by JoAnn Ross
“Me, too,” Scott said, doing exactly that. When he ran off to hang his new hat next to Cooper’s on the rack in the entryway, Rachel’s vision momentarily blurred.
“Something wrong?”
The man never missed a thing. Rachel guessed that came from all the years of being in law enforcement. She shook her head and blinked away the moisture that had risen in her eyes.
“Nothing. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen him so . . .”
She waved her hand as the words stuck in her throat. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m usually not so emotional.”
“We all have emotions,” Cooper said mildly. “No shame in showing them from time to time. And hey, if it makes you feel better, Scott’s seemed like a pretty happy kid before I showed up with the hat. You just need to be easier on yourself.”
It was the same thing Janet had told her for months. It was also easier said than done.
Rachel was surprised at how natural having Cooper sitting at her kitchen table felt. She’d never cooked for any other man but her husband, yet Cooper proved so easy going, answering Scott’s seemingly non-stop questions about local old-time outlaws, by the time the sheriff declared her spiced pumpkin pancakes topped with cinnamon brown butter and maple syrup the best breakfast he’d ever eaten, she began to relax, her earlier embarrassment at revealing emotions dissipated.
Then he’d surprised her yet again by insisting on helping clear the table. Although it seemed a bit strange, watching him load the dishwasher while she cleaned off the counter, she felt comfortable with him being in what had always been her sole domain.
Scott continued to chatter away on the drive to the station.
“Look, Mom,” he said as they approached the ticket window. “Wanted posters!”
“They seem to be.” Studying the black and white pictures on the wall next to the ticket window, she noticed that were it not for the oversized bushy mustache, one of the wanted men bore a striking resemblance to Cal Potter.
“So, buckaroo, your hat suggests you’d be a cowboy,” the ticket seller said to Scott as Cooper bought the tickets.
“I’m not, really,” Scott admitted reluctantly. “I got this hat from the sheriff. But my mom has a restaurant with a cow on the roof.”
“That’s close enough.” He handed Cooper the tickets, then rubbed his chin. “You think you could help the sheriff handle some outlaws if any were to show up on the way to Modoc Mountain?”
Scott squared his thin shoulders. “You bet!”
“I figured as much . . . See, here’s the deal. I’ve heard rumors some desperadoes are planning to rob this train.”
“Really?” Scott shot a glance at Rachel. Rather than look worried by that news, he appeared even more excited than when he’d first seen that damn cow.
“Now, I can’t say if it’s true or not,” the man drawled. “’Cause, like I said, so far it’s just a rumor. But this train has been robbed before. One time the scoundrels dynamited a Wells Fargo safe to get a gold shipment. But they miscalculated and blew up thirty-thousand dollars along with it.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Pieces of paper flew into the air then drifted down all over the ground like green snow. We haven’t had those sort of shenanigans for a time, but just in case, you’ll be wanting these.”
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a handful of gold colored coins. “When they say to turn over your money, you can give the varmints these fake coins. Those desperados ain’t playing with a full deck if you get my drift, so that’ll fool ’em.”
“Yessir!” Scott looked about ready to burst.
“I’m going to owe you for this,” Rachel murmured to Cooper as Scott raced out to the station platform, coins clutched in his fist.
“It’s my pleasure. But, if you insist on payback, we could probably put our heads together and think of a way.”
When he put his hand on her back, Rachel felt a surge of heat and knew they were thinking along the same lines.
The train had an old steam engine just like the ones she’d seen Paul Newman and Robert Redford rob in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. After they had boarded, Rachel and Cooper sat together while Scott took the window seat in front of them, bouncing up and down as if he had springs in his jeans.
The train took them along the winding river, through the forest and across meadows. In the distance Modoc Mountain soared high into a blindingly clear autumn blue sky. Accustomed to Iowa’s rolling hills and the East’s older rounded Adirondack Mountains, Rachel found the jagged, snow-capped Cascades stunning.
