by Jodi Thomas
Only when he’d been called to the hospital in the middle of the night, Tyler got up and dressed in his best to go pick up Jeremiah Truman. He couldn’t say he liked the man. In truth, he didn’t even know him that well, though he’d known of him all his life. Truman hadn’t been a man who looked for friends. He attended no town meetings, church, or social gatherings. He liked his life simple.
Yet when Tyler sat at the rear door of the hospital with Jeremiah Truman’s body in the back of the funeral home van, he took a few minutes to let tears fall. He couldn’t help but remember the time he’d caught Jeremiah delivering apples in bushel baskets to families on hard times. Tyler had been in his early twenties. He’d parked his car, jumped in the back of Jeremiah’s loaded truck, and helped him finish the deliveries without ever saying a word to the old man. Jeremiah had brought him back to his car when the truck was empty. Tyler had offered to help again, and the old man had simply said he’d come by and honk if he ever needed any help.
Ten years passed before Tyler heard a honk one night about ten. He looked out and saw the old man’s truck loaded down with apple baskets. Tyler climbed into the bed of the truck and they begin passing out apples. He had no idea how the old man knew which houses to go to. He never asked. For nine years, every fall, they delivered apples without ever exchanging more than a dozen words. The old man had to be nearing eighty. In 2006, he didn’t honk and Tyler knew the girl, Reagan, must have taken over his job when he noticed apples on a few porches one Sunday morning.
“What say we drive by your orchard one last time,” Tyler said to the body resting in the back. He thought Jeremiah might like that. “And don’t worry, there will be no extra charge for the service.”
Tyler talked to Jeremiah more on the trip out on Lone Oak Road than he’d ever talked to the man while he was alive. “Now don’t you worry about Reagan, we’ll watch over her. She’s a good girl, must have a lot of you in her. Good blood, I guess.”
The conversation wasn’t much different than the few he’d had with Jeremiah Truman when the old man was alive; Tyler still did most of the talking. “I know you told me you want nothing but a simple graveside service. Since it’s almost sunup today, I’ll plan the burial for tomorrow or the next day if it looks like rain. If it’s all right with Reagan, of course, her being your only kin. Even a graveside takes time to do right.”
The old man would fill the last space in the Truman family plot. “You got a nice spot in the cemetery. Up on the hill.”
Tyler had no idea how many people would come to the service at sunrise for Truman, but his crew would spend the day getting ready and hoping it didn’t rain.
He pulled the van up beside the orchard. In the night, the trees were only black shadows spreading over the Truman land. He thought he saw a blink of a flashlight moving among the trees and wondered if Reagan had also ventured out among the apple trees to be close one last time to her uncle.
“We better be getting back to town,” Tyler said to no one. “It’ll be light soon and people will be on the roads.”
He drove slowly back to town, circling the old town square. In a strange way, even though Tyler rarely saw Truman, he was going to miss the old man.
An hour later, when his work with Jeremiah was done, Tyler let himself in through the main door of the funeral home and took the time to put Truman’s paperwork on his desk. The office and kitchen were still silent. It was even too early for the smell of coffee to greet him.
He tugged off his coat and hung it on the hook in his office and slowly moved up the stairs to his living quarters. Passing through the rooms where his grandparents and parents had lived, he smiled. Tyler didn’t believe in ghosts, but he felt people left a tiny part of themselves in places they loved and his home had always been filled with peace. And now, since his future bride, Kate, had almost retired from her army job and moved in, Tyler thought it was truly filled with love. She’d closed her apartment and stored all her belongings here. All she had was one more assignment, one more month, and she’d be the newest resident of Harmony, Texas.
Though they’d both crossed the hall many times, Kate insisted on claiming the guest room in his place as hers, and would until they married. Despite being a major and in her forties, his Kate was very proper, and, he thought, very loved. Not only he, but his staff and everyone she’d met in town had welcomed her to Harmony with open arms.
