Nick All Night

by Cheryl St. John

  The minute the two were on the porch, Nick got up and investigated closets and drawers. In a small room with a narrow bed and a freezer, he discovered a gun cabinet. Inside were a couple of rifles and an English-made Walther. Nick opened the unlocked cabinet and checked both the rifles. The cagey old woman had been shooting out Harold Clement’s yard light.

  When Bryce followed her back into the house fifteen minutes later, three boxes of cartridges were lying on the mahogany table beside the serving tray. Mrs. Pascal stopped short when she saw them.

  “I’m taking all the bullets, Mrs. Pascal,” Nick said. “It’s not safe for you to be shooting at Harold’s yard light. Someone could be seriously hurt. Or killed. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  The old woman looked confused for a moment, then settled herself regally in her chair, which had crocheted doilies arranged on the arms and back. “I asked Harold a dozen times to move that light where it didn’t shine in my bedroom window. I like to have my window open for fresh air at night, and that light shines right in my eyes. People don’t get enough fresh air anymore, you know. Houses are all closed up. More and more children have asthma because of it.”

  “If Harold’s light gets broken again, he’ll press charges against you. You don’t want that.”

  “I have enough trouble sleeping without that damned light shining in my face.”

  “If I promise to do something so that the light doesn’t shine in your face anymore, will you promise to lock that cabinet and leave the guns alone?”

  She picked at a thread on her apron before agreeing. “Yes.”

  Nick went through the dining room into her bedroom and glanced around. Through the lace-draped window, he could see Harold’s lamppost.

  “You should try lying here at night,” said Mrs. Pascal, who had followed him. “You don’t know how hard it is to get old and have trouble sleeping.”

  “I can only imagine,” Nick replied, truly sympathizing.

  Bryce stood behind her, wearing an amused look.

  “Mrs. Pascal,” Nick said. “I’ll do something about the glare from the light. I have an idea. But if you’d let Officer Olson and I move your bed over to this wall, the light wouldn’t be directly in your line of vision.”

  “My bed’s been right here for forty years and I don’t see any reason to move it now.”

  “There’s your reason.” Nick pointed out the window. “If you want Harold to compromise, you’re going to have to take a step, too.”

  She waved her hand in disgust. “I have a loaf of banana bread to put in the oven. If you want to bust a gusset moving my bed, you go right ahead.”

  Half an hour later, the cartridges safely locked away, Nick called every retailer in the county who sold ammunition and told them not to sell anything to Marguerite Pascal.

  Birdy called Ryanne and stopped by for a glass of lemonade that evening. The temperature had dropped significantly, so they sat on the porch. “Sure looks strange,” Birdy said, commenting on the For Sale sign in the front yard.

  Ryanne had been uncomfortable ever since the sign had gone up the previous afternoon.

  “You sure you want to sell the place?”

  She didn’t, not really. Taking the steps to have the house listed and having people look at it seemed all wrong. But she didn’t have any avenues left to her. “It’s the practical thing to do,” she replied.

  “Did you hear the news?” Birdy asked.

  “What news?”

  “Nick caught the culprit who was shooting out Harold Clement’s yard light.”

  “No, who?”

  “Old lady Pascal.”

  “Oh dear.” Ryanne remembered the woman well. Mrs. Pascal had been a cafeteria worker when Ryanne was in grade school. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  “Nothing. Nick gave her a stern warning and took away her bullets. He also moved her bed so that the light didn’t shine in her eyes, and last I heard he was planting a bush at the edge of the Clements’ yard. To obstruct the view, but it will take awhile to grow, I’d think. I guess he talked to Harold about putting something instead of glass in the side of the lamp fixture that faces Mrs. Pascal’s house.”

  “That sounds like Nick.”

  “Yeah, it does. Elmwood is lucky to have someone like him who cares about the people.”

  Ryanne nodded. “People have been very good to me since I’ve been here.”

  “They’re always good to me,” Birdy replied. “Oh, I get annoyed sometimes—the lack of privacy, you know—but that’s just what comes with small-town life.”

  “I guess.”

  “Sort of like a big extended family. Sometimes they smother you, but they’re always there when you need them.”

  Ryanne glanced over to where Audrey Milligan was watering her petunias. The older woman waved and smiled, and Ryanne waved back. Today she wore a pair of yellow polyester pants and tennis shoes with flashing red lights in the heels. “Audrey sent my mom a plant,” she said.

  “They were neighbors for a lot of years,” Birdy replied.

  Ryanne glanced at the trellis that Jon Langley had repaired, and her lawn, which Forrest Perry had mowed during her absence. She’d learned that there was a volunteer group working to turn the Sunday school rooms at the First Presbyterian Church into a temporary day care. In fact, she’d been called to help shop for dishes and supplies with Natalie Perry.

  Like a big family, was how Birdy had put it, and for the first time Ryanne saw the truth in that comparison. The citizens of Elmwood had always offered her mother help, especially after her father had left and Evelyn had been on her own for the first time. Ryanne’s perception of the community had been skewed by her own sense of self-importance. The people were basically warm and welcoming, and she’d rejected that friendliness as prying.

