Bitter Rain (Kate Fox Book 3)

by Shannon Baker

  When the deluge let up, Kyle was long gone. I headed home without stopping in to say good night to Betty and Ethel. They wouldn’t miss me, though Ethel would be sure to tell anyone how unreliable I could be.

  Clouds hung low, blocking out the sunset. I craved a warm shower, comfy sweats, snuggling into bed with a novel, and drifting off to a long sleep. After the cold rain and running all over the territory, I felt like the lonely wilted lettuce I’d find in my fridge.

  I yawned as I swerved around puddles on the gravel road leading to my bungalow. One of the advantages of the Sandhills was its amazing drainage; the area was basically a twenty-thousand-square-mile sponge. An inch of rain would trickle into the ground quickly, leaving little mud. But we’d had so much rain, the ground had soaked to capacity. As far as ranchers cared, rain, even an abundance of it, boosted spirits. We’d had too many drought years not to rejoice in a downpour.

  I parked in front of my house, admiring the sparkling green lawn and making note to mow it as soon as it dried in the morning. At least Poupon cooperated and climbed out without balking. In the dwindling light, I dragged my bag of bones to the back to check on the garden’s progress. My mood brightened at the tiny green leaves of radishes, lettuce, and peas.

  Healthy eating, that, Douglas. Tomorrow I’d plant another row of peas and maybe even risk green beans. With the rest of the day, I’d finish up the budget and make Betty smile.

  Poupon wandered over to me and sat close enough for me to put a hand on his head and tease my fingers through his poof. “What was I thinking to say yes to this dinner? I don’t want to start dating again.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Do I?”

  Clouds hung heavy, and a slight breeze sent a fish smell from the lake.

  “Let’s be honest. I haven’t had sex for a year, one month, and a smattering of days. And I’m not counting, because if I was, I’d be more precise. But it’s been a long time.”

  Poupon looked at me.

  “I know. I shouldn’t start a relationship because I’ve got spring fever. Sex and a relationship are two different things.”

  Poupon stood and shook.

  “I can’t have a one-night fling in Hodgekiss. Everyone knows everything. If I have a roll in the hay with someone, I’ll be assigned to them and labeled ‘taken.’”

  Bored with my problems, Poupon wandered up the porch steps and waited for me to let him inside.

  My hair hung in drenched ropes, and it would take me a good half hour to dry it. That’s the thing about being married to Ted for eight years. I didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about drying my hair, putting on makeup, dressing in anything except practical, comfortable clothes. According to Roxy, that casual attitude caused my marriage to hit the skids.

  While I’d hate to think a marriage could be based on something so superficial, I wondered if maybe it would have helped to have made a little more effort at my appearance. And then the whole idea torqued me off and I decided if some guy couldn’t take me in my natural state, then he wasn’t the right guy for me.

  And yet, here I was, stumped about what to wear to a dinner with my family and my non-date. I filled Poupon’s dish and set it on the kitchen floor. “I don’t care how important you think you are, no table and chairs for you.”

  My phone rang. Sarah spoke through clenched teeth. “Lauren called me in a panic and said you weren’t there yet.”

  I paused. “You aren’t there, either, so I can’t be that late.”

  She sounded annoyed. “I’ve been throwing up all day. I’m not going anywhere. Damn, I wish I could take pregnancy like Roxy. She had morning sickness at the beginning but she looks great now.”

  I hated that her words smacked me like a truck. Of course, she and Roxy were comparing notes, being friendly. They had due dates three days apart. Knowing Sarah and Robert were staying home took what little stuffing I had from me. “Honestly, I don’t think I can make it. I’m beat, and I haven’t even taken a shower.”

  “You don’t need a shower. Wear that flowy black blouse with the cami underneath. Put your hair in a bun. Mascara and hurry out here. Don’t be a chicken shit.”

  “I’ve got a big day tomorrow and—”

  She exploded in the way only Sarah could. “Damn it! Maybe you want to be an old maid, but I won’t accept it. Heath Scranton might not be the one, but you’ve got to practice or you won’t be ready when the good one shows up. I feel like crap and can’t hold your hand tonight. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever said no to Sarah, and in her fragile emotional state, now didn’t seem like a good time to start. “Fine.”