Tyler tapped on the frame of her open bedroom door. “Sorry to wake you, dear,” he whispered, “but may I come in?”
She made a sleepy little noise that sounded something like a yes.
Tyler pulled off his tie and shoes as he walked to her bed. He had only a few minutes, but he wanted to finish the night with her in his arms. He lifted the covers and slipped in beside her, loving the warmth of her as she cuddled into him.
Kissing the top of her head, he whispered, “I love having you here, dear Kate.”
Until he’d found her, he’d spent all his adult life alone. No woman had ever set foot in his quarters above the funeral home, except for the housekeeper.
Thinking of his new housekeeper, Autumn Smith, Tyler smiled. He’d found her sleeping in the cemetery with nowhere to go and pregnant. When he’d offered her the rooms next to the kitchen, and a job as cook and housekeeper, she’d been suspicious. Now, she was part of the family and the staff was getting fat on her cooking.
In a few weeks she’d have a baby and everyone, including old Calvin, who worked in the basement, was so excited. Kate had organized everything, and they’d even run drills for when the time came. The cars were never to be less than half full of gas. The suitcase was always at the kitchen door, already packed. Calvin had even installed a buzzer that, when pushed from the kitchen, went off in all the private areas of the house.
For the first time since Tyler had been born forty-five years ago, there would be a baby at the Wright Funeral Home. “Life goes on,” he whispered as he rested his cheek against Kate’s head and fell asleep.
Chapter 9
BUFFALO BAR AND GRILL
BEAU YATES FINISHED THE LAST SET OF SONGS, SET HIS guitar down, and told Border Biggs that he wasn’t feeling well.
Border agreed he should go on home. “I’ll get my brother to help load up and take the equipment back to the duplex. Ronny’s trying out a few new desserts on us tonight. She says if we live she might cook for a boyfriend someday.”
Beau shook his head as the image of Ronny Logan blinked in his mind. It seemed unlikely that Ronny, who lived on the other side of the Biggs brothers’ duplex, would ever be brave enough to go out on a date.
“She’s way into the ‘never get married’ zone,” Beau said. “Some women miss their window of opportunity, and I’m afraid your neighbor is one of them. What is she, twenty-seven or twenty-eight?” She was a nice lady who worked at the post office, but she had that never-had-a-date look about her. Beau liked her, though, because she never complained when they practiced late, and she sometimes brought them leftovers. The first few months she’d lived next to the Biggs boys, nothing she made was fit to eat, but she was getting better. Now, when he ate her cooking, Beau figured he had better than a fifty-fifty chance of keeping it down.
“I don’t know how old she is.” Border packed up their guitars. “Maybe when she found out both of us Biggs boys were too young for her, she just gave up and started cooking.”
Beau walked toward the door. “That would be a switch.” He laughed. “But I can see how you two could turn a woman in that direction.” Border didn’t just frighten small children, he frightened just about everyone who didn’t know him, and his older brother, even without the tattoos, was just about as threatening. Big was the kind of man who could clear his throat in a room and everyone would start running for the door.
Beau smiled at his friend. “I’ll come over tomorrow before noon so we can work on a new song.”
“Sounds good. We should practice. I got the feeling tonight that a few of the drunks were actually lis
tening.”
Beau agreed as he stepped outside and ran for his old car. He’d been thinking about what he needed to do all week long. He had one stop to make before he could sleep.
Border hadn’t suspected anything. As far as Border knew, Beau was just going back to his dad and stepmother’s house.
Though Beau usually slept on the couch in the Biggs boys’ duplex, he often went back to his folks’ place late Saturday night. He could slip into his old room and sleep until noon, then pick up clean clothes as he left. As long as he was gone before his parents got home from church, he didn’t have to face his dad.
