Читать книгу Falling For The Sheriff - Tanya Michaels - Страница 10
ОглавлениеAfter Luke and his unwitting accomplice apologized to the gruff but fair Mr. Jacobs, Kate and her son resumed their journey. He had the good sense not to resume his complaining.
It wasn’t until they were jostling along the private dirt road that led up to Gram’s house that Luke spoke again. “Are you going to tell her about the gas station? And the sheriff?”
She sighed. “Well, it wasn’t going to be my opening. I thought we’d say hi first and thank her profusely for taking us under her roof before we hit her with news of your exciting new criminal activities.”
“I apologized,” Luke grumbled. “I even paid the guy, although no one ended up with the candy bar.”
“‘The guy’ is Mr. Jacobs, and you’re going to treat him with respect when you see him next weekend.” It turned out that the inked man with the gravelly voice visited the pediatric ward of the hospital once a month and gave a magic show. Luke’s penance was that he would sacrifice a Saturday morning to work as the man’s assistant. “And paying for what you took after the fact doesn’t justify what you did. You know better than to steal! Your own father was a policeman, who—”
“My father is gone,” he said flatly.
She parked the car, and turned to look at her son. “I miss him, too. And I get angry—at him, at the man who shot him, at the unfairness of life. But lashing out and doing dumb things won’t bring your dad back. It only drives a wedge between you and me. I’m still here for you, kiddo. Try to remember that?”
Without responding, he climbed out of the car.
She blinked against the sting of tears, preferring to meet her grandmother with a smile. Joan Denby had lost her husband even more recently than Kate. The two women were supposed to bolster each other, not drag each other further down.
Either Gram had been watching for them, or Patch, the eight-year-old German shepherd, had barked notice of their arrival. Kate had barely removed her seatbelt before Gram hurried out onto the wraparound porch to greet them. In a pair of purple capris and a polo shirt striped with hot pink, Joan Denby was a splash of vivid color against the white wood railing. She looked much the same as she had all those summers when Kate visited as a girl, except that the cloud of once-dark hair framing Gram’s face was silver and her lively hazel eyes now peered at the world through a pair of bifocals. Still, few would guess that she was the great-grandmother of a teenager.
“Luke! Katie!” The exuberant welcome in her voice carried on the breeze, and the knot in Kate’s stomach unraveled.
Home. Whatever happened during the next few weeks of transition, Kate was suddenly 100 percent certain this was where she was supposed to be. Her vision blurred again, but this time with happy tears. She jumped out of the car, not even bothering to shut the door before rushing to hug her grandmother.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered fiercely. Even though she now stood taller than the woman who’d been equal parts mom and grandmother to her, Gram’s embrace still made Kate feel safer, just as it had when she’d woken from nightmares as a girl or been rattled by a Texas thunderstorm.
“Missed you, too, Katie. So much.” Gram patted her on the back, then pulled away to reach for Luke. “And you! I can’t believe how tall you’re getting. Strong enough to help with farm chores, I reckon. But don’t worry,” she added with a smile, “I promise to make sure you’re well-compensated with your favorite desserts.”
“Anything but candy bars,” he mumbled.
Kate suppressed a groan at the reminder of their inauspicious entry to town. “We should start bringing in bags,” she told her son. “The car’s not going to unpack itself.”
Gram followed them. “I expected to see you hauling a trailer of stuff.”
“We brought most of our personal items, but the furniture’s in storage back in Houston.” She didn’t add that she hadn’t wanted to move it all twice in case this relocation didn’t work out.
Gram insisted on helping, and Kate gave her the lightest things she could find in the backseat. Kate faltered at the box of Luke’s art supplies. It had been sheer optimism on her part to bring them; he’d told her she could leave them in storage—or throw them away.
There’d been a time when he’d never been without a sketch pad of some kind. A few months before Damon was killed, Luke had started working on a comic book series about a superhero on another planet. The interstellar crime-fighter didn’t have a family and he’d possessed larger than life mystical powers, but the physical resemblance between Luke’s fictional champion and his dad had been unmistakable.
His earlier statement echoed in her mind. My father is gone. But he hadn’t only lost Damon. In the last two years, he seemed to have also lost his inspiration and his direction. Although there was no need to get the heavy box inside before dinner, she vowed to put the supplies in his room later. Maybe, with time and patience, he’d find his direction again.
Shifting a large satchel against her hip, she pulled a rolling suitcase from the trunk. “Am I in my usual room, Gram?” Even during her trips to the farm as an adult, Kate had stayed in the bedroom where she had so many happy childhood memories.
