Welcome to Harmony

by Jodi Thomas

  Reagan hurried to finish as she added between bites, “If you drive me, we can stop at the bookstore and I’ll go in and get you a new copy of the Dallas paper. That one you got in the front room is two months old.”

  “Fair enough,” he echoed. “I can start reading it while you visit.”

  A half hour later she walked into Noah’s room.

  He was sitting up in bed talking to several girls from the cheerleading squad. They all had their uniforms on and giggled at everything he said.

  Reagan made no attempt to announce her presence; she just stood at the door and watched.

  “That last hug made me feel a lot better, Arlee.” Noah smiled at the girl in a goofy way she’d never seen him smile.

  “You want another one?” She laughed. “We’re all happy to do whatever we can to help out the sick.”

  “And brave,” one of the other girls said. “That was so brave.”

  “No.” A blonde beside Arlee pushed closer to the bed.

  “It’s my turn to give him a hug.”

  Reagan wanted to throw up. They giggled and talked on for five minutes. Most hadn’t been at the rodeo last night, but apparently visiting someone in the hospital was a free pass out of church, so they’d all decided to put on their uniforms and cheer him up.

  Reagan knew there was no substance to the group. Not a redhead among them. But Noah didn’t seem to notice. She slipped down the hall to the restroom, not wanting to see or hear Harmony’s boob trust in action.

  She stepped into a stall and leaned against the wall, wishing she’d taken up smoking once when she’d been offered a cigarette. If she had, she’d have something to do right now besides wait.

  The restroom door popped open, and giggling came from just beyond the stall door. Reagan had no trouble guessing who had come in. From the voices, three cheerleaders were now far too close to her.

  She didn’t have anything against cheerleaders. The last two schools she’d been in, none of them had bothered her. In fact, Reagan—and girls like her, she guessed—were invisible to the popular girls. They weren’t boys to flirt with or cheer on. They were no competition. Reagan and her kind didn’t matter.

  Reagan closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears. The girls were talking about Noah. One said he had bedroom brown eyes. Another said he was too thin. Two out of the three claimed he’d be worth having a few nights’ fun with, and then they giggled. The third said not to bother; she wouldn’t be caught dead in his old truck, plus he had no butt.

  After they left, Reagan stood in the stall for a long time. She hated that they talked about him like he was some kind of toy they’d just noticed. She hated what they said, and she hated even more that she cared.

  When she stepped back into Noah’s doorway, he was alone. For a moment, he didn’t notice her, and she saw how tired his eyes looked and the pain in his face as he tried to shift in the bed.

  Then he looked up. A smile came just a bit slower than usual to his lips.

  “Morning, Rea,” he said. The bruising on him looked even darker than it had last night, but his color was better.

  “How are you?” she asked, feeling angry for no reason.

  “Better. The doc came in and said I can go home in a few hours, but he wants me to take it easy for a week or so.”

  “You were lucky.” She crossed her arms and didn’t move closer.

  “I know, but it feels like maybe I’d have been luckier if I’d drawn another bull. One of the guys who dropped by told me this morning that it was my dad who jumped in to get the bull to quit dancing on me. He said it was a sight; everyone was screaming and yelling. They all thought I was dead for sure.”

  “What else did he say?” That every girl in town seemed to have noticed him? That they all thought he was a hero? That two-thirds thought it would be fun to go out with him?

  Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you, Rea?”

  It had taken him a while, but it finally seemed to dawn on the brain-dead cowboy that she wasn’t happy.

  “Nothing,” she lied.

  “Why are you standing at the door? What’s happened? Did they tell you something about me that they didn’t tell me?” He looked worried. “Hell, I’m probably dying and the doc’s not telling me ’cause I’m not eighteen yet. Or maybe they just found out I’m contagious and that’s as close as you’re allowed to come?”

  Rea resisted smiling. “You’re not dying, at least not that I know of, and I don’t think being dumb enough to climb on sixteen hundred pounds of fury is contagious.”

