Читать книгу Wild Horse Springs - Jodi Thomas - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

Tuesday

WEAK AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT filtered through the blinds, reminding Dan Brigman another hour had passed without sleep, and the day was only getting worse. He’d barely had time to hug his daughter before she was storming up the steps toward the third floor of the county offices. The tapping rain off and on all afternoon had already given him a headache, and having Lauren show up to interfere with his job wasn’t helping.

He’d left the sexy singer yesterday after lunch, looking forward to seeing her again before midnight, but a call came in an hour after he got back to the office that ended that possibility. Since four o’clock yesterday, he’d had to arrest a kid he cared about for assault, then field a dozen calls from people telling him how to do his job. Midnight passed with him sitting up in the third-floor lockup with a teenager who refused to talk about what he’d done. Now, after he’d had no sleep for nearly thirty hours, his daughter arrived, demanding to know if he’d lost his mind.

At this point, Dan wasn’t sure his ears still worked. The whole town could take turns telling him how to be sheriff, and he still wouldn’t let Thatcher Jones out until the judge set bail. Once he knew how much it would take, Dan had already decided he’d pay it himself.

His daughter was running through facts he already knew about the crime, so Dan simply followed one step behind as she headed upstairs.

“Now calm down, Lauren,” he finally commented when she breathed. “We’re doing all we can. The judge says he can bail out if he’ll give a statement, but Thatcher isn’t cooperating.”

“Did you offer him a lawyer?”

Dan huffed. “I did. He said he didn’t need a lawyer to tell me that he’s not talking. He can do that himself.”

She wasn’t listening, and he didn’t blame her. If they were doing all they could do, Thatcher Jones wouldn’t still be locked up in the first place. His daughter always thought the world had to be balanced and fair, but it just wasn’t.

If it had any fairness at all, he’d be sleeping off a wild memory and not putting in a forty-hour workday.

He almost swore. If the world were fair, he would have picked up that singer, Brandi Malone, last night like he’d planned, and not be stuck babysitting Thatcher. The kid was so wild he probably would have gnawed through the steel bars if he’d been left alone.

Dan unlocked the third-floor door, deciding that Lauren’s anger was all his fault. He’d raised her. “We’re working on it. We’ll figure this out,” he said as she stormed past him.

Before he opened the second door to the county lockup, he waited for his daughter to calm. The sound of Tim O’Grady tromping up the stairs echoed through the building. Tim was like the Ransom Canyon County Offices’ resident ghost. He came, night or day, if he thought something was happening. He claimed it helped him with his writing, gave him ideas, but since his last two books were postapocalyptic thrillers for hormone-crazed teens, Dan didn’t see that his research at the sheriff’s office was doing much good. The young writer was interesting, though, and he’d been Lauren’s friend since they could both walk, so Dan tolerated O’Grady even if it did irritate him that Lauren called him Hemingway.

Of course, Dan wasn’t the least bit surprised that Tim was with her today. He’d probably called her to notify her about Thatcher.

Finally, Lauren turned and faced him. “Why is he in jail, Sheriff? Give me the facts.”

Lauren only called him that when she was too angry to remember he was her father.

“He won’t talk. No one believes he stole food from Luther’s old truck stop, and nobody believes his story about not remembering how he got the backpack full of can goods obviously from the store.”

Thatcher must have heard them because he yelled from twenty feet away, “I ain’t telling who I got the stolen groceries from, and that’s final. I took them back, isn’t that good enough? I’ll rot in this place before I talk. And I didn’t attack Luther. He insulted me and my whole family. I’m not arguing that my no-name dad and run-off mother were trash, but that don’t give him the right to remind me.”

Lauren stormed into the next room, which had one cell on either side of a wide-open space in-between. “Stop talking like an idiot, Thatcher. We’re trying to get you into Texas Tech this fall, and you’ll never make it talking like that.”

Dan left the doors open for O’Grady as he leaned against the opposite cell and enjoyed watching his daughter yell at someone besides him for a while.

Tim O’Grady and Lauren might not be more than six or seven years older than Thatcher, but they’d thought of themselves as his substitute parents since they’d all three worked together one summer. Thatcher had been painting the county offices, working off fines. Tim was collecting ideas for his writing. Lauren was organizing her father’s office, something she’d done every summer since she was ten.

Thatcher might be four years older than he’d been that summer, but his respect for Lauren was obvious as he stood and gripped the bars. He’d grown a few inches since Lauren had been home, but he was still bone-thin. His hair was as wild as prairie grass, and he was tanned so deep his skin hadn’t lightened even if winter was settling in for a long stay.

Part of Dan hoped no one ever changed the kid. He was a blend of Tom Sawyer and Billy the Kid with a little bit of a young Abe Lincoln mixed in. He’d been born two hundred years too late to be understood and damn if the kid cared.

Thatcher smiled suddenly, that easy smile that would melt hearts someday, but Lauren didn’t smile back.