Her grandmother nodded. “Of course. And for Luke, I cleared out the room where Jim used to work on his model planes. It’s not huge, but it’s the least girly space in the house.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Kate said gently, hating the thought of Gram boxing up all of her late husband’s beloved planes alone. She wished her father was more reliable, that he lived close enough to regularly visit his widowed mother. Not that geography was any guarantee he’d pull his head out of his textbooks long enough to remember his family. The cliché “absent-minded professor” aptly described James Sullivan Jr. The last time he’d had dinner with Kate and Luke, he’d seemed sincerely shocked that his grandson wasn’t still nine years old.
Patch met them at the front door with baritone yowls and a tail wagging wildly enough to generate a windstorm. It took a few minutes to get past the excited shepherd and into the living room. Kate took in the familiar surroundings, recalling her grandfather’s good-natured complaints about the pink curtains and throw pillows on the sofa. Gram had told him that, if it made him feel better, the color was technically “country rose.” He’d also pretended to be annoyed by her collection of carousel-horse figurines, but he’d built her the gorgeous display cabinet that housed them.
The room had barely changed in the last decade. Even the warm, inviting scent was the same. Gram’s house always smelled like a combination of the lemony cleaner she used on the hardwood floors and pecan pie.
Luke raised his head, sniffing appreciatively, but it wasn’t floor cleaner and nostalgia that captured his interest. “Food!”
Gram laughed. “I have beef stew in the slow-cooker and made a batch of corn bread muffins.”
He immediately dropped the large duffel bags, as if preparing to bolt for the kitchen.
“We’re not just leaving our stuff all over Gram’s house,” Kate chided, familiar with his habits. Their home in Houston had often been an obstacle course of discarded tennis shoes, an unzipped backpack with class binders spilling out of it and dirty glasses that should have been carried to the sink. “Once you’ve got the bags in your room and washed your hands, we’ll see about dinner.” He must have been genuinely hungry because, rather than flashing one of his mutinous scowls, he dashed down the hallway.
“It’s gratifying to cook for someone other than just myself,” Gram said, a trace of sadness beneath her smile.
Kate’s heart squeezed, but she kept her tone light. “As much food as Luke puts away, you may get tired of it pretty quickly. I insist you let me help with meals. And everything else—cleaning, gardening, whatever needs to be done. I know how seriously you take hospitality, but Luke and I are roommates, not guests who have to be waited on hand and foot.”
Gram’s eyes twinkled. “Well...now that you mention it, I suppose I could use your help with a welcome party I’m hosting. Tomorrow.”
“You planned a party tomorrow?” So much for settling in slowly. Kate had hoped to sleep late, then spend the day unpacking.
“Party is probably too grandiose a term. It’s just a neighborhood cookout. I invited some friends, like the Rosses, who live down the road. You remember they used to let you ride their horses? And I figured you’d want to see Crystal Tucker. Wait—she’s Crystal Walsh now, isn’t she?” Gram shook her head. “Seems like just yesterday the two of you were sharing cotton candy at the Watermelon Festival, a couple of kids with pigtails and sticky hands. Now you’re all grown up with kids of your own!”
Kate and Crystal had bonded quickly after meeting at the community pool and renewed their friendship every summer. An only child, Kate had loved having a playmate in town. Crystal, the middle kid between two sisters, relished the comparative peace and quiet at the Denby farm. The last time they’d seen each other was Jim Denby’s funeral, but Crystal, heavily pregnant with twin boys, hadn’t been able to stay long. It would be nice to catch up with her. Kate tried to recall the age of Crystal’s oldest son, hoping the boy could be a potential friend for Luke. He needed a wholesome peer group—the sooner, the better.
With that goal in mind, she gave her grandmother a grateful smile. “I hate for you to go to trouble on our account, but I’m really glad you’re throwing the welcome party. I’m sure it will be exactly what we need.”
* * *
KATEWASGLADher son had the good sense not to show up at the dinner table wearing earbuds—a mandate she’d had to repeat at least once a week back in Houston—but he wasn’t the most effusive dinner companion. He wolfed down two servings of stew while barely looking up from his plate, then asked to be excused.
She sighed, wishing he showed more curiosity about their new surroundings and learning about Cupid’s Bow. Let him go. It had been a long day, and no doubt tomorrow would bring fresh battles. “You’re excused, but make sure you rinse your dishes.”
He did as asked, then paused in the doorway that led to the hall. “Dinner was awesome,” he mumbled in Gram’s general direction, the words all strung together. Then he disappeared around the corner.