Beau always left a note for his mom in his room thanking her for washing his clothes and for leaving plenty of leftovers in the fridge. She’d been kind to him, but not loving. She seemed more like a shadow in his life, completely dwarfed by her husband’s strong personality. She’d been the only woman he’d ever called Mom, but she’d never taken to the role.
Beau had never thought to mind, or even try to change her. It was just the way things were at his house, always had been, probably always would be. When his father preached of women being silent, his mother took the lesson home with her.
Only tonight, before he went home, Beau had something he had to do. He drove out to the truck stop and sat in the same booth Border and the girls had helped fill last week.
The place was deserted except for a few truckers who liked to drive the roads at night when there was less traffic. One man, several booths away, talked low on his cell while he ate. The other was reading a western and never bothered to look up when Beau walked past him.
Beau didn’t have to wait long. Five minutes after he sat down, a water glass slid across the table toward him.
“Your friends showing up tonight?” Willow asked.
Beau looked up. “N-no. T-they weren’t my friends. N-not that it’s any of your b-business.”
She shrugged and, to his surprise, smiled. “I really didn’t think they were. You and Border looked near panic when I brought out the food. I guess I would have ducked out too if I’d been you.”
“S-sorry about that. I-I hope they didn’t make a scene.”
“They did from the moment they walked in. I don’t know why you’d think they wouldn’t as they left. I never heard a woman swear so much and hiccup at the same time. Your date said she wasn’t going to pay, but my boss stepped out from the back and threatened to call the cops.”
“S-she wasn’t my date.” There, he thought. He’d said what he came to say. “They were just two women who offered to buy us breakfast when we finished playing at Buffalo’s.”
“I heard you were doing that.” Willow put her pad and pencil back in her uniform pocket. “So you joined the bar scene after graduation?”
“Y-yeah, and you joined the truck stop crowd.”
Willow shook her head. “We’re not exactly climbing the ladder of success, are we, Beau?”
“N-not yet, but I got plans and o-one of them is to stay away from women like those two. I-I could feel my brain cells dying just being so close to their dim light.” He fought to keep from stuttering.
Willow didn’t disagree with his evaluation of the dates. “I should tell you about some of the folks who come in here.”
“I’m listening, but I doubt you can trump my pair.” Beau forced each word out slowly.
She backed away a step. “I’m due for a break. Mind if I sit with you for a while? It’ll be nice to talk to someone who isn’t just passing through on a long haul. I’ll buy the Cokes.”
“S-sounds grand.” Beau watched her disappear through the swinging doors of the kitchen. He leaned back and smiled. He didn’t want a wild bar girl with too much makeup and her breasts hanging out. All he wanted was a friend to talk to. He could never remember a time when he didn’t know Willow Renalls, though they rarely said much to each other. He thought he remembered asking her to dance at a seventh-grade dance once, and she was his lab partner in biology one semester.
She appeared with the Cokes and a basket of hot rolls. They laughed about his last week’s date using all the condiments as they put butter and jelly on the rolls. Then they talked about all they’d done and hadn’t done since they graduated. Willow wanted to start junior college, but she hadn’t had the money, and Beau told her about his plans to make it big. Now and then he tripped over a word, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Thirty minutes flew by, and Willow finally stood to leave.
“I’ll pay for the d-drinks,” Beau said, feeling awkward for the first time since she’d sat down.
“No, they’re on me tonight. You can get them next time.”
Beau grinned. “N-next time. I-I like the sound of that.” He wanted to thank her for the normal conversation and for not judging him by the company he’d kept last week.
As he walked out he thought about how much easier it was to dream when they were in high school. Just saying you wanted to be something made everyone around you think it was a possibility, but now dreams seemed slippery and distant, layered between days until they were almost invisible.
He glanced back into the truck stop. Willow looked up from cleaning the table where they’d sat. She probably couldn’t see him standing outside in the dark, but he could see her clearly, her brown hair pulled in a ponytail and a slight smile on her lips like she was listening to her favorite song in her head.