  He relaxed back on his pillow. “Thank God. I’d hate to die and not know it.”

  She laughed now and moved to his bedside. “Shouldn’t joke about it.”

  “S’pose not,” he said, turning his hand palm up to her.

  She didn’t take his hand.

  Without taking offense, he lowered his offer. “So, how about telling me what’s got you so upset this morning, other than seeing that I’m better?”

  “I heard them talking about you in the restroom.”

  “The nurses?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Worse. The cheerleaders. One said you had bedroom eyes, whatever that means.”

  “Which one?”

  She glared at him. “I don’t know; they all sound alike to me. They all are alike. I swear there’s probably a factory in China that turns them out by the thousands every year and ships them all over, pom-poms in hand.”

  He didn’t seem to be listening. “Did they say anything else?”

  “One said you didn’t have a butt.”

  He frowned, and she almost felt sorry for him. Then he said he’d noticed none of them had that problem, and she wanted to hit him on one of the few spots available to her.

  “You’re mad because they came up,” Noah said. She could almost see his brain working it out. “You’re jealous.”

  “I am not. I couldn’t care less if they hug you and make a fuss over you and talk about how they wouldn’t mind . . . oh, never mind.”

  “Wouldn’t mind what?”

  “I’m not telling, so don’t bother to ask and I’m not jealous. I’ve told you before I don’t want to be your girlfriend, just friends, so what do I care? Go ahead and date them. Date all of them at once if you like.”

  “For just friends, you don’t look or sound very happy.” He stared at her as if he’d just discovered a lizard person living under her skin. “Let me get this straight—you don’t want anyone thinking you’re my girlfriend. You don’t want me touching you, even holding hands, because you figure I’ll turn into some kind of werewolf if I do, but you don’t like any one else touching me, either. I’m sort of off-limits to the world, like some kind of global quarantine.”

  She’d had enough. If he thought he was confused, he should try looking at the world through her eyes. Without warning, she stormed out of the room.

  She heard him call her name, but she didn’t stop until she was outside. There, she breathed out hard like a deer trying to clear human scent from her lungs.

  Uncle Jeremiah was sitting on the bench ten feet from the exit. “How’s the—”

  Raising her hand, she shouted, “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  Jeremiah stood slowly and nodded. “Fine.”

  He drove Noah’s truck back to the ranch and passed the house as he pulled the old piece of junk straight into his museum of a barn.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m going to clean up this engine before it sputters so hard the damn thing falls out in protest.”

  “Why? It’s not your problem.”

  Jeremiah stepped out of the cab. “I know. When he’s driving, I don’t much care, but I don’t want him having any trouble when you’re riding with him.”

  “Why?” She decided she had no knowledge of men from sixteen to eighty-six.

  “Because,” he said without looking at her, “you’re the only niece I got, and I don’t want to lose you i
n a wreck.”

  Reagan’s heart took his words like the kick of a bull. For a few seconds she couldn’t breathe. He’d claimed her. Uncle Jeremiah had claimed her as his kin with no one else around, and she hadn’t even asked or begged.

  She climbed out of the cab and walked around to where he’d lifted the hood. “I’m staying,” she said. “I just want you to know, I’m staying here forever, so stop waking up every morning thinking I’m leaving.”

  “Good,” he said in his usual bland tone. “Hand me that wrench.”

  Chapter 34

  HANK LIFTED SARALYNN ONTO HIS SHOULDER AND MOVED through the Tuesday morning crowd at the Blue Moon. His tiny niece waved at everyone as if she were riding on a float, then giggled when they waved back. Most, from the three-piece suits to the overalled farmers, smiled at her. The few who didn’t, Hank mentally marked down on his waste-of-flesh list.

  “What are we today?” Edith asked as she wiggled past them with four plates of food.

  “She can’t talk, Edith,” Hank whispered. “She’s a mermaid, and everyone knows they can’t talk around humans. All she can do is wave and look beautiful.”