Kate shook her head. “Well, that was a start, I guess. We’ll work on eye contact later.”
Gram smiled. “He’s had a tough time of it. You both have.”
“I know.” Lord, did she know. “But that doesn’t give him a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card. Losing his dad can’t become a habitual excuse for bad choices.” She ran a hand through her hair, recalling the incident at the gas station. She’d meant get-out-of-jail in a figurative sense, but if her son didn’t get off his current path...
“Katie?” Gram’s tone was thick with concern.
Glancing toward the empty doorway, Kate lowered her voice. “We had a mishap on the way to the farm...and by mishap, I mean petty larceny. He stole from Rick Jacobs, got caught shoplifting a candy bar at the gas station. Luke didn’t even want it. We’d been arguing in the car and I can’t help feeling like this was another act of rebellion because he’s mad at me. He took the candy bar for a little girl.”
Kate covered her eyes, her face heating at the mortifying memory. “He got busted stealing candy for one of Cole Trent’s daughters.”
“He stole something for the sheriff’s kid?” Gram made an odd noise that Kate belatedly identified as a snort of amusement.
“Gram! It’s not funny.”
“It sort of is. Cupid’s Bow is small, granted, but there are a couple thousand residents. Of all the people...” She tried unsuccessfully to smother another laugh. “The sheriff! Seriously?”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t joke about this. When we met him inside, we didn’t know he was a cop. Then he chased us out in the parking lot, understandably furious. I was so embarrassed.” And that was after she’d already enjoyed the super-fun humiliation of dumping her drink on him. “Frankly, I’m hoping to avoid Sheriff Trent for the next three or four...ever.”
Gram’s eyes widened. “Oh, but—surely your paths will cross again. Like I said, this is a small town. So, perhaps it would be best to get it over with sooner rather than later. Right?”
Definitely not. But since it seemed rude to argue, Kate smiled weakly. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Another way to view it was that Kate had enough on her plate already without worrying about alienating a blue-eyed pillar of the community.
* * *
CRAP. LUKE SULLIVAN scowled at the prolonged quiet on the other side of the bedroom door. They’re talking about me. He couldn’t make out any of his mom’s or great-grandmother’s words, but he knew the tense, muffled tone. His mother had used it with his therapist whenever she sent Luke out of the room so the two adults could confer privately. She’d used it a lot on the phone with her friends when she was complaining about Luke’s screw-ups.
Suddenly needing noise and lots of it, Luke shoved in his earbuds and cranked up the volume on a hip-hop song. It was enough to drown out the low drone of conversation in the kitchen, but it didn’t mute the thoughts bouncing around his brain. He didn’t want to be here, in this shoebox of a room that smelled faintly of paint fumes. He liked his great-grandmother, but this was her house, not his. He missed home.
And he missed his friends.
He knew his mom didn’t like them, had specifically heard her describe Bobby as a “hoodlum,” but she didn’t get it. When he hung out with Bobby and the other eighth graders, kids looked at him with respect. Bobby was a known badass. He wasn’t universally liked, but even being regarded with contempt was better than pity. Luke hated students and teachers and neighbors eyeing him like he was a pathetic baby bird who’d fallen out of its nest and effed up its wing.
He was sick of people asking if he was “okay,” like his father’s murder was something to get over, equal to bombing a math quiz. He was tired of his mom’s stubborn attempts to get him to hang out with his old friends. And her attempts to get him to draw again. What did she care? Comic books were dumb stories that had nothing to do with real life.
In the stories Luke used to doodle, his cyborg-enhanced alien helped people by stopping natural disasters and chasing off enemies. In real life, Luke couldn’t even help cheer up a little girl. Stealing the candy had been stupid, and he certainly hadn’t meant to get her in trouble. He hated seeing girls cry.
He knew his mom cried. After his dad got shot, she’d cried a lot. They both had. But then she’d pretended to stop. He wasn’t stupid, though. He noticed when her face was blotchy. Some nights when he couldn’t sleep, he could hear the muffled noise. He hated those nights. He hated that his dad had picked such a dangerous job. He hated that he’d had to leave the only place he’d ever lived. But there wasn’t anything Luke could do about those problems.
Frustration flooded him, and he clenched his fists.
Yeah, stealing the candy bar had been a dumbass thing to do but it had seemed like such a simple solution, an easy way to make that little girl stop crying. Finally, there’d been a problem that seemed fixable! But he hadn’t been able even to fix that. So how was he going to fix the rest of his life?