  I didn’t think any further than following Sarah’s instructions. I considered Poupon sprawled on the living room rug judging me and decided he could stay home for the night.

  Elvis slipped and slid along the dirt road to Michael and Lauren’s house. I popped a Willie Nelson cassette into the tape deck. I hadn’t actually stolen the tape from Glenda, but I was the only Fox with a car old enough to still have a cassette player, and when she died, I took her cassettes without asking anyone else. They soothed me but were a poor substitute for my sister.

  I needed a little soothing right now. I was all shaken up and feeling bad for Kyle. I had brothers and sisters pulling me this way and that, but that wasn’t particularly unusual. This whole thing about voting on my next romance chapped me.

  I should be plumb happy. The last year and a half included two murders, one divorce, a missing niece, and nine months living with Mom and Dad. Compared to that, a set-up date and Kyle’s runaway sister ought to be a summer breeze.

  Her sunny smile, blond hair flying, laughter flowing like a spring creek. Carly was ever on my mind. Like one of those hidden programs in the background on my phone, constantly draining the battery, operating even when you weren’t aware. Mostly, I was aware. Worrying.

  With one hand battling Elvis’s steering wheel, I hit Baxter’s speed dial.

  He sounded pleased to hear from me, even though he said, “We talked yesterday. I’ve got nothing new.”

  If Diane wouldn’t give me board member names, maybe I could get them from Baxter. “You told me Carly is talking to Brian’s and your Kilner classmates. Who hasn’t she contacted?”

  He hesitated. “You’ve got to let my investigator handle it.”

  Night had fallen and the thick clouds parted, suddenly revealing a sky littered with stars. Carly was like one of those millions of stars. You’d have to be an expert, studying for years to learn all the constellations and every nuance of the night sky to be able to identify one lone star. Or be impossibly lucky.

  The gnawing worry in my gut grew ravenous. “Why are you holding out on me? Don’t you want Carly found?”

  “Hold on.” The anger in his voice stopped me. “Brian and I met when we were twelve years old. We lived together for nine months every year. No parents, no other relatives. Just us and a handful of other brothers. You, more than most, understand the bond of family, of life-long friends. How can you question my commitment to Brian’s daughter?”

  The lights of Michael’s house appeared ahead, and I pulled over on the muddy road. Guilt elbowed its way next to worry. “I’m sorry. But she thinks someone killed her father—”

  Baxter interrupted. “He crashed his plane into a hill. No one killed him.”

  He couldn’t see me nod. “I know. But even so, she’s running around ruffling feathers. That could get her into trouble.”

  He lowered his voice. “I care, Kate. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  Elvis idled under me, with his heater on low, playing oldies and surrounding me in familiarity. “I don’t feel any better. But I’ll trust your investigator.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could make it right for you.” With all his money and influence, it probably frustrated him that he couldn’t fix everything.

  “You help, believe me. I don’t like to let the rest of the family k
now how worried I am. As far as they know, Carly ran off to find adventure because she’s young.”

  We paused, then he started a new track. “What are your plans for this evening? Reading anything good?”

  I wish. “I’m having dinner with my family.”

  “You don’t sound excited.”

  Ugh. “They invited the new vet and are playing matchmaker.”

  I heard the grin. “What’s the vet like?”

  I thought a minute. “He’s tall and blond and looks a lot like a Disney prince. Smart, because he went to vet school. He’s nice.”

  He sounded startled. “Is this a date?”

  “You know I like to win, but I’m not going to declare victory with a set-up by my family. When I said date, I meant something that could lead to something.”

  He hesitated. “I hadn’t really meant something serious. Just a little fun.”

  It tickled me he sounded so flustered. I didn’t figure he wanted a relationship, but he hated to lose. “As Dad says, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’”

  Baxter didn’t sound pleased. “He says that, huh?”

  We talked about the rain, Baxter trying to tell me what that meant as far as the end of civilization according to the documentary he’d watched. I enjoyed our conversation, more than I anticipated the dinner conversation. But I’d still have to go in.

