by Jodi Thomas
“How does this place stay in business?” Reagan whispered.
Noah grinned. “You should see it on a slow day.”
They went shopping for her clothes. Noah took the work seriously, making fun of half the things she tried on, wiggling his eyebrows when he thought something was wrong, and smiling with all his teeth showing when she tried on western clothes.
In the end, she bought three pairs of jeans, six shirts, one dress, and a cowboy hat she thought looked ridiculous. He promised her it looked cute, and she almost believed him.
“Now you got the hat,” he said as they walked out of the store, “you got to come watch me ride this weekend.”
“All right. If you’ll come to the funeral.”
He stopped on the steps and faced her. “Of course I’ll come. We’re friends, Rea. That’s what friends do for each other.”
She wondered if he could tell that all this friends stuff was new to her. “I’ve never been to a funeral,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Rea, I don’t think anyone really knows what to do at a funeral. I usually just keep my eyes looking down and hug everyone who wants to hug me. Some folks think they have to do that to all the family left behind to suffer the loss.”
“You’ve had family die?”
“Sure, my big brother, Warren, three years ago. I cried all the way through the funeral. I couldn’t tell you one thing anyone said.”
“How’d he die?”
“He was killed on duty. He was a highway patrolman on his way to becoming a Texas Ranger. A man ran a roadblock and when Warren caught up to him, the guy shot him in the face when he walked up to the car. Strange thing was, the man was only wanted for outstanding speeding tickets. Warren wouldn’t have even taken him in that night. He killed my brother for nothing.”
“That’s really sad.”
He straightened as if pushing sadness aside. “You want to hug me?” he asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“No,” she answered and smiled back.
“Times like this are like muddy water, Rea, you just got to keep moving through it until you get to the other side.”
SHE HAD NO IDEA HOW TRUE HIS WORDS WERE, BUT SHE thought of them several times over the next two days. People brought food to the house and hugged her. They went to the funeral home and everyone there hugged her. Jeremiah had a graveside service and it looked like half the town came and most of them hugged her.
Reagan was all hugged out by the time she got home. Jeremiah must have felt the same, for he went back to his room without a word or a bite to eat and she didn’t see him again the rest of the evening.
She went to her room and closed the door. My room, Reagan thought. Beverly would never be back to claim it. She could paint the walls or move things around. But she decided, for right now anyway, she’d leave it the same. In a funny way, Reagan thought Miss Beverly would smile if she knew Reagan was sleeping there.
Jeremiah was cooking breakfast in his work clothes when she came downstairs the next morning. All the flowers folks had brought to the house were gone, along with the cards and cakes. He must have thought it was time to get back to normal.
She silently agreed, having no idea what normal was, but it had to be better than the mud of funeral days.
Chapter 13
ALEXANDRA MCALLEN LEANED AGAINST HER PATROL CAR and wiped the sweat from her throat. The morning was warm and her bulletproof vest always made it seem hotter. She’d been standing in the sun for a half hour trying to solve the latest crime in Harmony.
“I’m telling you, Sheriff,” Dallas Logan said, not for the first time. “Every night it’s not raining or cloudy some fool shoots this light out and I’ve had enough of it. You got to do something.”
The overweight woman huffed, raising her breasts as if she’d use them as battering rams to get something done. At five feet nothing, she might not be intimidating, but she tried to talk everyone she met to death. “I’ve made a list of who I think it might be. All you got to do is go house to house investigating and you’ll find someone who owns a rifle.”
Dallas shifted from foot to foot as if playing some kind of senior citizen dodgeball. “You might have to cast a wide net, Sheriff McAllen. Last week, Stella McNabb came to the canasta game at my house and commented twice about how the glare of artificial light didn’t seem natural in the night. You ask me, there’s something wrong with her. I’ve seen it in folks who’ve never lived in town.” Dallas wiggled her finger. “They frown at things you and me accept. I know for a fact Stella’s never used the ATM. Now tell me that ain’t strange. Might be worth a look to check her husband’s car for a gun.”
