a few hours. She was so nice Reagan almost wanted to stay around and visit. Almost.
Noah stopped at the Burger Barrel and bought Reagan lunch. She saved half for Jeremiah’s old dog. It was time they made friends.
Then Noah drove her to the mall. The center of the mall had two cookie places, a deserted hot dog stand, and a McDonald’s with a huge sign that read: LIMITED MENU. The only mall rats were a dozen walkers over eighty.