“Uh oh,” Cooper muttered as a cloud of dust appeared in the distance. A moment later, five men on horseback charged out of the cloud, making a beeline for the train.
“Are those robbers?” Scott pressed his face against the window glass.
“I suspect they may be,” Cooper said.
“Are you gonna shoot them?”
“Didn’t bring my weapon along. Sunday’s are supposed to be peaceful.”
The masked riders began shooting and waving their cowboy hats in the air as they got closer to the train.
“Oh, no!” A woman Rachel recognized as the clerk who’d checked her out at the market, leaped up from her seat across the aisle, obviously part of the performance. “Look what just came through the side of the car!” She pointed at a copper bullet slug rolling around on the passenger car floor.
“Wow!” Buying into every boy’s good guys/bad guys fantasies, Scott didn’t seem the least bit upset. “You need to take that bullet for evidence,” he told Cooper.
“Good idea.” Winking at Rachel, he scooped it up and put it in his front shirt pocket.
As they watched, one of the outlaws leaped into the engine. Then the train’s wheels came screeching to a halt on the iron tracks.
The outlaws boarded the car, guns drawn. “Now all you ladies and gents do what you’re told, and no one’s going to get hurt,” the leader, a short, scrawny man holding a six-shooter in each hand, said.
“You should tell them you’re the sheriff,” Scott hissed to Cooper.
“I’m not sure this is the time,” Cooper murmured. “Besides, the Oregon Rangers will be on their trail.”
“I didn’t realize Oregon had rangers,” Rachel said.
“Sure,” Cooper lied deftly. “They may not get as much press as those in Texas, but they’ve been capturing bad guys for a long time. They’re really good at their job.”
As if to confirm his words as the outlaws began walking down the aisle, instructing everyone to put money in the bags they were carrying, another cloud of dust appeared.
“It’s them danged Rangers!” a second outlaw, who was definitely Cal Potter, shouted. “Time to vamoose!”
They leaped off the train, jumped onto the back of their waiting horses, and raced away.
As the passengers watched, another group of men rode by in hot pursuit.
“Wow! That was the best thing ever.” Scott exhaled a long breath. Then his small brow furrowed. “It was make-believe, wasn’t it?” he asked Cooper. “Like Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World.”
“It was a re-enactment,” Cooper said. “Bad Bill Barkley robbed trains from here down to Tulelake across the state line in California. This gives people a taste of what it would’ve been like in the old days.”
“I wish I’d lived then,” Scott said. “It must’ve been way cool.”
“Might have been,” Cooper agreed. “But if you had lived back then, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you. Or your mom.”
“Yeah,” Scott decided after a moment’s thought. “And there wouldn’t have been any TV or X-Men or anything. So, I guess this is better.”
“Much better,” Cooper agreed. Then smiled at Rachel in a way that had her heart melting like the spiced butter atop this morning’s pancakes.
13
Back in his early MP days Cooper had awakened each morning juiced and ready to go out and save the world. It hadn’t tak
en him long to realize that a great many places in this world didn’t really want to be saved. At least not that he’d been able to tell.
Even in the supposedly laid-back city of Portland, he’d discovered that justice could be deaf and dumb as well as blindfolded. After nearly losing his partner and his own life while serving a warrant for a parole violation to a guy who’d been in and out of the revolving prison door so many times the length of his rap sheet rivaled War and Peace, now all Cooper wanted was an uneventful life where he didn’t have to worry about some crazed meth addicts with assault rifles trying to pump him full of bullets.
In Afghanistan, where his brother Sawyer was currently deployed, he’d bounced over rocky roads in an MRAP—Mine-Resistant, Ambush-Protected—vehicle.
After returning Stateside, he’d patrolled Portland’s streets in his police cruiser. Although River’s Bend town council had sprung for the snazzy new Jeep when he’d accepted the job, he spent a good deal of time walking, passing the time of day with the people who paid his salary. Keeping his ear to the ground let him know which citizens might have had spats, were harboring grudges or, especially in these times, falling into an economic hole that might have them creating trouble.
