The Promise of Forgiveness

by Marin Thomas

  “Ruby?”

  “What?”

  “I’m here if you need to talk.”

  The ache that had been stuck in her throat since Joe left slid down and settled in her chest. “Thanks.” Although she appreciated the offer, Ruby would not be using her mother’s confidant as her own.

  She cut across the street to the diner. The place was crowded with oil workers and ranch hands. She approached the lunch counter, where Hank sipped water and Mia flirted with a young roughneck.

  “Too bad about the fire, Ruby,” Jimmy said.

  “Thanks.” She sat on the stool next to her daughter, then leaned behind her and tapped the young man on his shoulder. “How old are you?”

  He flung a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and left the diner.

  “We were just talking, Mom.”

  “Talk to boys your own age.”

  “He said he had a fourteen-year-old sister, right, Grandpa?”

  Hank nodded.

  “C’mon, Mia.” Ruby touched Hank’s shoulder. “We’ll wait by the truck.” She followed Mia out the door and almost ran into Stony. “Go on.” Ruby handed the keys to Mia. “I’ll catch up.”

  “I assume you’ll be giving me your two weeks’ notice.”

  Before the fire Ruby had tossed around the idea of working at the bar until Mia began school. Then she’d planned to stay home with Hank and work on the house renovations. “Who says I’m quitting?”

  Stony frowned. “Didn’t think you’d stick around after the fire.”

  “You should know I don’t scare easily.” The threats might force them to relocate until it was safe to return, but no one was going to steal her and Mia’s new home from them.

  “I heard about Cora.” He opened the door and Hank stepped outside. “My condolences,” Stony said, then entered the Airstream.

  “It’s hot out here,” Mia complained when Ruby and Hank reached the pickup.

  “I’ll drive.” Hank took the keys from Mia and slid behind the wheel.

  “If you intend to keep driving, you need to get your eyes checked,” Ruby said.

  “I can see the road fine. Just don’t see good at night anymore.”

  Ruby added an eye doctor appointment to the mental to-do list with Hank’s name at the top of it. If he intended to chauffeur Mia places, she’d insist he have his cataracts removed. Until then it was reassuring that he drove well below the speed limit.

  Three miles outside of town they passed the first oil pumps. The nodding donkeys brought back memories of the afternoon Joe had given her and Mia a ride to the ranch. She’d almost had it all with Joe and there was no use pretending Joe hadn’t hurt her by giving up on them so easily.

  Ruby shot forward in her seat, abruptly jerked from her reverie. “What was that?”

  “Damn fool hit us.”

  She checked the side mirror and spotted a dark sedan riding their bumper. She leaned across the seat and pressed the button for the flashers. “Ease onto the shoulder and let him pass.”

  Hank slowed down and moved over in the lane. The car refused to go around them. “What a jerk. Tap your brakes,” she said.

  Before Hank moved his foot to the brake, the sedan hit their bumper again.

  “What’s going on?” Mia removed her iPod earbuds and glanced out the rear window.

  “We’ve got trouble.” Ruby leaned over the seat and pressed her hand against Mia’s shoulder. “Stay down.” Ruby stared out the back. “I can’t get a good look at the driver’s face.”

  The car moved into the oncoming lane. “Be careful. He’s sneaking up next to you.” Ruby pulled her cell phone from her purse and called 911—still close enough to town to get a signal.

  She relayed their location and the situation to the operator, who assured her that help was on the way. “Nice and easy,” Ruby said after the sedan was forced to fall behind them when an approaching vehicle passed by. Ruby prayed Hank’s pacemaker would withstand the stress and the three of them wouldn’t end up in a cow pasture.

  “Slow down some more,” Ruby said. Hank let the speed drop to thirty miles per hour. “He’s backing off.” Then suddenly the sedan swerved toward the shoulder. “He’s heading back the other way. You’ve got to follow him.” Ruby didn’t want the bastard getting away.

