Wind River Lawman

by Lindsay McKenna

  Dawson regarded her in the hush of silence. “On some days, it’s like a bad dream.” Giving a heavy shoulder shrug, he added, “And other days? It’s as if it happened yesterday. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you like that.” He pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket and walked over to her, pressing it into her hand. “Here . . .”

  His ability to transcend his own pain to care for her almost made Sarah want to burst out into sobs, throw her arms around his neck and have him hold her. How much she longed for that! Forcing herself to remain where she was, she dabbed her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t be.” He shook his head, remaining nearby. “It’s not something I tell many people, but I know you have a soft heart. I’d appreciate it if you don’t let this become common knowledge; it’s almost too hard to talk about to anyone.”

  “Of course, I understand,” she whispered unsteadily, fighting to force her tears to stop. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the damp handkerchief into his hand. “Thanks . . .”

  “Anytime.” He took it and folded it back up, pushing it into a back pocket. “Are you okay?” and he peered down at her, as if sizing her up, confusion in his voice.

  “Umm, yes . . . fine, fine,” Sarah said, taking a step away from him. “It just caught me off guard, was all,” she admitted huskily. The need to cry, to wail, was so powerful, she could still feel that energy, like a closed fist, pushing upward into her chest, making her struggle to contain it all. And it was so hard to do that with Dawson’s gentle questions, the way he was looking at her, as if he sensed something more about her reaction. Making one more swipe with trembling fingers, she moved away from him and pointed to the door leading to the bedroom and bathroom area. “Come this way. See what you think.”

  She stood aside after pushing the door wider. Dawson gave her another concerned look, walked past her and entered the next room, which was as large as the parlor had been. Pressing her hand to her throat, his back to her, she shut her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly in and out. That was the only thing she could do to force all the other reactions, the grief, the anger and haunting possibilities, the nightmarish answers, from pummeling her. Usually? She could put them in a box and shut the lid, focus on the present. But something in Dawson’s demeanor, maybe that medic side of him, had blown the lid off the box that contained her past as well as her present. As he’d admitted, the pain and grief were in the past for his brother, Toby. But hers wasn’t. She lived with it every day, and on days like this, it was excruciating. Sarah wasn’t sure she could force everything back into that box deep within her.

  This was too close for comfort, and as she stood there, Dawson walked around the antique brass bed with the shining gold head- and footboard, his hand touching the bright patchwork quilt that served as a bedspread, Sarah continued to wrestle with her own dark emotions. “Do you like it?” she asked, her voice sounding off-key even to her.

  “Yes, really nice. Kind of reminds me of my bedroom back at our home outside Amarillo. My father has worked for the Double Circle Ranch since I was born, so the owner gave him a Victorian two-story house to live in on the property. He’s the foreman, so it worked out for everyone concerned.” He halted at the six-drawer mahogany dresser, appreciating its ancient qualities and beauty. “Toby and I each had a room up on the second floor,” he said, his voice quiet and contemplative. “Our brass beds were full-size. The people she helped as a social worker sometimes gave my mother gifts. One elderly woman made a quilt for her, and she gave it to me for a bedspread. Another woman with six kids made one and gave it to her, and that became Toby’s spread.” He turned, looking at the bed. “Funny how life comes around to repeat itself,” and he gave her a slightly crooked smile. “I would never have thought I’d be stepping back into the past, another Victorian home, with 1900s’ furniture just like the one I grew up in. That amazes me.”

  Sarah stood there, thinking it stunned her, too. But in a different way. “Does it make you feel more at home, then?” she asked.

  His mouth puckered, and he chuckled a little. “You could say that.”

  “Do you have two sets of grandparents?” she wondered.

  “I do, yes.”

  “Are they anything like Gertie?”

  He laughed softly. “No, they’re pretty tame in comparison. They live in Amarillo, have their own small homes, and my parents see them regularly. They’re getting up there in age and need help here and there.”

  “Is your mom still a social worker?”