Like Jake.
Which was why he figured that by getting out of the office and making sure he remained part of the daily ebb and flow, folks would realize that whatever might happen, the sheriff had their backs.
In many ways, River’s Bend brought to mind a western town from the late 1800s. Located fifty miles from the interstate in a valley surrounded by mountains, the town boasted three stop lights, which were two more than when Cooper had headed off to San Diego for Marine basic training.
The trees along Front Street were turning a tapestry of red and gold. Mums filled planter boxes below store windows, adding a spicy tang to the fall air.
He passed by Harry’s Barber Shop, where Harry and Hank Young were sitting on a wooden bench out in front, taking advantage of the fall sunshine playing checkers as they’d been doing for as long as Cooper could remember.
“Hey,” he greeted them. “How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain,” the hardware store owner said as he double jumped, capturing two of his opponent’s red pieces and getting crowned king in the process.
“Probably not as good as it’s been going for you,” Harry drawled. “Heard you’ve been keeping company with the widow lady.”
“If by keeping company, you mean taking her son on the outlaw train, I guess you’ve caught me.”
“Heard you took more than just her son.”
“She’s been working her butt off. I figured she could use a day off to see the sights.”
“Speaking of sights and butts,” Hank said, “the lady does fill out a pair of jeans right nice.”
“Really?” Cooper adjusted his hat and appeared to be giving the matter some thought. “I guess I hadn’t noticed,” he lied.
“Better get your eyes checked out,” Harry suggested. “Because you’re probably the only male in town who hasn’t.”
“She’s a nice woman.”
“Did we say she wasn’t?” Harry shot back with an arched grizzled brow.
“You could do a lot worse,” Hank put in his two cents. “If I weren’t old enough to be her daddy, I might make a move on her myself.”
“More like her granddaddy,” Harry harrumphed. “As if you would’ve stood a snowball’s chance in hell back when you were Coop’s age.”
The men were second cousins on their mother’s side, and to hear Cooper’s grandfather tell it, along with the marathon checkers match, they’d been ragging each other for all of their lives. “You’d better make your move, Sheriff,” the barber suggested. “Before some other guy stakes a claim on her.”
“Well, thanks for the advice,” Cooper said. “I’ll keep in it mind. Meanwhile, I’d better get back to the office in case a crime wave hits town.”
“Town’s probably safe enough,” Hank said. “So long as your father-in-law stays out on his ranch.”
“Not that the dang government’s gonna let him live there that much longer,” Harry grumbled, his teasing mood disintegrating.
Despite Jake’s recent problems, he’d always been well liked and respected. Cooper guessed not a single person in the county doubted his father-in-law’s claim of having made that missing payment.
Correction. Unfortunately, there was one: Mel Skimmer.
Deep in thought, he continued down the street, absently waving back to Jenna Janzen, who was painting autumn leaves on her Chapter One bookstore window.
Jake Buchanan had never been one to shy away from the odds. Ranching had always been a high stakes game, with losing years as likely as not. Unfortunately, right now Skinner was holding all the cards.
Something Cooper was determined to change. Somehow.
He was pondering a new plan of action when a familiar voice called out his name. “Hey, Cooper!”
He turned around and saw Scott running down the sidewalk toward him, a cardinal red book bag banging against the back of his blue jacket.
“Hey, pardner,” he said. “How’s school going?”
“It’s really cool. We’re going on a field trip next week.”
“You’re taking a trip out to a field?”
“Nah.” The intended joke flew right over the nine-year-old’s curly head. “To the River’s Bend historical museum. My teacher said it has a bunch of cool stuff from the olden days.”
