by Jodi Thomas
Tinch slowed, took a breath. Just a snake. “Did he strike? Was it a rattler?” If she’d been bitten by a rattlesnake, they needed to be on their way to the hospital.
“I wasn’t bitten, and I didn’t pick it up to see if it rattled.” Suddenly, she looked angry, as if it were his fault.
Tinch held up one hand. “You stay here on the porch and I’ll check it out.”
“What if it comes this way?”
“You’re safe right there. Snakes hate climbing steps.” He doubted that was true, but it seemed to calm her some. How could a woman who cut people open daily be afraid of a snake? She’d probably scared the rattler far more than it had her.
Tinch walked around her car parked inside the old garage. The place was cluttered with years of junk. Listening, he watched for any sign of a snake.
Nothing.
He picked up a rake and moved it under her little car. A four-foot-long bull snake wiggled out.
Tinch hooked him with the rake and walked out of her garage. He didn’t look her direction, but he swore he could feel her watching him. He made a wide circle so she wouldn’t think he was getting closer to her with the reptile. When he reached his truck, he pulled out a grain sack and lowered the snake inside, then knotted the top and set it down in the bed of his truck.
“Are you going to kill it?” she asked.
“No. It’s a bull snake just looking for his dinner in your garage. I’m guessing he’s not welcome, so I’ll take him down the road and let him go.”
“Far down the road.” She was slowly calming, turning back to ice. “When I rented the place, I didn’t know there were subleasers on the property.”
Tinch reached her, but she stood two feet above him on the porch. “He’s not going to hurt you, Addison. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She nodded slowly as if trying to allow his words to sink in. “It’s just that I’ve never lived in the country, and the only snakes I’ve known wore suits and ties.”
He smiled as if she were joking, but he had a feeling she wasn’t. “If you see another snake or hear a rattling that sounds kind of like the buzz of a cicada, back away slowly.”
She held her chin up. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“If it’s any comfort, that’s the first snake I’ve seen around here in months.” Even while he tried to reassure her he wondered why she held herself so tightly in place.
“That is no comfort,” she answered.
“Besides for dancing, wearing boots comes in handy out here. You might want to buy a pair.”
She shook her head as she stared at the garage.
“You got any liquor around here?”
That pulled her out of her nightmare thoughts. “It’s ten o’clock in the morning, Mr. Turner, surely you don’t need a drink?”
He shoved his hat low and wondered why this woman was so irritating. “I was thinking you might need a shot to steady your nerves.”
“I’m fine. Thank you for coming.” She turned as if to go inside.
“You’re welcome.” He propped his foot on the first step and stared at his boots. “Look, Doc, don’t take it so personal. We all get scared from time to time. Nobody, even you, has to be perfect.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it as if by saying anything she might reveal too much of herself.
He took the chance to change the subject. “You want to see something else I found in the garage? I promise this won’t frighten you.”
When she didn’t answer, he walked into the dark garage and came back out with something cupped within his hands. “This might have been what brought the snake calling. I saw the Rogerses’ old barn cat moving her kittens a few days ago. She’s probably been living fat on field mice down by the old barn, but decided to move her family into the garage for winter.”
He opened his hands and a tiny kitten lifted its black-and-brown striped head. With great care he set it in the basket strapped to the back of an old bike near the porch. “There’s another one still in the barn. They look big enough to survive, so the momma cat may have moved on.”
When he returned with the tabby kitten, he saw Addison smile, and for the first time Tinch thought she could be pretty if she tried. She was still too tall, not rounded enough in the right places and far too controlled to be someone he’d be interested in, even if he was looking.
“I can take them home with me, if you don’t want them. I got a few other strays around my place.”
She walked down the steps and held her hands out slowly until her fingers brushed fur. “I’ll take them both. At least until I leave.”
He watched her carefully as she brushed one finger over the tiny kitten’s head.
“I wanted a cat when I was a kid,” she said more to the cat than him. “But my parents wouldn’t hear of it. They said an animal in the house would be chaos.”
Tinch relaxed a little as he studied her. “Why don’t you take Chaos and his brother inside and give them a little milk?”
She smiled at Tinch. “I’ll do that, and thanks for coming. I guess I should spend some time looking up the difference between bull snakes and rattlesnakes.”
“You do that, Doc.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Friends?” he offered.
“Friends,” she agreed.
He went back to his truck fighting down a laugh. Who would have guessed the doc would turn human over a stray cat or two? He’d thought for a minute she was going to kiss him for handing over the kittens.
Maybe he should bring over a horse. Maybe she’d be so tickled she’d sleep with him. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, even a tall, thin, washed-out one was starting to look good.
The thought of Addison tangled in the sheets almost buckled him to his knees. He hadn’t thought of a woman like that since Lori Anne died. Sure, he had dreams of women, but they were only fiction in his mind, not real flesh-and-blood neighbors.
Tinch expected to feel guilt for somehow betraying Lori Anne, but he didn’t. Maybe time had washed a little of the married feeling away, or more likely he’d just grown insensitive to the pain. Thinking of Addison was so far away from something that would happen, she might as well have been a fantasy. Even if he wanted to know her better, the doc would never allow that to happen.