  “Oh yeah,” Dawson said. “She’ll probably never retire unless they force her to. She loves helping others.”

  Just as Dawson did, but Sarah didn’t say that. There was a strong humanitarian and service side to this wrangler, no question.

  “What about your dad? Is he still foreman?”

  “Yes.” Dawson craned a look in to the bathroom. It had black-and-white octagonal tiles across the floor, a large, a freestanding claw-footed bathtub, a shower and white tile on the walls where it sat. There was a white shower curtain pulled aside, the porcelain sparkling clean.

  Easing out of the bathroom, he turned and met her gaze. “They live in the same place where we were born. My mother had both of us at home, had midwives helping her. She detests hospitals.”

  “Good for her. She sounds pretty independent, like the women of my family.”

  “I think so, but she’s a Texan. And Texas women are strong. But I haven’t met your grandmother Nell yet, or your mom.”

  “I’m sure you will this coming Sunday.” She managed a smile in his direction. “Gertie and Nell trade Sundays for family dinners. I’m sure it won’t take you long to get to know the cast of characters I’ve grown up with.”

  “I like Gertie,” he said, coming around the bed, following her out to the parlor. “You know where you stand with someone who’s like that. My mother is pretty PC, my father isn’t. I think I took more after my mother on that one.”

  She smiled as she walked to the door. “From the looks of it, we have some things in common,” and she gestured to the parlor. “We both grew up in turn-of-the-century homes, the same types of 1900s’ bed and furniture. That’s pretty interesting to me.”

  “Texas and Wyoming have something in common after all?” he teased, holding the door open for her.

  She halted and turned in the hall. “I think they do. I’m leaving now. Once you get your things moved in here, go down and let Gertie know you’re settled in. Then ask her if she has anything for you to do. I’m sure she probably would like to show you the egg and chicken business down below the house. She’ll take you for a ride on Rocket,” and she chuckled. She liked that his gray eyes danced with humor at her teasing.

  “Think I’ll be alive to make that first Sunday dinner?”

  Laughter bubbled up in Sarah, and she felt the past starting to slip away. Dawson’s easygoing nature was exactly what she needed at this moment. “Put on a Kevlar vest, wear a helmet and I’m sure you will.”

  “Has she ever been given a speeding ticket for driving Rocket?”

  Her laughter deepened. “Gertie will never take Rocket off the property, that I promise you. Besides, it doesn’t have a license plate on it.”

  “Just wondering. Sounds like I’ll need that vest and helmet.”

  Dawson had lifted her out of the terror and grief that had assailed her earlier in the day. He was leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb, thumbs in his belt, grinning.

  She chuckled and started down the hall. “No, you’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, if you say so, Sheriff.”

  “See you Sunday, Dawson,” and she lifted her hand in his direction and headed for the staircase. She didn’t want to leave him, but there was apprehension bubbling up within her. How badly she wanted to share her past with him. As she quickly took the stairs down to the first floor, she knew Dawson would be a good listener. Looking around, she saw Cece in the kitchen, and Gertie was most likely in her office. Moving down
the hall, she knocked lightly on the half-open door to her grandmother’s work area.

  “Hey,” Gertie called, “you leavin’ us, Sarah?”

  She opened the door and stood on the threshold. “Yep, gotta get going.”

  “Is Dawson okay with his digs?” she asked, setting her pen aside over the accounting books in front of her.

  “Yes, he likes them,” and Sarah told her about his family living in a Victorian 1900s’ home in Texas. There was a gleam in Gertie’s eyes when she finished.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said.

  “Oh? I sure was. It’s as if we’re in parallel universes,” Sarah said.

  “Nah, I just think he’s the perfect guy for you, and it proves me right because you share a past that’s similar.”

  Sarah’s brows rose as she considered her grandmother’s words. “Well . . . I’m not ready for a relationship, Gertie. I’m just too busy, and there are too many demands on a sheriff.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” Gertie intoned, giving her that one-eyebrow-raised look whenever she knew she was right, even though Sarah was bucking in the harness over her insight.