Alex guessed everyone within a hundred miles owned a rifle. “I think we’ll just replace the bulb.”
The round little woman huffed. “That’s what you did last week and the week before that.”
Alex thought about saying, You win, Mrs. Logan, I’ll round up everyone for five blocks around and interrogate them for hours without food or water. We’ll get to the bottom of this crime if I have to jail half the town.
“I had to fight to get this light here, you know. It wasn’t easy. Ronelle and I went down to the courthouse a dozen times before we finally got them to put it up. This corner was far too dark. All kinds of worthless people could walk right up and look into our windows at night and we’d never know.”
Somehow, Alex doubted Ronelle had held up her half of the fight at the courthouse. She’d said good morning to the girl every day since she’d been sheriff, and the postal worker had yet to answer back. If Alex started investigating broken bulbs, the next thing she’d have to do would be to search down the criminal who was working all the crossword puzzles in magazines before they were stuffed into mailboxes. Alex had a pretty good idea who was behind the post office crime, but until someone filed an official complaint, she wouldn’t say a word to Ronelle.
Dallas Logan was still complaining about every neighbor around her when Hank Matheson and Willie Davis drove up with a ladder from the firehouse.
They got out and replaced the bulb without a word.
“Well, it’s about time,” Mrs. Logan said when they were finished.
Alex mouthed a thank-you to Hank.
He smiled. “The city boys were busy with a water leak, so I thought we’d pitch in.”
Dallas Logan waddled back to her house mumbling to herself.
Alex watched Willie sweep up the glass, forcing herself not to look at Hank. They hadn’t seen each other since the day in the orchard almost a week before.
Hank broke the silence. “Someone said your little brother won a buckle at the rodeo Saturday night.”
“Yeah, my dad drove over from Amarillo to watch. We’re all real proud of Noah, but I’m not surprised he takes to bull riding; Dad started putting him on sheep when he was four, calves by the time he was seven. I swear, I can still hear the echoes of Mom and Dad’s fights over him trying to breed rodeo into his sons’ blood. It didn’t take with Warren, but Noah claims he was born to ride rough stock.”
“Can’t blame your dad,” Hank said. “He was the best bull rider in the country when he was younger. I remember he took Warren and me with him to the rodeo in San Antonio once. He’d been retired for years by then, but every cowboy in the place paid their respects.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Her father had always been bigger than life. He had won his first national title before he turned twenty. When he’d finally given it up, everyone in town probably saw the restlessness in him. He’d started a cattle trucking company based out of Amarillo and was gone most nights. Warren took over taking care of the ranch and helping raise Noah while she went away to college. Their dad was always there, somewhere in the background . . . far in the background, but never around when they needed help with homework or just wanted to talk.
When Warren died, their dad lost what little interest he had in the ranch and moved full time to Amarillo. The fighting she’
d grown up hearing between her parents now had settled into a polite-stranger kind of talk. They’d never gone to court to end the marriage, but any love they’d ever known had been beaten to death by words long ago.
“Your father stayed over Saturday night, right?” Hank’s words broke into her thoughts.
She knew it wasn’t a question. Hank was figuring out why he hadn’t gotten a call Saturday night to come get her from one of the bars. He figured she’d already had a babysitter for the night—her dad.
Right there on that street corner in the middle of town, she wanted to scream at him that she didn’t need him sitting up worrying about her every Saturday night. She didn’t have to drink away the memory of what happened to Warren.
“How is Adam McAllen these days?” Hank said, hiding all emotion in his face.
“My dad’s fine. Made out of granite, you know.”
“All finished,” Willie announced, unaware that the sheriff and Hank were doing more than passing the time while he worked. “Who you think keeps doing this, Sheriff?”
“Someone who hates the streetlight, I guess,” she answered.
“I know how they feel.” Willie folded the ladder. “I used to have a light shining right in my window every night. I finally put up drapes.”