  By the time Hank turned around, the sedan was a speck on the horizon. “Can this thing go any faster?” Ruby asked.

  Hank pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the truck sputtered and coughed its way up to fifty-five miles per hour.

  Mia stared out the rear window. “Here come the cops.”

  The blue-and-red flashing lights were gaining on them.

  When the patrol car pulled alongside them, Ruby leaned across Hank and shouted, “It’s a black sedan with dark tint on the windows!” The officer sped off.

  “I didn’t catch any numbers on the license plate.” Ruby glanced at her daughter. “Did you?”

  Mia shook her head. “Nope.”

  Hank leaned forward, his nose bumping the steering wheel.

  “The cop pulled him over.” Ruby waited until Hank parked behind the patrol car. Then she got out of the pickup. “Stay here.”

  The officer signaled Ruby. “Ma’am, I need you to get back in your vehicle.”

  “Call Sheriff Mike Carlyle or Deputy Paul Randall in Unforgiven. They’re investigating an arson fire at Hank McArthur’s ranch. That might be the guy they’re after.”

  The patrolman leaned down and spoke to the driver. A second later the sedan’s car door opened and the driver stepped out.

  Ruby gaped when she recognized Randall. “You’re the one who’s been sabotaging Hank’s ranch?”

  The highway patrolman walked over to Ruby. “I don’t know anything about an arson complaint. Deputy Randall claims he attempted to pull you over for speeding, but you refused to cooperate. Is that true?”

  “He’s lying.” She pointed to Hank. “My father was driving fifteen miles below the limit when Deputy Randall rammed the back end of our truck. Go see for yourself. The bumper’s probably dented.”

  The officer ignored her suggestion. “Deputy Randall says he tapped the bumper when your vehicle drifted into the oncoming lane.”

  Holy hell. Randall was going to talk his way out of this and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do. “We never crossed the center line.”

  “The deputy insists he stopped pursuing you because he was afraid of causing an accident.”

  Ruby wanted to slap the smug look off of Randall’s face.

  “So you’re going to believe his version of the story when he’s not even in uniform?” Randall had changed clothes before coming after them.

  “An off-duty officer has the right to enforce the law.” The patrolman slipped on his sunglasses. “Deputy Randall has offered to let you go with a warning this time.”

  “How generous.”

  The highway patrolman returned to Randall’s car and spoke to him. Once the deputy took off, the patrolman said, “Ma’am, I suggest you continue on your way and watch your driving. Consider yourself lucky that you didn’t get a ticket.” He sped away.

  “What happened?” Mia asked when Ruby got in on the passenger side.

  “Unfrickin’ believable.” She looked at Hank, who still clutched the steering wheel. “Randall told the patrolman that you were driving recklessly and he tapped your bumper to get you to pull off the road. When you didn’t, he let you go to avoid an accident.”

  “What a jerk,” Mia said.

  Jerk was too nice of a word to describe the deputy.

  “Now what?” Hank asked.

  “We head back to town to speak to the sheriff.”

  And this time the lawman wasn’t going to brush off her concerns.

  Chapter 38

  When they arrived in town, the dark s
edan, the sheriff’s patrol car, and a pickup with the Bar T logo sat parked in front of the Possum Belly Saloon.

  “Wait in the diner for us, Mia.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “Listen to your mother, young lady,” Hank said.

  Once Mia was safely inside the Airstream, she and Hank got out of the truck. “What are you looking for?” she asked when he ducked his head behind the seat.

  “A little persuasion.” He stepped back and shut the door.

  She nodded to the shotgun. “How many of those do you have?”

  “Keep one in the house, one in the truck, and had one in the barn.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Wouldn’t do much good if it wasn’t.”

  “Maybe you should leave the bullets—” He marched past Ruby, and she hurried after him.

  They found Randall speaking to Sheriff Carlyle, no doubt trying to cover his tracks before his boss heard Ruby’s version of the events.