“It does.” Some of that cool stuff included the dented tin pan and wooden rocker his great-great-great-grandfather Malachy had used to pan for gold in the river along with Mary Murphy’s antique porcelain-faced dolls. “So, I guess you’re going to the café?”
“Yeah. Mom came up with this schedule for me to do my homework in the cafe’s dining room before we go home for dinner.” His small face frowned. “But I don’t have that much to do, so mostly I just play video games on my PSP.”
“Nothing wrong with video games. But how would you like to help me clean out some files?”
Scott’s eyes widened with astonishment. “You mean in the sheriff’s office?”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Wow! You bet I’d like doing that.” His mouth turned down in a frown. “But I promised Mom I’d walk straight to the café without stopping along the way.”
“No problem.” Cooper pulled out his phone. “We’ll give her a call, and I’ll bet she’ll go along with the idea as long as I promise you’ll finish your homework first. Which you will, right?”
“Sure.” The nine-year-old looked skeptical about their chances. “But she’s pretty strict.”
“She cares about you.” Enough, Cooper figured, that she’d see the value in her son hanging out with some guys for a while.
The conversation was short. Cooper figured he’d guessed right about her liking the idea, or she’d hadn’t wanted to waste time arguing when she could get back up on the ladder Cal had called her down from.
“It’s a go,” he told Scott, who’d appeared to be holding his breath as he’d shifted back and forth from foot to foot during the brief conversation.
Rachel’s son pumped a small fist in the air. “Sweet!”
14
Scott had been to Disney World lots of times. He’d also been to the top of the Empire State Building and a year before his dad had died, his parents had taken him to Italy, where he’d eaten lots of spaghetti and had his picture taken dressed up like a gladiator.
But as neat as all those places had been, none were as cool as Cooper’s sheriff’s office. It wasn’t that fancy. Not at all like his dad’s New York office with the thick carpet and all the heavy antique furniture.
The tops of these black metal desks and filing cabinets were piled high with papers. United States and Oregon state flags stood in the corner, and on the long wall, instead of framed posters of ads like in his dad’s office, there were framed photos of the President and the
Oregon governor. Scott recognized the governor from the photo in the office of the Sacajawea Elementary School.
There was also a white board with people’s schedules written on it with a Sharpie and next to it, a corkboard with various notices stuck on it with colored pushpins. Many were layered on top of others, some had official looking raised seals.
But the coolest thing of all was the poster with pictures of the FBI’s top ten most wanted criminals. Scott studied them, just in case he ever spotted one of the baddest of bad guys.
A huge yellow dog, nearly as big as the pony Bobby Erickson’s parents had rented for his birthday party last year, thumped his tail, then unfolded himself from beneath one of the desks. He ambled across the room, stood on his hind legs, put his baseball mitt sized paws on Scott’s shoulders and swiped Scott’s face with his big, pink tongue.
“Hummer,” Cooper said, sounding strict, like a real sheriff for the first time since Scott had met him at the New Chance. “Attention.”
After one more swipe that covered the side of Scott’s face from his chin up to his hair, the dog dropped to the floor, sat on his butt, his back straight, big brown eyes looking straight up at Cooper’s.
“Good boy.” Cooper’s approval caused the dog to whine, just a little, but he stayed put. “Scott, meet Hummer. Hummer, this is Scott. You may now shake his hand.”
On command, the dog stuck out his paw, which Scott shook. “Hi, Hummer.”
The dog’s butt wiggled, but Hummer stayed where he was.
“Rest,” Cooper instructed.
Hummer immediately plopped down.
“That’s really cool,” Scott said.
“Sometimes he comes on patrol with me, so it’s important he behave when he absolutely has to.”
At that, Hummer rolled over and began scratching his back on the floor. “Does he do tricks?” Scott asked as he rubbed the dog’s stomach.
“That would involve expending energy. Hummer is deeply into energy conservation. Aren’t you, fella?” When Cooper scratched the dog behind his ear, Hummer moaned with canine pleasure.