  Nick’s patrol car pulled into the shade behind his house.

  Ryanne’s heart fluttered foolishly, and she looked away. “How is Ann Marie doing?”

  “She’s set up in the apartment over the hardware store. I check on her a couple of times a day. That Dylan is going to be a heartbreaker in a few more years, have you noticed?”

  Ryanne nodded. That meant Mel was once again left to watch Jamie all day until the day care was ready. Guilt bored into her conscience. She’d promised to help. She’d wanted to help.

  A while later, Birdy said her goodbyes and left. Ryanne set their glasses in the sink and walked through the house. She was going through a stack of papers when the phone rang.

  “Ryanne, it’s Lisa Crenshaw.”

  “Hi.” She greeted the Realtor with whom she’d listed the house.

  “I have a couple of people who want to look at the house tomorrow.”

  Ryanne’s heart sank. “Okay.”

  “I’ll show it at eleven and again at two.”

  “I’ll be gone,” she replied.

  “All right then, hon. This is going to be a snap. It’s a grand old house, and I always have people looking for something in that price range. I’ll bet we have it sold within the week.”

  “Thanks, Lisa.” Ryanne hung up. She’d already been thinking she needed to let Nick know she would help with Jamie again. This call had made it easier, since she needed to be out of the house. Things were so tense between her and Nick that talking to him and seeing him was uncomfortable.

  Memories of their last argument flooded her mind, and she recalled vividly the way they had kissed and touched and made love on the floor. Her gaze was drawn to the living room carpet, and heat washed up her body to her cheeks. She didn’t want to be at odds with Nick. She’d never wanted that. It had been unrealistic to think they could become intimately involved and still keep their friendship intact. It had been unfair of her to make him promise.

  But, oh, she missed him. She missed the heated energy in his eyes when he looked at her; she missed the way he said her name, the drives they’d taken…the nights they’d spent in each other’s arms.

  Swallowing t
he burning in her throat and the threat of tears, she ran up to freshen her face and hair, then crossed the lot between their homes. Hopefully, she’d given him time to finish his supper, though it was already dark. He’d arrived home late.

  Ryanne knocked tentatively on the back door.

  Nick opened it.

  Seeing him, she regretted coming. She could have phoned. His hair was wet from a recent shower. His soft worn jeans molded to his legs and hips so sexily that her mouth went dry.

  Nick stepped back to invite her inside without saying a word.

  She glanced around.

  “Dad’s in his room and Jamie’s watching TV.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at the open dishwasher. She’d apparently interrupted a task. “I wanted to let you know I’d be over tomorrow. To stay with Jamie.”

  “You don’t have to. I don’t expect you to.”

  “Why not? I told you I would.”

  “Things have changed, haven’t they?”

  “They still aren’t ready to open the day care. Mel shouldn’t have to handle him all day and then be on call at night, too.”

  Nick’s expression changed, and she knew she’d touched a vulnerable spot.

  “And I want to do it,” she added. “Those things haven’t changed.” She paused and said more softly, “I miss him.”

  “He misses you, too, but he’s going to have to get used to it.”

  That hurt. She buried the pain deep before she spoke. “Not tonight, he doesn’t. And not tomorrow. So I’ll be here with him just as we planned before I went to my mom’s.”

  Nick moved to finish the dishes. Finally, he said over his shoulder, “All right. Go on in and see him if you’d like.”

  Jamie jumped up from the cars he was playing with and met her with a huge smile and a hug. “Hi, Rye,” he said, having picked up the nickname from his dad. “Dad said you was restin’ from your trip to your mom’s.”

  “I’m all rested,” she said, and joined him on the floor.

  “I hope nobody buys your house,” he said. “’Cause then you won’t have to leave.”

  “I’d still have to leave, Jamie. I’d just have less money. I have to go back to work.”

  “Can’t you work here? My dad could pay you to watch me. I’d be pretty good most of the time.”

  She ran her hand over his shiny hair and kissed his temple. “It’s not quite that simple, honey. Adults have bills to pay, and mine require me to take a job that pays a lot of money.”

  “Oh.” He made a few engine noises as he raced a car across the edge of the trunk. He seemed to accept that explanation, and apparently didn’t resent her for leaving, like his father did. She read him a book, and when Nick came into the room, she felt him studying the two of them.

  Ryanne looked up and met his gaze.

  “He’s asleep,” Nick said quietly.

  She had noticed Jamie’s weight against her shoulder. She laid down the book, careful to support Jamie’s head.

  “I’ll carry him upstairs.” Nick bent to scoop up his son, and Ryanne followed.

  “Do I have to brush my teeth, Daddy?” Jamie sleepily poked his arms through the oversize T-shirt his dad slipped over his head.

  “Yes, you do. I’ll help you.”

  Ryanne sat on the edge of the narrow bed and waited for them to return. She tucked Jamie under the covers, kissed his forehead, and Nick turned out the light before giving him a hug. “Will you be here tomorrow?” Jamie asked Ryanne.

  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “Okay. We can check on the anthill.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  Nick and Ryanne stood in the hall for a moment, the silence between them awkward. Only a short time ago, she would have joined him in his bedroom and they would have…

  He was thinking the same thoughts; she recognized the heat when he met her eyes in the meager glow of a night-light.