  No one in the noisy room paid any attention to them. But Hank solved that problem. He fired the shotgun at the ceiling.

  Plaster rained down on their heads, and men dove for the floor. If Ruby weren’t so pissed off, she might have laughed at the beef necks taking cover under the tables.

  Sheriff Carlyle yanked the shotgun from Hank’s hands. “Give me that before you kill someone.”

  “Don’t believe a word your deputy told you.” Ruby glared at the lawmen.

  Randall puffed out his chest. “He was driving like a maniac.”

  Hank waved a crooked finger at Randall. “You tried to run us off the road.”

  “Let’s take this discussion over to the jail.” When the sheriff made a move toward the door, Ruby blocked his path.

  “Did you ask your deputy why he isn’t in uniform?”

  The sheriff stared at Ruby as if she were a petulant child. “After our earlier visit, Paul said he wasn’t feeling well and decided to go home to rest.”

  The corners of Randall’s mouth twitched.

  The bastard’s cockiness irked her, and she lashed out. “What happens when the parents of those Little League boys find out their hero set a rancher’s barn on fire? They’ll never let you near another baseball field again.”

  Randall glanced over his shoulder at Stony, as if he expected the bartender to step in and defend him.

  “It all makes sense now why your investigation into the trouble at Hank’s ranch has gone nowhere. Deputy Randall’s the one who shot at Mia the day she went horseback riding near Fury’s Ridge.”

  The sheriff glanced between Ruby and his deputy. “What’s she talking about, Paul?”

  Randall turned to Stony and said, “I’m not taking the fall for this.”

  The bartender picked up a shot glass and dried it with a towel, looking bored with the drama playing out in his saloon. “I have no idea what the deputy is talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t.” Randall’s chest heaved. “Stony’s the one who wants the Devil’s Wind. He paid me to harass Hank to get him to sell.”

  Stony locked gazes with Ruby, and her skin crawled at his cold stare. “Randall’s lying.”

  “I’ve got a canceled check for twenty thousand dollars to prove I’m telling the truth,” the deputy said.

  “Shut up, you stupid ass.” Stony flung the towel at Randall’s head.

  Eyebrows squished together, the sheriff asked, “Why would you do this, Paul?”

  Randall perspired profusely, large wet stains spreading under his armpits. “They were going to cancel the Little League unless they came up with a way to fund it. I asked Stony for a donation, but he said I had to earn it by doing him a favor.”

  “He’s lying.” Stony banged the shot glass on the bar.

  “He wants the Devil’s Wind for himself.” Randall threw the bartender under the bus.

  “You don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?” Stony said.

  “You son of a bitch.” Sandoval stepped from the shadows behind the sheriff. He glared at his half brother. “All this time you made it appear as if my ranch hands were vandalizing Hank’s property.”

  “What the hell do you care?” Stony came around the bar and got in Sandoval’s face. “That land was supposed to go to me, but you lost it in a poker game.”

  “This isn’t about the land.” Sandoval balled his hands into fists. “You’re angry because you’re the bastard son.”

  “I deserved half the Bar T when our father died.” Stony swatted the air with his hand. “I got nothing.”

  “You got nothing,” Sandoval said, “because your mother tried to blackmail our father.”

  “Bullshit. You—”

  “Enough!” the sheriff shouted. “Stony, you’re coming with me.”

  “I didn’t touch Hank’s ranch.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Get over to the jail or I’ll slap handcuffs on you.” The sheriff looked at Randall. “Same goes for you, Paul.”

  Stony shoved Randall aside. The deputy careened into a table, knocking beer mugs to the floor. Then Stony stopped in front of the sheriff. “Why don’t you ask Paul how he knows your wife has a butterfly tattoo on her right ass cheek.”

  The air in the bar went out as everyone held their breath. The sheriff kept his temper in check. “Go.” Then he took Randall by the shirtsleeve and dragged him out the door.