  “He’s very nice, I agree.”

  “Oh, he’s the kind of man you need in your life, Sarah. All I’m doin’ is giving words to what you already know. Hmmm?”

  Moving restlessly, Sarah looked down the hall, hoping their voices weren’t carrying too far. The hall was empty, which meant Dawson couldn’t hear them. Thank goodness! “Gertie, you have to stop matchmaking. I’m not ready to settle down. I love my job. I’m devoted to it. I’m helping people, and that makes me feel good.”

  Waving her hand, Gertie said, “Oh, I know, I know, but don’t you get lonely in the evenings at home, alone? I know I do. Now that Isaac is gone, I get so I hate evenings because it’s so quiet and boring around here. It must be the same for you.”

  Her radio saved her. Gertie rolled her eyes as she pressed the receiver down on her shoulder to answer it. It happened to be a fender-bender accident at the south side of town. Getting off the radio, she said, “I’ll see you here for Sunday dinner,” and she came into the office, pressing a kiss to her grandmother’s head. “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

  “Oh, I know how to pace myself, child. It’s you I’m concerned about. Stay safe out there, okay?” and she patted Sarah’s arm.

  “I will,” she said. “See you Sunday. Love you . . .”

  “Love you too, dumplin’.”

  Chapter Six

  June 10

  Dawson was helping to set the long dining room table for Sunday dinner under Cece’s direction. It was an hour before the entire Carter family descended upon the home: David, Emily, Sarah and Emily’s grandmother, Nell, would arrive.

  Gertie was helping as well, bustling to and from the kitchen, taking out a one-hundred-year-old platter and other dishes of equal age. She said her grandmother had bought them in the 1890s and they were called the Spode Stafford Flowers collection. They were pretty American wildflowers on a white background, with 22-karat gilding around the edge of each plate. Gertie had placed a lime-green woven cloth on the table, and Dawson had laid it out, putting purple place mats beneath each plate, adding the silverware later. He liked the crystal amethyst-colored goblets with clear, transparent stems, all hand blown, all from the 1900s, she’d told him proudly. The table swam in sparkling dishes, crystal wine- and water glasses and real silverware that was a hundred and twenty years old. Cece had polished it last night at the table after the dishes were cleared. The woman never stopped working.

  The doorbell rang. Gertie had asked him to go answer the door, introduce himself to the family who had just arrived. He hoped it was Sarah. But as he hurried into the foyer, he saw a tall, but very thin woman with her gray hair tamed into a bun on the nape of her neck, standing there.

  “Hi, I’m Dawson Callahan, Gertie’s new assistant,” he said after opening the door for her.

  “Nell Franklin,” and she held out her thin hand to him, giving him a warm, gracious smile.

  Dawson shook her hand very gently. “May I carry that into the kitchen for you?” She was holding a large bowl of something beneath a plastic wrap.

  “Why, of course. Thank you.”

  Dawson set the bowl carefully on the foyer cherrywood Queen Anne table and then helped her take off her light, ivory-colored coat. It was a bit chilly today, and he knew older people got cold far more easily than younger adults or children. Nell had a long, thin face and green eyes the same color as Sarah’s. At seventy-six, she moved rather well, and he was impressed. She touched her steel-colored bun, making sure it was neat and still in place. She had a blue knit cap around her head to match her blue and white springlike outfit. Everything about Nell was neat and pressed. She wore gold metal square glasses and nudged them up on her nose.

  “Gertie said you were very nice and she was right.” Nell looked up at him. “But you’re a mighty tall drink of water.”

  It was Dawson’s turn to smile as he stepped aside and picked up the bowl while she retrieved her white leather purse from the desk. “Six-foot-two. My dad wanted me to play basketball, but I never liked the sport. Would you like to go into the living room? Gertie’s serving some finger food in there. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Oh, I’d love a spot of hot tea. And Cece makes the best appetizers. Yes, I’m going to go visit them and maybe catch Gertie the Whirlwind and say hi to her, also.”