  We said our goodbyes and hung up. I never talked to anyone about my conversations with Baxter. Partly because of his celebrity—I didn’t want to expose him or me to that famous-person weirdness—but more because I didn’t want to share this friendship.

  Staring at the lights of Michael’s house, I shifted my emotional gears from stress and worry to friendly and upbeat. It wouldn’t be fair to carry gloom into a party, so I practiced smiling on the muddy drive to the house.

  I let myself in the side door and up the steps to the kitchen. The smell of warm bread opened a hole in my stomach. I filled my lungs with the heavenly aroma of beef roasted with onions and garlic. A true Sandhiller, I could eat a variation of beef for every meal. The house seemed unusually quiet for a dinner party and especially a home filled with Lucy and Kaylen, my two young nieces. A worry bell clanged, and I nearly dove for cover.

  Lauren, with her blond spiky hair, leaned against the kitchen counter holding a glass of red wine. Across the over-heated room, Heath sat at the kitchen table set for two, complete with a thick blue candle. He stood up when I walked in.

  Lauren set her glass by the sink, her look of relief obvious. “Just in time. The roast is on warm in the oven. Any longer and it would be dry.”

  My glance moved from one to the other, and I mumbled, “Sorry I’m late. I was working.” I waited a moment. “Where are Michael and the kids?”

  Lauren pulled a jacket from the back of a chair and, with only minimal discomfort, spewed the lies. “We forgot Kaylen and Lucy had a birthday party in town for Chisolm Cleveland, and we promised to help. They invited twenty kids, so, you know…”

  Holy mother of lost kittens. What could I say?

  Heath watched me, all blond, broad-shouldered, masculine tallness. He looked game for the obvious setup.

  Lauren zipped her jacket. “Roast is sliced. Mashed potatoes and gravy are in the oven, too. Green beans get thirty seconds in the microwave. Pie on the counter. Ice cream in the freezer.” She pointed to the bottle of wine on the counter next to a hand-painted wine glass I recognized from a party Louise had made me attend. “Have some wine.”

  She clattered down the stairs. “Just leave the dishes. I’ll get them later.” The door slammed closed.

  Heath lifted a can of Coors Light in a toast. “It wasn’t smooth or pretty, but your family sure can set a trap.”

  The temperature in the kitchen soared another twenty degrees as my skin flamed. Stiff and awkward, I poured a glass of wine, hesitated, and sloshed more in until it rose to the rim.

  I gulped it like a beer, then set the glass down. “I didn’t arrange this. I apologize for their scheming. I totally let you off the hook.”

  He crossed the kitchen, picked up my glass, handed it to me, and clinked his can against it. “I admit it’s a weird situation, a not-so-blind date or whatever you call it. But the roast smells awesome and you’re pretty, so why don’t we enjoy all their hard work?”

  If he agreed to be a good sport, I didn’t feel I had much choice. He hunted another beer from the fridge and I shuttled Lauren’s feast to the table. With another heaping glass of wine, I settled in.

  Lauren proved her usual prowess in the kitchen and the food held up its promise. Heath downed half his plate while I nibbled and drank wine.

  He paused and sipped his beer. “Lauren is a great cook. My mother is a terrific cook, too. So, I’ve been spoiled. I sure miss home cooking.”

  “Me, too. Although my brothers and sisters take pity on me quite a bit.”

  He sat back. “You don’t cook?”

  When I was married to Ted and working Frog Creek, I cooked almost every day. I hosted my share of family dinners, and there was always a potluck contribution or funeral dinner. “Not much anymore.”

  He answered with a “huh” and went back to eating. He went through seconds. I finished the bottle of wine and opened another.

  After the fascinating story of his growing up in Topeka and three tries before finally scoring a spot in the vet program at Iowa State, I feared we’d run out of topics. I’d cleaned my plate and indulged in another helping of potatoes and gravy. He hadn’t asked me anything about my past or current life, and I chalked him up as one of those guys who are only interested in themselves.

  I got up to slice the pie, wondering how to get him to eat fast so I could go home.