  The waitress nodded, as if he made perfect sense. “I’m guessing she’ll want the usual with a little seaweed on the side.”

  He winked and moved on. As he watched the people, mostly men this early in the morning, he couldn’t help but wonder if the arsonist was among them. Could a man who looked so much like every one of them be thinking of destroying not just their land, but their way of life? Hank had heard of small communities in the Texas panhandle that faced a disaster and never recovered. The buildings left standing simply marked the boundaries of ghost towns.

  Hank pushed the dark thoughts aside and headed toward the only empty booth. He noticed Willie and Trooper Davis at one table, but even if they’d invited him to sit down, he didn’t want to talk about fires in front of Saralynn. The young man and the old trooper made a strange pair, but because they were both named Davis, Hank guessed they were somehow related. In this town, it would be hard to find a jury made up of people who didn’t know or weren’t related to just about anyone who committed a crime.

  Last year he’d had to take Aunt Pat in for double parking in two handicap spots and she’d known every person in court, even served as a character witness of one and paid another kid’s fine because she swore he came from good people and should know better than to run a red light.

  Hank looked around and thought what he always thought. His town. His people.

  He lowered Saralynn slowly, as always taking care not to bump her leg braces on anything, then sat beside her. “How about I order for you today?”

  She nodded and folded her hands, fingers outstretched, over her chest.

  “Morning,” Tyler Wright said as he slid into the other side of the booth. “Mind if I join you?”

  Hank had to admire the man; he always asked, even though they’d been eating meals across from one another once a week for probably ten years. “Morning, Tyler. How’s business?”

  “If it gets any slower, I may take the day off and go for a drive. Nobody wants to die in good weather, but wait for the first cold spell with snow flurries and we’ll have the hearse heated up and running all day.” He grinned as if the lack of work didn’t bother him in the least. Hank had to admit the chubby little undertaker seemed happier lately than he’d ever seen him.

  Hank thought of asking Tyler to watch for fires, but he held back. Trooper Davis had planted a seed of doubt about the funeral director. Hank told himself he didn’t believe a word of it, but he still hesitated inviting Wright into the inner circle.

  “What do you do on these drives?” He tried to make the question casual.

  “Mostly I just like to get out in the fresh air and think. Sometimes I look for signs of the past. Every man or animal who ever crossed this land, and believe me most just crossed without thinking of staying, left a footprint somewhere, and I like thinking once in a while I’ll find a sign of that passing.”

  Hank told himself there was nothing odd about that. “Tyler, do you know of anyone who might want to harm our town?”

  “Sure, every tourist who eats at the truck stop just south of the hospital.”

  Hank smiled. No locals had eaten at the gas station/curio shop/restaurant since a month after it opened, when the meat-loaf sent a dozen people to the hospital. After that, everyone thought it lucky the two buildings were so close together.

  After Edith brought their coffee and juice, Tyler fished in his vest pocket and found a quarter. “It’s not a new one, darling,” he said to the mermaid next to Hank, “but I’ve heard it’s waterproof and that’s very important to you these days.”

  Saralynn laughed.

  Tyler tugged a tiny felt bag from his pocket and passed it over. “I found this. You might want to keep it safe in here.”

  When Saralynn opened the bag a tiny glass bead, like the ones Hank had seen in fake flower arrangements at the funeral home, fell out.

  Tyler’s eyebrows shot up as if he were surprised. “Oh no, I must have left a dragon’s tear in that bag so long it turned to clear stone.”

  Saralynn beamed. “A dragon’s tear. May I have it?”

  Tyler nodded. “It’s magic, you see. If a mermaid holds it, she can talk.”

  Hank fought down a groan. He played along with Saralynn’s fantasies, but Tyler was adding to them. Pretty soon Hank would be having breakfast with a wood nymph and a troll.

  Tyler chuckled at Hank’s frown as if he’d read his mind.

  Hank knew beyond all doubt that he wasn’t looking at an arsonist.