  Nick turned his attention away, working hard to swallow his frustration and hurt. He descended the stairs, and she followed. He picked up miniature cars and stored them in a vinyl case under an end table, then walked toward the kitchen. He had a couple of hours left to work on a project—try to keep his mind occupied.

  “I’m going out to the garage for a while.”

  “I guess I’ll leave,” she said. She walked out the back door ahead of him and crossed the lot.

  Nick made his way to his garage and flipped on the lights and fans. He’d been thinking about everything she had said to him the other day. She hadn’t understood his willingness to give up his own dreams to take care of Holly and his father, and then Jamie. Had he really been unfair to himself and to his family by stifling the things he really wanted?

  Ryanne thought he’d be a more fulfilled person if he saw to his own desires instead of trying to please everyone else.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time he went after what he wanted. He’d thought for days about what he wanted. And somehow none of it mattered without Ryanne in his life. She had become what he wanted.

  He’d denied himself that admission in the past, and he was doing it again.

  The door opened and he looked up from the workbench. Ryanne stood just inside the threshold. She glanced around. “I wanted to say something.”

  What could she say at this point that would make a difference? “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick. Sorry for being selfish. I’ve always gone after what I wanted at the risk of everything else. I really needed you this summer. I wanted what we shared, and I didn’t let myself think of the consequences. I would never deliberately hurt Jamie, I hope you believe that. And I never wanted to hurt you. So…I’m sorry.”

  Years ago she had come to him in the old garage, leaned on a fender and wished him goodbye before she’d left for college. He’d been a boy of sixteen. Silently, not speaking what was in his heart, he’d watched her go. And he’d regretted it ever since.

  He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  There were so few things he’d ever really wanted for himself. But Ryanne was one of them. Always had been. He laid down the part and the catalog he was holding and faced her squarely.

  “Ryanne. I love you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  She stared at him, her eyes round and filled with confusion. A flush stained her cheeks. Nick’s heart beat a mile a minute, the words he’d blurted hanging in the air between them.

  “Stay and marry me,” he said, walking closer. “We can take care of the debt you owe together.”

  Her mouth opened and closed twice before she pushed any words out. He wanted to reach for her, pull her close, but her expression was unreadable, keeping him at arm’s length. Finally, she said, “This is my own mess, Nick. I have to work it out on my own.”

  “The hell with that,” he answered, trying to keep from getting angry. “I can take care of your debts. I told you that.”

  Her rigid posture betrayed her negative reaction to his proposal. “You’re trying to take care of me, Nick,” she said. “It’s what you do. You took care of Holly after Justin died, didn’t you? Isn’t that what your marriage was all about? You said you didn’t love her. You just did what you thought was right.”

  God, he hated it when she turned everything around to be about him. He hadn’t even let counseling go as far as to unearth his feelings of guilt over Justin’s death. Maybe marrying Holly had been penance. Maybe he had tried to make up for her losing Justin. Just like he’d tried to make it up to his dad.

  And then he’d had to make it up to Jamie for his mother leaving.

  “You’re a giving, caring man,” Ryanne said, her voice gentle. “It’s who you are. And it’s one of the things I appreciate the most about you. But I don’t want to be taken care of. And I don’t want to be one of your projects. You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you. Why should I?”

  She glanced away. “I don’t know.”

  “I told you I
love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you, either?” They shouldn’t be standing feet apart in his garage when he told her this—he should be kissing her, holding her. Their entire relationship had been ill-timed, and this was an ideal example.

  “If you truly do love me, Nick, then it’s the best gift I could ever hope to receive.” She placed both palms over her heart. “I’m honored. But I can’t stay and let you fix my life.”

  “I’m not Mason,” he said, still trying to convince her. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “No.” She shook her head and dropped her hands to her sides, as if frustrated by trying to make him understand. “I just can’t stay.”

  And she was gone.

  Nick spent the following hours going over the things that had been said, digesting the truth Ryanne had served up and forced him to swallow. His guilt over Justin’s death had been at the root of much of his stress, he admitted. He had blamed himself for not doing more, for not going along that night that Justin had asked him to accompany him—the night he had died.

  Was he his brother’s keeper? He had thought so. And he had tried to make up for failing him by marrying Holly, by taking the sheriff job, by making his dad’s life easier. His own wants and wishes had been shoved to a back burner, where they only got stirred when time allowed.

  He wanted Ryanne, but she had her mind made up to move to Albany. He didn’t know of anything he could do to change that. He had tried, played his trump card and lost. He couldn’t make her love him back, and he would have to spend the rest of his life missing her.

  He wanted to expand his custom car business, but being the sheriff took all his time. He didn’t need the money, but the county needed him.

  How many times had he thought that and stayed with the job, anyway?

  The county could find someone else. Duane or Bryce could move up to the senior position. Elmwood, all of Crawford County, would go on as it had for a hundred years—and he didn’t have to be the sheriff. He would have more time with Jamie, something else he wanted.

  A sad-sweet ache made his chest feel hollow. He would never have Ryanne.