Читать книгу The Sheriff's Runaway Bride - Arlene James - Страница 10

He had to hand it to her, Zach thought, watching Kylie Jones join the congregation in singing a patriotic hymn. Despite her shadowed eyes and less than animated expression, the girl seemed determined to stand her ground openly. Deep down, Zach admired her for that. Unfortunately, that hadn’t kept him from making a ham-handed statement that had obviously offended her last night. And who could blame her?

He noted that her family seemed very supportive. That included the golden-haired teenager who hovered protectively at Kylie’s side. Given the resemblance, Zach assumed the blonde to be Kylie’s younger sister. Obviously, the girls took after their mother.

Like nearly everyone else in the building, Kylie had dressed in keeping with the Independence Day observance, but Zach couldn’t help wondering if she’d chosen white deliberately. Of course, yesterday’s ivory satin confection could not truly be compared with today’s white denim skirt and sleeveless knit top emblazoned on one shoulder with a red star trailing a sparkly blue trail. Still, it reminded him of his first sight of her, a dream in satin flying across the corner of the greensward. He particularly remembered the way the hip-length veil had floated behind her as she’d run toward him.

He marveled at the length of her vibrant hair. Caught back with a wide, red, knit band at the crown of her head, the crinkly ends hung all the way to her narrow waist. His fingers itched to touch that hair, to test its texture and weight. It looked like a soft, misty, light-golden-brown cloud.

Realizing that he was not paying attention to the service, Zach shifted his gaze to the hymnal in his hand, following along as the others sang. Because his singing sounded like a bullfrog in full throat, he never joined in, but he’d found that not singing actually heightened his appreciation of the music and allowed him to concentrate more on the words. When he could keep himself from staring at a pretty girl displaying almost heroic bravery.

He managed to confine his gaze to a path between his Bible and the pulpit as the pastor delivered the sermon. Quite a sermon it turned out to be, too, referencing both the twelfth chapter of Mark, where Jesus was asked about paying taxes, and the Gospel of John, Chapter two, which described Jesus driving the money changers from the temple. The pastor managed to tie both together into a coherent argument for patriotic duty superseded only by righteous zeal.

Having met the man just twice, once a few years earlier at his mom’s funeral and again recently at his grandfather’s, Zach knew Reverend West only slightly. The pastor had some interesting ideas and seemed a vibrant presence in the little church, which had become, in many ways, the hub of the town. Brooke had told him that the reverend, rather than the mayor, had even spearheaded the community-wide picnic on the green. Otherwise, she’d said, the Independence Day tradition would have died. Some city head Pauley had turned out to be if the pastor of the church had been required to step in and plan a community event.

At the end of the service, Zach made it to the door well ahead of Kylie and her family simply because he’d been sitting closer to the back of the sanctuary. Reverend West, a tall, bulky man in his forties with the build of a football player, warm brown eyes and thick, caramel-colored hair, gave Zach’s hand a hearty shake and welcomed him to town in his capacity as the deputy sheriff.

“It’s good there was no lapse in assignment,” he said. “Clayton’s no worse than any other small town, I suppose, but I think many are comforted to know that we didn’t have to wait months for a replacement deputy.”

“Guess it’s God’s timing, as my mother would say,” Zach replied with a smile.

“Yes, Marion would say that,” the pastor, whose first name was John, agreed.

Zach stepped to one side, and they chatted a few moments more between other handshakes and greetings until Zach moved farther away.

“Glad to have seen you here today,” the pastor told him, turning to give a frail, elderly woman his attention.

She looked rather like old Mrs. Rader, only even smaller and more wizened. She seemed distressed. The pastor bent low to listen to what she had to say. Zach hovered at a polite distance, his senses alerted to trouble, while Brooke and Gabe visited and laughed with friends at the bottom of the steps.

Zach first realized that Kylie had slipped past the traffic jam in the doorway when she appeared at his elbow and muttered what sounded like, “It’s her granddaughter.”

Copying Reverend West, Zach bent his head to her in an attempt to provide some privacy. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mrs. Rader.”

“Ah. I thought that was her.”