He lowered his voice. “Hell, look at me, Lauren. I’m in jail. The chances of any college taking me are not looking too good right now.” He bumped his forehead against the bars. “But double damn. I got to make it to Tech for Kristi’s sake. If I don’t get there and save her, she’ll find some brainiac like O’Grady and start hanging out with him. They’ll probably marry and have a dozen little redheaded kids with not one of them having a lick of common sense.”

Tim finally caught up with the sheriff and Lauren. “What’s wrong with red hair? And what makes you think my kids wouldn’t have common sense?”

Thatcher sighed. “You superglued your fingers together that summer I met you. You hooked your ear the last time we tried fly-fishing. You—”

“I’m not in jail,” Tim interrupted.

Lauren slapped at Thatcher’s knuckles and flashed Tim a dirty look. “Shut up, the both of you. We’ve got to get organized and get you out without some kind of record hanging over you. If we just knew who did steal the food, maybe we could clear this up.”

“I already told you I ain’t telling. Not even if you torture me.”

The sheriff leaned over Lauren’s shoulder. “Don’t give me any ideas, kid.”

Tim swore as he paced the space between the cells. “I’ve already tried getting him to talk, Sheriff. Nothing works. We always end up back at square one. The kid is tormenting me. Maybe I should file a complaint. I’ve been here all morning talking to him, and all that’s happening is my red hair is falling out.”

Thatcher reached out and almost grabbed the front of Tim’s sweatshirt. “I’m not a kid, O’Grady. Call me that one more time, and you’ll be swallowing teeth. The sheriff’s the only one who can call me that. I’m eighteen.”

“What are you going to do?” Tim shouted. “Knock me out, too, like you did Luther when he accused you of stealing? At the rate you’re going, you’ll have to do double time in prison to ever see daylight.”

Lauren shook her head. Her long, straight blond hair waving down her back reminded Dan of how Brandi Malone’s dark hair had seemed to come alive when she moved. Had it only been noon yesterday when he’d touched those dark curls and thought he’d see her by midnight? It seemed like a lifetime since he’d kissed the singer on the forehead and left the Nowhere Club.

He should have kissed her that last time on the mouth. The way his luck was running right now, Dan might never see his wild, beauty again.

Tim’s loud lecture drew the sheriff back from his thoughts. O’Grady was overreacting as usual. If he wrote as fast as he talked, he’d have a dozen books out by now.

When Lauren glanced in Dan’s direction, he winked at her, silently letting her know that the world was not as dark as she thought it might be.

She finally realized that her father, not just a sheriff, was right beside her. She leaned close to him so he’d hear her over Tim’s rant. “Okay, Pop, what do we do now?”

Tim gave up talking and listened for a change.

“I tried talking Luther out of pressing charges,” Dan began. “I had no luck. But he used to give you free ice cream even after I’d already said no. Maybe you and Tim should go out to the truck stop and give it a shot. Since the stolen goods were found in the store, that charge won’t hold, but the assault might.” Dan was too tired to think of any other option.

“But—” Lauren started to argue.

Dan pushed his only option. “Talk to him. It might not change anything, but who knows, it might help.”

“What about Thatcher?”

“I’ll be right here.” Dan glanced at the kid. “He’s not going anywhere for a while. Charley Collins has already talked to him and is out trying to get him a lawyer. The Franklin sisters called to tell me I’d better not even think of feeding him prison food. They’re bringing his meals from the bed and breakfast.”

“You have prison food?” Lauren smothered a giggle.

Dan shook his head. “That’s not the worst of it. I’ve had half a dozen blankets delivered and threats called in that I’d better not let the boy freeze in a cold cell.”

“You let people threaten you?”

“Sure. One was Miss Bees. She has to be ninety, but she considers it her civic duty to call in a threat at least once a month. Another was Vern Wagner. I don’t think he knew what he was mad about, but Miss Bees probably told him to call in. A few others just dropped off threats with the blankets.”

Lauren tilted her head, looking in the cell. “I don’t see any blankets.”

“Pearly’s examining them now for hacksaws. She learned the word contraband from a TV show last year, and now her new word keeps bouncing around in the office.” Dan realized he was starting to sound like a Saturday Night Live skit. Big cities had gangs and major crime; he had senior citizens and do-gooders. Some days it seemed to Dan he had the roughest beat.

Lauren put her hand on her father’s arm. “Maybe I should come home to help you, Pop? I did study law, even if I did chicken out on taking the bar.”

“I thought you did come home to ride shotgun,” he said with a smile. “Any chance you and Tim could take the late shift, if Thatcher is still locked up tonight? You two are as close to deputies as I’ve got right now. Fifth Weathers is down in Austin for training, so I’m shorthanded. I’ve got something I have to do tonight, and Thatcher is in no danger other than being fed to death or smothered by quilts.”

“You got a date?” she teased.

“Yeah, with a wild, hot lady.” He told the truth, knowing she wouldn’t believe him.

“Sure, Pop.” She laughed. “Any way I can help. You look tired. Go home. Go to bed.”

“My plan exactly.” In his mind, his fingers were already moving into Brandi Malone’s mass of midnight hair.

* * *

FIVE HOURS LATER, Lauren was curled up next to Tim in the empty cell, watching a zombie movie on his laptop.