Alex turned slowly in a full circle. The street was like most in town, a mixture of different sizes and conditions of homes. Dozens of windows faced the light. It could have been anyone.
Hank helped Willie load the ladder, then turned back to Alex. He frowned before he blurted out, “Any chance you got time to have lunch? My sister flew to Fort Worth to try and sell her paintings of men dying terrible deaths. My mother and aunts went along to go shopping. I’ve got Saralynn for the day, and she’s decided she’s a sheriff. I’m sure she’d like to talk to a colleague.”
Alex laughed. “Where’s your other sister? The one who doesn’t paint dying men. Couldn’t she watch the kid?”
Hank looked like a criminal about to confess. Miserable. Lost.
“Liz is going to a time management course put on by the library at noon. She thinks it’ll help me. I’m sure I’ll get the notes and a full lecture tonight.”
“You?” Alex bit down a giggle. Hank Matheson did more than most five men in this town. He managed a ranch, ran the fire department, worked out every morning before dawn, corralled all the women in his life, and bullied her on Saturday night.
“Yeah, Liz thinks if I’d manage my time better, I’d have some hours left to date.”
“Do you want to date?”
“No,” he said. “I just want to have lunch with my niece and let you answer all her questions.”
Hank had never been a man she thought she’d feel sorry for, but she took pity on him now. “Twelve thirty, Mexican Plaza?”
“Sounds great.” He touched two fingers to the brim of the Stetson she’d bought him and turned away.
Chapter 14
HANK MATHESON HAD JUST CHECKED THE WEATHER REPORT when he noticed his sister Liz pull up in front of the station with Saralynn. He wasn’t surprised. Even if she hadn’t found a seminar to go to, two hours was about the maximum time Liz could handle babysitting. Thankfully, with all the women in the house, she wasn’t asked to keep her niece often.
Liz claimed she didn’t have a mothering bone in her body. Hank wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling that might have been the reason her five-year marriage ended. Unlike Claire, Saralynn’s mother, who complained constantly about her ex-husband, Liz never said a word about her marriage other than it didn’t work out.
“I’m running late!” Liz yelled as she opened the passenger door and unstrapped Saralynn from the car seat.
Hank rushed out in time to lift his niece carefully from the car. The leg braces she always wore clanked against the metal buckle on her child seat. “Maybe after the class you’ll be able to manage your time better, Liz?”
“Don’t be funny,” she said, pulling out the child’s bag of books and toys. “Claire called as I was loading the car and told me to make sure I gave the kid her medicine.” She shoved the lunch bag of pills that always traveled with the four-year-old. “You’ll have to do it. I don’t have time to read which pill when.”
He held his niece and both bags as Liz jumped back in her sports car and roared toward the First United Methodist Church.
“Good-bye,” Saralynn whispered, and made a wave that wasn’t answered.
“She just forgot to say good-bye to us,” Hank said as he turned into the station. “We’ll make her say hello twice when she gets back.”
“No,” Saralynn answered. “Someone stole her manners. It’s a crime I’ll have to investigate.” She had a plastic star pinned to her pink jumper and one of his old toy guns strapped around her waist.
“I got a surprise for you.” He looked down at his niece, loving the imagination that made up for all she couldn’t do. “We’re having lunch with another sheriff. I thought you girls could compare notes on how to fight the bad guys.”
Saralynn kissed his cheek. “I love you, Deputy Hank.”
“I love you, too, Sheriff,” he whispered.
An hour from now, the two sheriffs would be sharing stories along with chips at the Mexican Plaza. Hank couldn’t stop smiling.
The restaurant was on the south end of town, a round building set far enough off the road that only locals could find it. At one time it had been called the Mexican Hat, but the owner got tired of the wind ripping off the awning that almost made the place look like a sombrero, so he put a fountain in the center of the place, painted every wall a different color, and called it a plaza.
Despite his plan not to, Hank showed up early.