“She’s concerned about her granddaughter. Seems Sherilyn didn’t come home last night.”

“I see.” He glanced at the elderly woman. “Maybe I should introduce myself.”

Kylie shrugged. “If you’re going to search for Sherilyn, start at Vincent’s.”

“Vincent’s?”

“She was in the car with him yesterday.” Turning to gaze out over the parking lot, Kylie nodded. “Right over there.”

“She’s the one you caught him with,” Zach surmised quietly.

“Yep.” Kylie moved toward the steps, and he ambled up beside her.

“Miss Jones.”

“Hm?” Kylie asked.

“About what I said last night … I didn’t mean that as an insult. I spoke without thinking.”

She glanced at him, nodded and dropped her chin. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t … Weren’t …”

“In my right mind,” she supplied helpfully, stepping down.

“It’s just that I spent my entire childhood around Vincent,” he said, keeping up with her, “and I’ve seen some things beneath his charming exterior that …” He broke off, realizing with some puzzlement that he had said more than he normally would have. Feeling oddly exposed, he pulled his sunshades from his coat pocket and slid them on.

She sent a look up at him from beneath the thick sweep of her lashes. “You were right,” she said quietly. “I was foolish and desperate.”

Uncertain what to say to that, he simply stared at her until she stepped down onto the ground and walked toward his sister’s party. Zach followed, automatically reconnoitering the area, noting who got into which car and who stood and gabbed with whom. Brooke and Gabe now chatted with a thin redhead and a little girl, maybe nine or ten years of age, wearing pink eyeglasses. As Kylie approached, the woman and child turned to greet her. The woman looked older than he’d first assumed her to be and seemed conspicuously frail. The child resembled a blond, blue-eyed doll.

“Do you know the Perrys?” Kylie asked. Zach shook his head as Brooke made the introductions.

“This is Darlene and her daughter, Macy.”

“Hello.”

“My brother, Zach.”

“Oh, you’re the new deputy sheriff,” Darlene said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

The girl shaded her eyes with a hand and looked up at him shyly. “You’re tall.”

“Mmm-hmm, and you’re pretty.”

She gave him a tiny smile and then ducked her head bashfully. Suddenly recognition hit him square in the chest. He looked at his sister then at Gabe and Kylie, but obviously none of them saw it. They wouldn’t, of course. How could they know that Macy Perry, with that long blond hair, bright blue eyes and single dimple in her left cheek, looked exactly like Brooke at the same age? Or did his mind play tricks on him? Maybe being at home again had colored his perceptions, but his cop sense told him otherwise.

Talk turned to the Independence Day picnic. Kylie said something about having to serve food, but Zach listened with just half an ear while trying not to stare at Macy Perry. It wasn’t unusual for two unrelated people to look alike, of course, but in a town filled with Claytons, such resemblance did not seem random. Who, he wondered, glancing around at the thinning crowd, was Macy Perry’s father?

Shoving the flimsy, disposable aluminum pan back into Kylie’s hands, Jerome shook his head. “That’s perfectly good meat. Serve it.”

“It’s all fat!” Kylie protested.

Unlike Gerald, his happy-go-lucky, roly-poly brother, Jerome was tall, rail thin and as cheap as chewing gum. Both were excellent cooks. Neither, however, could make beef fat palatable.

Erin Fields, the owner of the Cowboy Café and their boss, breezed by, her long, copper-red ponytail flashing out behind her. Snatching the pan from Kylie’s hands, she carried it away, saying, “You’re just cooking the meat, Jerome, not paying for it. We’ll make this pan an Independence Day treat for the local dogs.” With that, she hurried toward the serving tables being set up on the green.

Jerome rolled his eyes disapprovingly and turned back to the enormous wheeled grill. Built into a trailer frame, it had been towed to the edge of the street in front of the diner for easy access. The huge chunks of beef, donated by one of the local ranchers, had been smoking on the grill since six o’clock the previous evening, making dogs howl all over town. Erin and her employees had volunteered to serve it.