Most folks wouldn’t notice, but she was pretty in her own way.
His kind of pretty, Beau thought as he walked to his car.
Chapter 10
SUNDAY MORNING
SEPTEMBER 18
TURNER RANCH
TINCH TURNER SPENT AN HOUR CALMING DOWN A DEVIL of a mare who’d been in an accident one stormy night a month ago. The truck she was being hauled in jackknifed on a slick road, causing a pileup.
The trucker transporting the horse had bloodied the gray’s neck trying to pull her from the wreck with a chain, and the patrolman on the scene suggested putting her down because the mare was obviously in a great deal of pain.
Lucky for the gray mare, a farmer who knew horses stopped to help. He climbed into the wreckage and blindfolded the horse with his jacket. Unable to see all the flashing lights and lightning, the animal calmed.
The farmer sat beside her stroking the trapped horse’s neck as she gave birth to a stillborn colt. In the chaos around them, no one noticed. No one cared.
Tinch had heard that it was almost dawn before they freed the mare. She had several deep cuts. For the next week Tinch wasn’t sure where the horse went or how the gray was treated. The vet who finally took care of her said the owner didn’t want to pay and told him to keep the animal. He claimed she wasn’t worth the cost of putting her down.
The vet in Clifton Creek called the vet in Harmony, who e-mailed Tinch and described the problem. Both men knew that Tinch would go get her and bring the mare home. They had a hell of a time getting her into a trailer, but they cared enough to make the effort. The doctor who’d worked on the mare started calling her Stormy, and Tinch barely noticed what her name had been when the vet handed over her papers to him.
Half the horses Tinch kept in his barn belonged to no one, or more accurately to him by default. Tinch wasn’t sure what the gray had been through between the wreck and the day he picked her up, but it must have been horrible because she hated anyone, man or animal, who got near her.
He finally got her in a clean stall, swearing and sweating as much as the horse. “I don’t know if I got enough lifetime left to gentle you, darlin’,” Tinch shouted over her stomping and snorting.
He grabbed the bucket and headed for the wash stand. Popping the snaps on his shirt, he splashed water on his face and chest while the bucket filled.
When the horse kept kicking the sides of the stall, Tinch yelled, “Stop that, darlin’. Nobody’s listening to your rant.” Then in a normal voice, he added, “I know you were expecting the horse whisperer, but I’m the horse yeller.” He raised his voice
again. “Stop trying to kick your way out of my barn.”
To his surprise the horse stopped, proving his theory that even horses recognized insanity in humans.
Tinch reached for a towel, but the shelf was empty. Laundry was never at the top of his to-do list. He shoved his wet black hair back and crammed his hat on, thinking he’d just drip dry. He didn’t have time to go back to the house for a towel.
He looked out the open barn door at what promised to be a warm sunshiny day. As much as he talked to himself and the animals, it was lucky he lived in the country.
The sound of a bell clanging shattered the silence of the morning.
Tinch turned north to the house no more than a shadow hidden behind the dried cornfield.
The clanging came again from the Rogerses’ bell. He’d heard it several times over the years and knew there had to be trouble.
Tinch dropped the bucket and ran for his truck, his mind already full of what-ifs.
Addison could have hurt herself. The house could be on fire. Someone could be robbing the place.
A woman living this far out should own a gun and know how to use it and have a dog, a big one that would bite. Hell, after meeting the doc it might just be easier to tell her to move back to town.
He swung into her driveway and braked, sending mud and rocks flying in every direction. As he jumped out of the cab, he saw her standing on the front porch, dressed in her white lab coat and white slacks. She looked as out of place as a street sign.
“What is it?” he yelled, relieved that she seemed to be in one piece.
“A … a …”
He ran toward her. Whatever had happened must be terrible. She looked like she’d been frightened. Her face was almost as pale as her coat. “What?” he yelled as he reached her.
“A … snake. By my car. I almost stepped on it.”