  A few seconds later the rest of the men vacated the premises. “My condolences on Cora’s passing,” Sandoval said.

  Hank nodded.

  “Are you staying or selling?”

  “We’re staying,” Ruby said.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to put up a new barn. I’ll send my men to help.”

  Ruby took Hank by the arm, and they followed Sandoval outside. “I’ll fetch Mia,” she said, “while you give the sheriff your statement.”

  Hank hesitated. “Ruby?”

  “What?”

  “You sure you want to stay? There’s nothing out here but wind and dust.”

  “There are good people, too.” She’d met several at the Little League game. “Besides, I’m getting used to dirt in my teeth.”

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about, then,” he said.

  “We do?”

  “I won’t live forever, and I’ve got plans I want you to carry out for me.”

  “Can we hold off talking about you dying until tomorrow?”

  He chuckled. “I suppose my funeral plans can wait.”

  Ruby kissed his cheek. “See you in a bit.” She walked to the diner, her thoughts switching to Joe. She wanted to tell him what had happened today. Assure him that Mia was out of danger and he didn’t have to worry about keeping any of them safe. She wanted to ask Joe to come back to her—to give them a second, third, or as many chances as they needed to get it right.

  • • •

  Joe parked his pickup in front of a three-bedroom, two-bath brick ranch—the home he and Melanie had purchased after Aaron was born. The shrubs he’d planted in front of the house were twice their original size. A flower wreath hung on the door, and a welcome mat sat on the stoop.

  It didn’t look like a house where a little boy had died.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was different. He scanned the homes along the street and realized the hedges were missing. Every house up and down the block had removed the four-foot hedges next to their driveways—the evergreens that had hidden Aaron from view before he’d flown into the street on his bike. Anger squeezed the air out of Joe’s lungs. Why did it have to be his child who died before the parents realized the danger the hedges posed?

  His gaze moved down the sidewalk to the sign at the corner—SLOW, CHILDREN PLAYING. That was new. And so were the speed bumps in the street.

  The days following Aaron’s death h
ad been a blur. Neighbors had come by to pay their respects, but Joe had been so numb he couldn’t remember their faces, let alone what they’d said to him. Melanie had taken a sleeping pill each night. But Joe had sat in Aaron’s room, staring at his empty bed. And then one morning he’d woken up and realized Melanie was gone. Her clothes were gone. Her makeup in the bathroom was gone. Her medications were gone. The only thing she’d left behind was him.

  Joe pulled away from the curb and drove to the end of the block, then turned the corner and pulled into the neighborhood park. It was the middle of the afternoon, but the playground was empty. He got out of his car and walked over to the monkey bars. Aaron’s face flashed before his eyes. Laughing, smiling, shouting to his friends as he swung by one arm.

  He hadn’t recalled there being any trees on the playground when Aaron had played here, but one had been planted across from the swings. A bench sat in its shade. He went over to sit down, but stopped short when he noticed the engraved placard on the backrest.

  IN MEMORY OF AARON DAWSON

  Life had gone on. Kids still played, laughed, and grew up on the same street that had taken Aaron’s life. But they hadn’t forgotten him. Joe wanted to believe his son’s spirit remained here, riding his bike through the neighborhood, swinging on the monkey bars.

  Joe sat and bowed his head. Aaron, buddy, I’m sorry.

  If he could go back and do that day all over again . . .

  I’ll always love you, son. He gave in to the memories, to the good times he’d had with Aaron and Melanie, and let go of the bad memories, the darker days, the sleepless nights, the drinking.

  A car door slammed shut and he opened his eyes. Three young boys raced to the swings, and their mother walked over to the bench and sat at the opposite end from him.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Joe nodded.

  “Are you new in the neighborhood? You don’t look familiar.”

  “My wife and I lived here several years ago.”

  “Oh? My neighbors Margie and Gary Johnson have been here forever.”