Kylie moved to the steel worktable that had been moved out of the kitchen and set up beneath a bright blue canopy tent. Humming, Gerald busily sliced smoked meat with an enormous knife and mechanical precision, piling the slices into a series of disposable pans. Kylie covered one with tin foil and carried it across the street toward the serving tables. Ahead of her, Vincent sauntered by with Sherilyn Rader on his arm.

They’d been burning up the edge of the green nearest the diner all afternoon, strolling back and forth, over and over again. Apparently, Vincent found it necessary to flaunt his girlfriend in public to save face. At first, Kylie hadn’t recognized Sherilyn because the silly thing had dyed her streaky chestnut hair an unnatural black. Despite studiously refusing to acknowledge the pair’s existence, Kylie couldn’t help noticing that Sherilyn wore next to nothing. Her outfit seemed to consist of flip-flops, a white sports bra and denim short shorts. She made Kylie feel positively overdressed in her usual work clothes: athletic shoes, jeans and a T-shirt, red in honor of the holiday. She’d wisely added a white visor, which meant that she could avoid looking at Vincent by just dipping her head slightly.

The next couple hours passed in a flurry of activity as Kylie and her coworkers laded the tables and served hundreds of pounds of mouth-watering, slow-cooked beef, which the diners carried back to their picnic spots and augmented with their side dishes of choice. Many of them actually carried the meat home with them and ate it there, several of them admitting that they’d be back to watch the fireworks being readied over at the football field. Zach came through near the end of the line, smiling behind his sunshades and carrying two large disposable platters.

He lifted the one on his right and said, “For me, Brooke, Gabe and A.J.” Shoving forward the platter atop his left palm, he explained, “This one’s for Arabella and her crew.”

Arabella Michaels was another Clayton cousin. The divorced mother of triplets baked for the diner, and everyone greatly appreciated her offerings. Kylie started piling on the meat.

“Is Jasmine with Arabella?”

“Yep.”

In addition to her own three kids, Arabella had taken in a teen abandoned by her drunk of a father. Jasmine Turner, who had recently become engaged to marry Cade Clayton, a first cousin to Vincent. Neither side of the family seemed thrilled by that relationship, but wherever Jasmine could be found, Cade would likely be, so Kylie kept piling on the meat until Zach chuckled and moved the first platter out of her reach.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked idly, filling the second platter while she eyed his dark green uniform shirt, which he wore today with blue jeans and boots.

“Sure. How about you?”

“Too busy. I’ll enjoy myself after the meat’s all gone.”

“Pity,” he said.

“Aw, I don’t mind.” She could’ve let him go then but found that she didn’t really want to. Despite what he’d said on Saturday night, she liked this gorgeous man. Not only had he been in church on Sunday, he’d apologized for his remark and then he’d stood around worrying about poor old Mrs. Rader. Besides, something about his smile made her smile, so she asked, “Are you working, too?”

He dipped his chin in a nod. “I am.”

“Wasn’t sure. I mean, you’re wearing the shirt but not the rest of the uniform, and you’re not carrying your gun.”

Leaning forward, he confessed, “Frankly, I’m not keen on the uniform. Too many years in plain clothes, I guess.” He looked at her over the rim of his shades, his dark-blue eyes gleaming, and quietly added, “As for the gun, it’s a law that a peace officer has to go armed in public at all times. Just because you don’t see a firearm, darlin’, doesn’t mean I’m not packing one.”

“Oh,” Kylie squeaked, undone by his nearness, the deep, smoky timbre of his voice and that perfectly meaningless word “darlin’.”

A microphone whined, and they both looked to the gazebo in the center of the green as Reverend West stepped up to speak. The crowd quickly hushed. Red, white and blue bunting ruffled in the breeze as he welcomed the crowd and led them in eloquent prayer before introducing the mayor. As soon as Pauley pulled a sheaf of folded paper from his pocket, everyone went back to what they’d been doing before the pastor had spoken.

Zach spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Guess we know who commands the respect around here.”

Kylie said nothing, but she couldn’t stop a smile from breaking across her face. Chuckling, he moved off then, and Kylie nodded at the blue-haired matron waiting behind him, her handbag dangling from one wrist, cardboard platter in hand. When the woman’s narrowed gaze cut to a loudly laughing Vincent, Kylie realized that the woman had overheard every word of her conversation with Zach, most likely weighing every word for gossip potential.