  He pushed his chair back. “Now it’s my turn to apologize.”

  My knife stilled. “How so?”

  He picked up a fork and set it down. “When you came to the clinic last winter with all that blood dripping down your face and asked me to stitch you up, I thought you were some kind of psycho. But then, I’ve seen you around, and I got to know some of your brothers and sisters. You seem really interesting.”

  I remembered to shut my mouth.

  He glanced at me and back to the fork. “But you always seem busy or already talking to people. I wanted to get to know you but didn’t know how to go about it.”

  I leaned against the counter, drawn in. “I’m not hard to talk to. All you had to do is say hi.”

  His skin flushed. “People don’t know this, but I’m really shy around women.”

  I laughed, then felt bad. “Sorry. You’ve got to know how handsome you are. Women must fall all over you.”

  “I wish. Most of the time they smile at me and wait for me to make the first move. But I don’t know what to say to women, never have. So, like tonight, I get nervous and end up talking about myself. I’m afraid if I shut up, the conversation will die and she’ll…you’ll…leave.” He quit playing with the fork and looked up at me. Worry filled his blue eyes as if he waited for me to let him off the hook.

  Huh. “Don’t think of this as a date.” I knew I wasn’t. “Let’s just be two new friends having a nice dinner.”

  His shoulders dropped and his expression softened. Funny, a guy with so much going for him had so little confidence. “That’s a good idea.” He sat back. “What’s your favorite movie?”

  “I hate that favorite question. My nieces and nephews are always asking my favorite this or that. There’s so much pressure in the answer. I’ll tell you a movie I like. How about, The Big Lebowski.”

  Enthusiasm replaced nerves. “Yes. And Dumb and Dumber.”

  I slid the pie on his plate. “Ew. No. I hate those stupid movies. But my niece Carly loves them.”

  I scooped ice cream, giving myself a generous portion to make up for the insult of rhubarb, and we went from movies to TV and wandered off on fourteen paths. I set the wine aside and laughed as he downed two more pieces of pie and compared foods we hated.

 
; Two hours later he watched me finish up the dishes. “Thanks for making tonight fun.”

  I dried my hands. “It didn’t turn out too bad, especially after the awkward beginning.”

  We left a light on for Lauren and Michael. I stopped short of writing a thank-you note since I still thought they’d all crossed a few too many boundaries.

  Heath walked me out to Elvis. Clouds obscured the moon. “Looks like we’ve got some more rain heading in.”

  So that’s it. In the tense moments leading up to good night, he’d resorted to weather talk. I felt weary of trying to be pleasant and helpful. “It will make the grass grow.”

  If he’d thought about a kiss, my response didn’t invite romance. “Okay, then. Stay dry.”

  “Good night.” I dropped into Elvis and turned up Willie Nelson, singing along all the way home.

  Poupon’s tail flopped against the back of my couch when I got home. “No dogs on the furniture.” I tried to add a growl to my voice, imitating Kyle. I think Poupon knew I’d had enough of my day and stepped down without hassle. He trotted outside, and I padded down to the basement.

  On a high shelf, I found the boxes of Carly’s things I’d packed from Frog Creek. She’d kept a few items from her parents, and I rummaged in several crates until I located that shoe box amid clothes. By the time I’d found the pictures of Brian’s graduation from Kilner and brought it back upstairs, Poupon was in the kitchen chowing down on his kibble and sloshing water from his bowl all over the floor.

  I carried the picture into the dining room, which was really just a corner of the living room. The picture of Brian and five other boys conveniently listed their names on the back. I trusted Baxter’s investigator, but it wouldn’t hurt to find out something about these guys myself.

  Poupon strolled from the kitchen and pushed his head under my hand for an ear scratch.

  No washing his dishes or folding his laundry. No bolstering of his ego. His supper required my pouring from a bag. There’s a lot to be said for the company of a dog.

  16

  Tuesday dawned with low clouds. It would take a few hours for the yard to dry enough to mow, and working in the garden would be more comfortable after the chill lifted. Instead of a hot breakfast at the Long Branch, I grabbed a granola bar when I fueled up at the Conoco.