Thatcher had borrowed her phone and moved to the far corner of his cell. She guessed he was talking to Kristi, the only girlfriend he’d ever had, but Kristi must have been carrying the conversation because Thatcher hadn’t said a word in ten minutes. He just nodded now and then, as if Kristi could see him through the phone.

“This is not what I meant when I suggested spending the night together, L,” Tim whispered as he inched his fingers under her sweater.

“Look at the bright side. We’re almost alone.” Lauren gently shoved his hand away. She gave him a look that silently whispered, not here, not now.

“Yeah, but we’re both dressed and have a teenage jailbird watching over us.” Tim looked more resigned than frustrated. He never pushed, even when they were alone, even when she didn’t bother to give a reason for shoving him away.

She shifted out from under his arm. “We’ve got to do something to help Thatcher. I can’t stand just waiting around to see if something happens. This could go bad fast, Tim, and if Thatcher’s officially charged, it may be too late.”

“What can we do? It’s almost midnight.”

She didn’t look at him when she whispered, “We’ve got to call Lucas.”

Lauren didn’t want to chance Tim seeing how she felt about Lucas, so she glanced away. They’d all been friends in high school, which seemed like a lifetime ago. “If we call him tonight, he could be here by eight in the morning.”

“Lucas is big time, L. I read an article online that says he’s moving up in that fancy firm he stepped into right out of college. A few years from now, I wouldn’t be surprised if he runs for office or becomes a judge or a senator or something. He wouldn’t drop everything and come back home to maybe help a kid he’s probably never met. We might have all been friends years ago, but those days are long gone.”

Lauren closed her eyes, fighting back tears. The Lucas she once knew would come, but the Lucas who worked in Houston now hadn’t called once to check on her since she graduated college. That Lucas, if he came home at all, didn’t call friends from the past when he was in town.

She’d never told anyone, not even Tim, how much she’d loved the young Lucas, the one full of dreams.

Tim would only be hurt if he knew another had been in her heart since she was fifteen. It was better that he didn’t know about what had happened between her and Lucas, the promises they’d whispered once, the few stolen moments they’d shared. As her best friend, Tim would be surprised she’d never told him. As her lover, he’d be crushed that she’d held someone else in her dreams all this time.

Lauren stood and walked to the window. Had anything really happened between her and Lucas? she wondered. Had she simply cobbled together a romance from a few kisses and wishes? At fifteen she’d been crazy about the boy who’d saved her from an accident. At eighteen she’d thought they’d be together through college, but he’d pulled away. At twenty-one they’d shared a passionate kiss that had gone nowhere. Maybe the Lucas she knew was more in her imagination than real.

Stick to the facts, she almost whispered aloud. How she felt about Lucas Reyes didn’t matter. Thatcher needed help, and Lucas was the most powerful lawyer she knew.

Lauren held her hand out toward Thatcher. “I need to borrow my phone back.”

He said a quick goodbye and handed over her cell. “No problem. We were into reruns of the argument anyway.”

Lauren felt sorry for him. “Everything all right with you and Kristi?”

Thatcher shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. She talked for a while and then got real mad because I asked her for the summary. I told her I was too tired to listen much longer.”

He dropped onto his cot, which was padded with several blankets. “I swear I don’t understand her. Every time I think I know where I stand with her, the world shifts and I lose my marker.”

Lauren knew how he felt.

Walking out into the hallway, she sat on the first step. All the offices were closed now, and the wooden steps descended into darkness below. Pushing the number that had been Lucas Reyes’s cell in college, she waited. If he’d changed his number, she had no way of reaching him. If he said no, she could think of nowhere else to turn.

One ring. Two, three.

She shouldn’t have called. Not this late. Not without having thought about what she’d say.

Four, five, six.

“Hello,” a deep, sleepy voice said.

“Lucas?” She couldn’t believe he was on the line. It had been so long. A thousand days, a million dreams.

“Lauren,” he whispered.

For a few moments, they just breathed as if they weren’t hundreds of miles apart.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Is there some emergency?”

She could hear his voice hardening, becoming more formal, putting a distance between them that couldn’t be simply measured in miles. He’d whispered once when they stared up at the stars that she was his sky. Did he remember?

Lauren followed his lead. Talk about the problem at hand, not her own feelings. “I need some legal advice.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“No. It’s a friend. A kid in Crossroads. I was hoping you could come help.” She realized she wasn’t the right one to talk to a lawyer about Thatcher’s case. He obviously didn’t even want help, and her father might be mad that she hadn’t waited to see if he could figure things out.

She heard paper shuffling and a click like a lamp being turned on.

The voice that finally came back was cold, a stranger. “Give me the facts.”

She suddenly wished she hadn’t called. “It’s really only an assault charge. I thought you might be able to do something. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Give me the facts, Lauren.”

“I shouldn’t have called.” It dawned on her how Lucas probably made sure their paths never crossed. He’d never called. Never texted. She knew he was still on the other end of the phone waiting for her to make sense.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, as she fought not to cry.

Just before she ended the call she heard him say, “I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

The phone went dead before she could say no.