As if to prove that assumption, the woman thrust forward her platter, remarking, “Those Clayton boys make fine-looking men, don’t they?”

Kylie hummed a noncommittal reply and dished out the beef. Fine-looking men, indeed. She glanced surreptitiously from Zach to Vincent. Handsome, yes, but at least one of them had proved himself to be a jerk. Her gaze moved back to Zach, following him across the green. It remained to be seen whether the other was as fine as he looked.

By the time Kylie found herself free to enjoy the day, it had all but ended. Just the barest lip of the sun clung to the horizon as she strolled across the grass toward her parents, who had placed their chairs on the church lawn, her father having been charged with opening the church to provide access to the restrooms in the tiny vestibule. A tall form fell into step beside her. Smiling, she glanced up at Zach Clayton, noticing that his jaws had taken on the faint shadow of a day’s growth of beard. The slight stubble gave him a rakishly handsome appearance.

“Where you headed?” he murmured.

“Going to sit with my parents a while.”

“That’s good. I won’t worry about you then.”

Kylie stopped dead in her tracks. “Worry about me?”

He winced. “I, um … well, you’ve seen how Vincent’s been acting.”

“No, not really,” she said. In point of fact, she’d done her dead level best not to notice what Vincent had been up to, but she felt a glow in the center of her chest at the knowledge that Zach worried about her. With all these people here, three or four hundred at least, tall, good-looking Zach Clayton had been keeping an eye on her.

Zach cleared his throat, but the eruption of a loud argument forestalled whatever he’d been about to say.

“I want to go now!” pleaded a brunette in red capris and a red-and-white-striped tank top.

“You will sit down and shut up until I’m ready!” a man bawled right in her face.

“Who is that?” Zach asked, turning in their direction.

“I want to go now!” the woman insisted plaintively.

Kylie wracked her brain. “Uh, Janey … Janey …” She shook her head, unable to find a last name.

“I said be quiet!” the man shouted, launching into a diatribe about whiny, self-centered women.

“That’s Rob Crenshaw. He’s about my age and a friend of Vincent’s.”

Nodding, Zach strode forward. Without thinking, Kylie followed, drawn by Janey’s sobs. Zach didn’t pause, just walked right up and threw his left arm around Rob’s shoulders in what looked like a companionable gesture.

“Rob,” he said calmly. “Rob Crenshaw.”

That surprised the younger man enough to shut him up and have him turning a stupefied gaze on Zach.

“Do I know you?”

“Deputy Sheriff Zach Clayton. How do you do?” Zach said, offering his right hand for a shake. Rob automatically took that hand and then seemed to have some difficulty letting go again. Zach turned him and walked him several steps away from the woman. While the two of them spoke quietly—actually, Zach did most of the talking—Kylie went to Janey.

“You okay?” she asked, patting the other woman on the back.

Heavily freckled and wholesome-looking, with pale hazel eyes and sleek, chin-length, dark-brown hair tucked behind her ears, Janey sniffed and nodded, confessing in a small voice, “He gets like this every time he drinks.”

“I thought alcohol wasn’t allowed on the green.”

“It’s not. He showed up with a snootful.”

Just then, Rob turned and lurched toward Janey. “We’re going,” he announced tersely, seizing her by the upper arm.

Kylie glanced at Zach, who stood with his hands at his hips, watching. “Do you want to go with him?” Kylie asked quickly.

For an instant, Janey hesitated, but then she nodded and let Rob pull her away. Zach watched to make sure Janey was driving. Then he removed his sunshades, folded them, stowed them in his shirt pocket and strolled toward Kylie. She turned as he drew near, and he once more fell into step beside her. They a put a few yards between them and the small crowd that had gathered to gawk.

“You handled that quite easily.”

Zach shrugged. “A bully never expects anyone to stand up to him. He’s surprised when people don’t cower or slink away. If you know what you’re doing, that can give you an upper hand.”

“I guess the badge doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Not a bit,” he admitted with a grin.