Chapter 11
MONDAY
SEPTEMBER 19
TRUMAN FARM
REAGAN SWORE SHE COULD FEEL HER HEART CRACKING as she walked through the rooms of her uncle’s house … her house. She’d tried to sleep most of Sunday after she’d made it home from the hospital, but today she had far too many things to do.
Only, the house seemed to call to her as the shadows grew long. Memories lined the walls of the old place that had been in the Truman family for more than a hundred years. Lifetimes of living mixed with her short time among them.
She thought of her first days here when she’d counted the hours until Jeremiah kicked her out. She’d shown up with nothing in her backpack but a few changes of underwear, a jacket, and a couple of old T-shirts.
Reagan remembered the day he’d given her a roll of money and trusted her to do what was right. Old Jeremiah had been the first person ever to trust her or believe in her. He’d set up a charge account for her at stores in town and told her to spend what she needed and never questioned her on a dime she spent.
She thought of the party when he’d handed her the deed to this place for her eighteenth birthday. He’d said he did it so she’d never have to worry about having a home.
As she picked up the newspaper he’d been reading when he’d had his last heart attack, she gulped down a sob. Reagan had been in the kitchen, but Foster Garrison, the live-in nurse, had been with her uncle when he dropped in pain. They’d rushed Jeremiah to the hospital. Everyone had done all they could to save him, but Reagan knew it was his time to go.
Funny thing was, Jeremiah knew it too. He spent his last days telling her not to overreact and to ma
ke sure she got the apple trees ready for winter.
Standing up straight, she realized she’d miss this old man who would always be her uncle even though they were not blood kin. She’d cried every night in the hospital waiting for death to finally come, but she wouldn’t cry anymore. He would think it foolish with all the work to do.
The knowledge of what she had to do, of who she was, settled in around her. She now owned an orchard, and if she didn’t take charge, all the apples wouldn’t be picked, packed, and delivered. Each year for the past four years she’d increased production. Now she had to meet demand or her business would suffer, not to mention all the pies and jelly in the state that wouldn’t get made. Her uncle had loved the trees, but she loved the business of it.
Though she’d come to Harmony as a runaway, Jeremiah not only had taken her in as his niece, but he’d made it legal. As far as everyone in town knew, she was the last Truman. And Trumans, like the Mathesons and the McAllens, founded this town and somehow were responsible for it. And now, unbelievably, she was a part of the history also. She not only had the farm and the business, she also had the town to care for.
Reagan walked out onto the porch and was surprised to see her next-door neighbor, Pat Matheson, sitting in the rocker Jeremiah always sat in.
“Evening, Reagan,” the old woman said. “I thought I’d drive over and watch the sunset with you tonight.” Her hands were almost as wrinkled as Uncle Jeremiah’s had been as she patted the rocker arm with each sway of the chair.
Reagan couldn’t get any words out as she took her chair that faced the west.
The old woman stilled and her fingers covered Reagan’s as they watched the sun go down in silence. In the shadowy light before darkness fell, Pat whispered, “I believe that was about the prettiest one I’ve ever seen. Jeremiah would have liked it.”
“Did you love him?” Reagan wouldn’t have been able to ask if it hadn’t been dark, but somehow, today, on the day after his death, it was important to know.
“All my life, child.” Pat Matheson gave a sharp laugh. “I never remember a day that I didn’t love him. But loving and living with a man are two different things.”
Reagan thought of asking why they never married, but maybe they had what they wanted. Maybe looking over the fence and seeing the light of his place just down the road and knowing that he loved her just as much as she loved him was enough for them both. “He loved you too,” Reagan said, “but he hated that you called him Dimples.”
“I know he loved me, dear, and I called him Dimples because I knew it bothered him. There was always a part of me that got a real tickle out of needling that man.”
Reagan rocked back in her chair. Jeremiah wasn’t an easy man to care for. His own sister had moved to Oklahoma rather than have to live with him. He had his way of doing everything—the right way, he claimed—and he never listened any more than necessary to anyone.
“Will you sit beside me at the service tomorrow?”
Pat nodded. “I will if you want me to.”
A huge black pickup turned off Lone Oak Road and headed toward them.
“That’ll be Hank coming to get me. I told him I could walk home, but my sister never believes a thing I say I can do. I think secretly she likes calling our nephew and enlisting his help.” She smiled as if enjoying complaining about a sister she’d lived and worked beside all her life. “Will you be all right here by yourself again tonight?”
“Sure. This is my home.” Reagan almost smiled. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d want to be.”
Hank Matheson got out of the truck and walked around to open the door for his aunt. “Reagan,” he said as he helped Aunt Pat in, “you call us if you need anything. We’re here if you need us.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that,” Reagan answered, and waved. She walked into the house and up the stairs to her room.
Just before she fell asleep she tried Noah’s number one more time. No answer. Her best friend was several states away at some rodeo and didn’t know her uncle had died.