  When Edith plopped down the plates, the mermaid’s pancakes were circled in seaweed that looked a lot like parsley.

  His niece began planting each tiny branch on top of her pancakes and watering her garden with syrup.

  Knowing Saralynn had lost interest in the conversation, Tyler asked Hank, “How’s the painter in your family doing? I hear she’ll have a show soon.”

  Hank spread jelly on his dry toast. “She’s very creative, I’ll give her that. Her latest is called More Coffee, Dear. It’s a man floating in a huge coffee cup, facedown.”

  Tyler had his cup halfway to his lips. He reconsidered and sat the coffee down.

  Hank smiled. “Hey, it beats the one she did of a guy impaled on a wall by a remote control. It was called Last Change.”

  “Sorry I asked,” Tyler said as he concentrated on his oatmeal.

  After breakfast, Hank took his mermaid to school, then dropped by the station. He had tons of work to do at the ranch, but he still couldn’t believe the firebug hadn’t started another grass fire. It didn’t make sense. Why would he go three-fourths of the way around Harmony and stop?

  When Hank pulled up, Alex was getting out of her car across the street.

  “Mind if we talk a minute?” he called to her.

  She shrugged with a frown.

  Just once Hank wished that she’d look glad to see him, but he guessed it would be too much to ask in this lifetime.

  He knew that Alexandra wasn’t a morning person, but where he was concerned, she wasn’t Miss Sunshine in the afternoon or evening, either. Hank held out little hope for the night.

  They walked to the handicap ramp beside the entrance to the city offices, seeking the shade of the old oak. Legend was that the oak had been brought to West Texas by Harmon Ely himself when he hoped to settle here and then send for his family. But his family had all been killed in a raid near the border, leaving Harmon alone and bitter. The three men who worked for him—Truman, Matheson, and McAllen—all sent for their wives, and as the years passed, Harmon watched their children grow and play beneath the tree he’d brought for his children. Some in town thought that was why he willed all he had to the men who worked for him.

  “Something’s bothering me,” Hank began. “I’ve been reading up on arsonists, and they don’t just stop. Maybe they’re frightened off, or maybe something makes them
stop, like a car wreck or something else happening that’s more exciting and draws them to the action. But we’ve had no one to close in on and make nervous enough he might stop, and nothing’s happening of any interest around here.”

  Alex crossed her arms as she leaned against the railing. “So now you’re upset because our little terrorist hasn’t come out to play?”

  “Something like that.” He realized how odd he must sound. “Maybe he’s just laying low. Hell, maybe he just ran out of matches and has to wait until payday.”

  “You’ll drive yourself crazy guessing,” she offered. “The only thing exciting that happened in the past few days was my little brother almost dying at the rodeo. I swear everyone in town has been by to see him. Half of them bring cookies. Add to that, my dad’s still here fretting over Noah worse than Mother does.”

  Hank didn’t want to talk about the three-ring circus that was usually going on at the McAllen house when Adam came back. He’d heard about Adam and Fran enough from Warren when they were younger. “The rodeo and the fires couldn’t be connected.”

  She met his eyes. “Or could they? Half the town was at the rodeo. Maybe our arsonist was there, or was working one of the booths. Maybe he watched the whole thing.”

  “Or maybe he was pulled in to handle the crowd, or drive the ambulance, or take a shift at the hospital?” Hank tried to think like an arsonist. “If the guy sets fires for the excitement, he just might have found his fix that night at the rodeo, or afterward at the hospital.”

  An hour later they were sitting in Alex’s office making a list of everyone they’d noticed in the waiting room at the hospital. Most were relatives and friends, but Hank remembered seeing a few he didn’t know, and when he described them, Alex couldn’t think of anyone she knew fitting the description.

  Alex stood and grabbed two juices from the tiny refrigerator under her desk. She handed Hank one and sat back down across from him. “Now, we list everyone we know who’s been around for the fires. If one person keeps popping up, maybe we’ve got our man.”