  Dawson liked Nell’s genteel ways and manners. He swore she had stepped out of the pages of a 1900 Sears Catalog. His mother had a collection of them, and as a child, he and Toby used to go through them by the hour, fully entertained by all the black-and-white illustrations. It brought back soothing and comforting memories of his brash, athletic little brother, who loved anything mechanical. His heart ached because Toby hadn’t grown up to become a man, have adventures and share his life with him and their parents. They’d always been supportive of each other, never antagonistic. They were best friends, which made his loss doubly hard, his inability to rescue his drowning brother in time. Dawson had never cried so hard, for so long, in his entire life. Nothing in his life compared to his loss of Toby, except for his divorce from Lucia at age twenty-five. And he knew Toby was never far from his parents’ thoughts and hearts either, although they never blamed him for not saving his brother. It had been a terrible childhood accident, but it left a hole the size of a tunnel through all their hearts to this day.

  Trying to gently put his grief-stricken feelings off to one side, Dawson finished laying the silverware just as Cece had instructed him. He wasn’t one for Miss Manners, but he already knew Gertie very much wanted the good ol’ days environment in her home, as she referred to them, no matter how much the world was rapidly changing around them. Every piece of silverware was laid in a certain order to the next one. Cece warned him that Gertie would come steaming through the dining room later to double-check his work, so he’d better have them in the correct order.

  Grinning, he straightened the green crocheted lace at one corner of the table. Gertie had said her grandmother had crocheted this beautiful lime-colored tablecloth. Everything around him was a hand-me-down from the family, and each was an heirloom and had a provenance to it. He liked that, because it was similar to his own ranching-family upbringing.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Dawson called out to no one in particular. As he walked down the hall toward the foyer, he glanced left and saw Nell in a rocker, holding her flowery Spode wildflower painted cup filled with tea, chatting amiably with Gertie. They seemed to truly like each other, and Dawson drew in a deep breath of relief. He knew no family was perfect. Far from it. What he was hoping for at this Sunday dinner was that all the family members got along well with one another. He’d soon find out.

  Looking through the stained-glass window in the door, he saw it was Sarah. She was standing alone. His heart galloped. Her ginger-colored hair was a soft frame around her face. He
could see a silvery sheen blouse with a burgundy-colored scarf across her shoulders. She wore pink lipstick, her cheeks slightly flushed, but he saw no other makeup on her.

  Opening the door, he teased, “Wow, you clean up well, Sheriff.”

  She laughed and touched her silk burgundy skirt, which hung to just below her knees. “Yeah, I’m out of uniform, aren’t I? I imagine that’s quite a shock for you; you’ve only seen me in my law-enforcement duds.”

  “Nice change, though,” Dawson said, stepping aside. “Come on in. I’m playing meeter-and-greeter today because Gertie wants me to get acquainted with everyone before dinner.” As she walked past him, he inhaled the subtle scent of almonds. Deciding it was the shampoo she used on her shining reddish-brown hair, he closed the door. The wine-colored scarf highlighted her proud carriage, the ends falling between her breasts, covered with that shining silver-gray blouse. The difference was striking, making him feel desire, because she had such long legs and sweetly rounded hips that reminded him of a ballerina. All beauty, grace and harmony in motion, he decided. It was a helluva turn-on for him, and he instantly reined in his testosterone; it had no place at this family table.

  “Thanks,” Sarah murmured, pulling her white leather purse strap across her left shoulder. “Mmm, something smells good,” she said, walking beside him, their hands almost brushing each other from time to time. “What’s Cece fixing for us this afternoon?”

  “Prime rib, baked potatoes, sliced carrots with almonds and a strawberry parfait for dessert.”

  “I can see Gertie is getting you up to speed on helping in the kitchen.”

  His mouth twisted a bit. “Yes, she is. I don’t mind helping because both our parents worked, so Toby and I were responsible for getting the table set, and later on, I was taught how to cook.”