She remembered when she’d been in high school and Noah had told her once, Everyone wants to hug you when someone in your family dies. They don’t know what to say and there really ain’t nothing they could say that helps, so about all you can do is stand there and let them hug you.
Tonight she’d give all she owned for one hug from Noah McAllen. Months had passed since he’d been home, and Reagan felt like he grew less real and more the legend every day. Folks around here talked of Noah as if he were a movie star. Like his father, he’d done the town proud on the rodeo circuit.
She tried to sleep but couldn’t seem to empty her head. An hour before dawn, Tyler Wright drove up in front of her house and waited. He didn’t knock, or honk. In the country everyone knows when someone comes to the house.
When she walked out dressed in a black pantsuit, Tyler stood by the car waiting.
She tried to smile at him. “Can I ride up front with you, Mr. Wright?” She couldn’t stand the thought of being in the back alone.
“Of course,” he said, and opened the door.
They drove to the cemetery and waited in the car while the hearse arrived. The pale glow of first light came as six men, all dressed in suits, carried the casket up a small hill to an open grave.
Reagan watched without really seeing them. She saw the flowers being brought up and put across the simple wooden box. Wildflowers of spring somehow didn’t fit with the cool fall morning.
“Did my uncle order flowers when he made his plans?” she asked, realizing she hadn’t even checked with Tyler about the details of the funeral.
“No,” Tyler said honestly, “but I thought he’d like them.”
“He wouldn’t,” she answered, knowing he’d say they were a waste of money. “But I do. Thank you for thinking of them.”
Tyler smiled. “It will be sunrise in a few minutes. I have chairs next to the grave.”
He walked around and opened her car door while Reagan tried as hard as she could to convince herself that she could get through this. When the door opened, it was not Mr. Wright, but Brandon Biggs who offered his help. Big stuck out his huge hand and waited for her.
Reagan looked behind her and saw people all around emerging from their cars in the gray dawn. Then she looked at Big. He always seemed to know when she needed a friend.
“I thought you might need a hand,” he said as they began to walk up the hill.
“Thanks,” she managed as she moved closer to the casket sitting above where the grave had been dug. “Don’t let me do something dumb.”
“I’m right here, Rea. I’ve got your back.” He held her arm as she sat down in one of the chairs, then moved behind her.
As light spread over the land, people covered the hill. Pat Matheson, as she had promised, sat at her left, and other old men and women took the remaining chairs. Most were either Mathesons or McAllens. The three families had started together on this land, and they seemed to band together when they buried one of their own.
A preacher Reagan had never seen gave a simple service as the sun rose, warming the air a few degrees. She looked out over the cemetery. There were people everywhere. Some standing in family groups, some alone, all facing the hill. Jeremiah Truman, a man who lived alone and liked it that way, had a world of people he’d touched.
When the last prayer was finished, Reagan stood and waited as one by one the people passed to touch the casket, to say their good-bye to Jeremiah, to hug her.
Two aging veterans folded a flag that had been draped over the casket. They started to hand it to Reagan, but she indicated that it belonged to Pat Matheson. The old men agreed. Everyone in town knew that Pat Matheson and Jeremiah Truman might have been married if not for the war.
Reagan thought of what Noah had said about hugging and knew that the people passing needed to give a hug more than she needed to receive one. An hour passed before Big walked her back to the funeral home’s family car.
�
��Mr. Wright, would it be all right if Big took me home? I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no trouble,” Tyler said.
Big nodded at the man. “I’d like to take her home if it’s not breaking any rules.”
“Of course,” Tyler said, understanding.
Reagan climbed into Big’s pickup and cuddled close to his big frame for warmth. The morning felt suddenly cold to her.
He started the truck and pulled slowly away.
She didn’t look back at the grave. She couldn’t yet. Someday, maybe in a few weeks or months, she’d bring flowers and sit beside it for a while, but not now, not today.
Big didn’t turn out toward Lone Oak Road but drove onto the highway. For a long while they just drove. Reagan didn’t really care where they were going. After the weeks in the hospital and months before that when she’d been afraid to leave the house for more than a few minutes, just driving felt great.
When he finally stopped for lunch at a truck stop that seemed miles from anywhere, Reagan realized how hungry she was. They ate huge hamburgers and malts while they made up stories about the other people in the place. When the manager announced that there was now a shower available for Ichy, Reagan laughed until she cried … and then simply kept crying.
Big didn’t say a word. He paid the bill and began the long drive back to Harmony. It was late afternoon when he dropped her off at the farm.
“In the morning, I got to go over to Armstrong County and work with a crew there. It may be a week before the job’s done and I make it home. Will you be all right till I get back?”
She opened the car door and noticed Jeremiah’s old dog waiting for her on the porch. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got lots to keep me busy.” She leaned back in the cab and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the drive.” She guessed he knew she was thanking him for a whole lot more than just a drive.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled that big goofy smile of his. “Only, thanks isn’t enough, Rea. Not from you. I expect a whole pie when I get back. One of your chocolates would be nice, but I’ll take whatever you make.”