Saralynn ordered the extra-extra-mild hot sauce, which tasted like ketchup to Hank, and watched the fish in the fountain until Alex arrived. All the tables by the fountain were small, made for two, but the owner made room for three chairs just because Saralynn was the first four-year-old sheriff he’d ever met.
Hank stood when Alex sat down across from him. This was as close as they’d come in three years to being friendly, and he didn’t want to do anything to shatter the peace between them. He didn’t mind that she barely looked at him. She was smiling at Saralynn and giving the girl her full attention.
When she had the child laughing, Alex dipped a chip into Saralynn’s special hot sauce and ate it. She looked at Hank and made a face. He slid his bowl of sauce toward her. She dipped again, and this time smiled, waving her hand in front of her mouth. He passed her his glass of water and motioned for the waiter to bring more.
As they ate, Alex talked to Saralynn about the trials of being a sheriff, and Saralynn agreed as if she knew each one personally. Hank ate his chile rellenos and listened.
About the time the second basket of sopapillas was delivered, his knee bumped Alex’s leg under the table.
He’d opened his mouth to say sorry, when he realized she’d stretched her long leg out toward him. He bumped it again and heard the slight catch in her voice. She didn’t look at him. In fact, she seemed absorbed in the story Saralynn was telling her about how often trolls steal things and hide them in mismatched socks forever circling in the dryer.
He let his leg rest against hers.
She didn’t move.
She was playing with him, he thought. He decided to play back. This lunch meeting was about to get far more interesting.
As the girls talked, Hank leaned forward, moved his hand beneath the little table, and slid his fingers along Alex’s leg. Her muscles tightened beneath his touch. He heard her breathing grow shallow, but she didn’t move away. Didn’t look at him.
He shifted in the chair and slid his leg next to hers. All she’d have to do was move a fraction of an inch and they wouldn’t be touching. But she didn’t. He could feel the heat of her through his jeans. What they were doing made no sense. They couldn’t say three sentences to each other without getting into an argument. She’d threatened to kill him a dozen times and tried to
a few.
But something drew her to him. Something she probably didn’t understand any better than he did. He liked the feel of her next to him, and he guessed she also did. He bumped her leg lightly, and she bumped his leg back.
He smiled, wishing she’d look at him. He had a feeling those stormy blue eyes of hers might be filled with something besides anger.
Alex’s phone sounded and she moved her leg away. She took the call, then stood. “I have to leave, Sheriff Saralynn, but I’ve enjoyed having lunch with you.”
“Me, too,” Saralynn said. “Are you leaving because there’s been a bank robbery?”
“No,” Alex brushed her hand over the girl’s cheek. “State investigators up from Austin want to talk to me about an old case that may come up for retrial soon. I didn’t expect them until two. They’re early.”
Hank stood, studying her. “Maybe we can do this again.”
Alex continued to look at Saralynn, who was busy feeding the fish the rest of her sopapilla.
“I don’t think so,” she said, and finally looked at Hank.
The old sadness was back. She was looking at him, but she was remembering her big brother. If Saralynn hadn’t been there, he might have said something he would regret. Warren had been dead for three years. They’d both seen his body on the road that night. They’d both grieved. It was time Warren’s memory stopped haunting them both.
She was gone before he could come up with a response.
AFTER LUNCH, HANK WENT BACK TO THE FIRE STATION. The wind had kicked up to about thirty miles an hour. With the lack of rain, he was starting to worry. The land was ripe for a fire. It was only a matter of time, and he had to get everything ready while he prayed nothing would happen. He made a mental note to call Bob McNabb. The guy was far too old to be active as a volunteer, but he knew more about grass fires than anyone around.
Saralynn sat in the only comfortable chair in his office, her braced legs covered with one of the extra blankets from the station, while he worked at his desk. After worrying over a training schedule for a while, he looked up and smiled at the sight of her concentration on her coloring book. The tip of her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth. She was so cute, she had to be an angel.