He walked her toward her parents. Reverend West stood waiting for them at the edge of the church lawn. Somehow, John West always managed to look as cool as a cucumber, and today proved no exception. His chinos held crisp creases, and the white of his Old Glory T-shirt fairly glowed in the fading light. He stepped forward at once, offering his hand to Zach and greeting Kylie with a nod.

“You two obviously work well together.”

Zach seemed as eager as Kylie to quell talk that involved the terms “you two” and “together.” They both began speaking.

“Oh, I was just talking to Janey.”

“A little private conversation between me and Crenshaw.”

“I wasn’t involved in anything.”

“It’s my job. The badge does most of the work.”

Reverend West laughed and stepped forward to drop one hand atop Zach’s shoulder and the other atop Kylie’s. “I have a couple of spots open on the helpline ministry team with our Church Care Committee.”

Zach flashed a pained look at Kylie.

“Oh, I’m, uh, on call twenty-four hours a day.”

“And I work shifts,” Kylie put in quickly.

“One evening a week,” West said, not in the least deterred. “I believe it will fulfill the voluntary community service requirement of the county sheriff’s new community involvement initiative.”

Zach twisted one corner of his lips into a wry grin. “So it will.”

The reverend looked to Kylie, saying, “I’ll speak to Erin. Make sure she doesn’t schedule you to work during your assigned hours.”

Kylie swallowed a sigh and nodded.

“I’ll tell Martha to expect you for training this Wednesday after prayer meeting then.” With that, West slid his hands into his pants pockets and strolled off in another direction, whistling complacently.

Backing up a step, Zach sent Kylie a loaded look and said, “Remind me to watch my step around him from now on.”

“You and me both.”

“He’s slicker than suntan oil. Glad he’s on the good side.”

“There is that,” she agreed with less enthusiasm than she probably should have displayed.

“Well, I’m working,” Zach said after a moment, shooting a glance at her parents. “Best get back out there.” He walked away with a nod and a wave.

Kylie let out her sigh in one long, tired breath and turned to face her parents, who had watched the whole thing from the comfort of their lawn chairs, bottles of cold iced tea in their hands. Seeing the look of consternation on her face, they both burst out laughing. After a moment, Kylie joined them. For more than a year she’d avoided Reverend West’s enlistment campaigns, and now, in the blink of an eye, she’d been caught. Her gaze drifted across the green until it settled on Zach Clayton’s broad shoulders. At least she had company in the trap.

Kylie sat down on the grass next to her parents. Over the next hour or so, they watched a steady stream of mostly women trek to and from the church. Finally, her mother rose from her chair. “Keep Dad company while I check the supplies in the bathrooms, will you? We don’t want to be poor hosts, and things need to be stocked for Sunday.”

Kylie pushed up to her feet and waved her mother back down. “No, I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure?” Lynette asked even as she sat again.

Nodding, Kylie started toward the church. She knew how hard both of her parents worked. She could do this one small thing for her mom.

“The extra supplies are in the closet behind the sanctuary,” her father called. Kylie flapped a hand in acknowledgment and moved away. “It’s open,” he went on, “but you’ll have to go into the building from the front.”

She climbed the front steps and went into the building.

Crossing the small foyer, she passed through a door on the left. A quick check showed that the paper products were, indeed, running low. Kylie went out again and pushed through the double doors that closed off the darkened sanctuary. She could barely see, but she didn’t turn on the overhead lights. Instead, she went around the edge of the large, pew-lined room and out again through a door behind the piano. She did turn on a light in the back room and propped the door open with a cloth-covered brick, placed there for that purpose, while she went to the far corner of the cluttered space.

Her father had often complained of the lack of a light inside the closet, but it hadn’t been wired for electricity. Kylie unbolted the rarely opened back door and pushed it wide to let in as much light as possible before going into the closet to gather supplies. She carried them back to the vestibule and stocked the restroom, then returned to lock up and turn off lights. Just as she passed through the door behind the piano and into the storage area again, a hand clamped down on her wrist.

She knew at once who held her. Fear rose in her throat, and she instantly reached out to God with mind and soul.