* * *
AFTERTHEACHESand pains caused by loading the car and hours of driving, Kate expected to toss and turn all night. Instead, only a few minutes after her head hit the pillow, she fell into a dreamless sleep. In the morning, she woke to a wave of déjà vu triggered by the scent of coffee. She herself had never developed a taste for it, but Damon hadn’t been able to form the words good morning without a mug in his hand.
To combat the Texas summer, Gram kept the air-conditioning chugging at a temperature low enough to cool the hardwood floors. Kate slid her feet into music-note slippers given to her by a student at Christmas and padded to the kitchen to help with breakfast. She wasn’t surprised that the door to Luke’s room was still closed; he rarely got out of bed without parental prompting.
Gram, a natural morning person, beamed at her. “Sleep well, dear?”
“Like a rock, actually.” It was the best night’s rest she’d had in recent memory.
“I was just about to scramble myself some eggs. Want some?”
“You made dinner last night. It only seems fair that I make breakfast,” Kate counteroffered.
“All right. Then I can work on my shopping list. I’m running into town to pick up a few last minute items for the cookout this afternoon.”
The two women ate breakfast in companionable silence. Afterward, Gram gathered her purse and keys, saying she wouldn’t be gone long. She was just missing a few ingredients for the desserts she planned to bake.
Alone in the quiet house, Kate began unpacking some of her belongings into the closet and bureau. She’d been too drained last night. After making a substantial dent—and finding a casual green-striped sundress that seemed appropriate for today—she headed for the bathroom and showered. She used the blow-dryer with the door open, hoping the noise would jumpstart the process of waking Luke. When she knocked on his door, however, there was no answer, not even a mumbled “go away.”
She toyed with letting him sleep longer, wondering if that would improve his disposition today, but decided she wanted this opportunity while they were alone in the house to break the news about the welcome party. He might not react with enthusiasm, and she didn’t want him hurting Gram’s feelings.
“Knock, knock,” she said as she pushed the door open.
He was out cold, his breathing slow and even, his shaggy hair going in all different directions, an uneven halo against the pale blue pillowcase. Without the scowl that was rapidly becoming his trademark, he looked a lot like he had as a little boy. Her heart constricted, a tight ball in her chest. She loved her son so much and wanted nothing more than to make his life better, easier. If only he could see that!
She sat on the edge of the bed, saying his name softly, then with more volume, jostling his shoulder.
One eyelid cracked open just enough for him to peer at her in displeasure. “Whaddayawant?”
“To make you breakfast. And to talk. We saved you some bacon,” she said coaxingly.
He hesitated, torn between two of his favorite activities—sleeping and eating. Playing video games was also in his top five, but she hadn’t hooked up his gaming system last night. Maybe that could be his reward for being well-behaved today.
“Why don’t you put on some clothes and brush your teeth,” she suggested, “and I’ll cook you some eggs. Scrambled with cheese?”
He shook his head. “Fried with the squishy yolk, so that the yellow runs everywhere when you cut it.”
“Okay.” She rose, leaving the room and giving him some privacy. But she hesitated in the hallway, listening to make sure he actually got out of the bed instead of rolling over and falling back to sleep.
Just as she was setting his plate on the table, he appeared in the kitchen, wearing a pair of maroon shorts with an elastic waist and a charcoal-colored shirt that had once featured the name of a sports team. The letters had faded to obscurity after about a million washings, and tiny holes in the fabric were beginning to appear at the neckline and around the seams. He claimed the shirt was the softest piece of clothing he owned and wore it about three times a week. She really needed to find him a replacement before this one ultimately disintegrated. Although he’d changed, he hadn’t taken the time to brush his hair. It stuck out around his face in fluffy spikes.
She handed him a glass of orange juice. “You sleep okay?” Considering the coma-like condition she’d found him in, it seemed like a safe opener.
“No. The bed’s lumpy, and the outside noise is weird.”
How did he not consider the gentle hum of crickets and tree frogs an improvement over planes landing and periodic car alarms blaring? “There’s hardly any noise at all!”
“That’s what makes it weird.” He stabbed into an egg, watching the yellow ooze across the plate as requested. “Where’s Gram?”
“She went out for some groceries.” And would probably be home any minute now, so Kate better get to the point. “She invited some people over this afternoon for a cookout.”
Luke scowled around a mouthful of bacon. “You want me to spend my afternoon with a bunch of people I don’t know?”
“That’s the whole point of the gathering, so we can get to know some of our new neighbors. Maybe start making friends.”
“I have friends. In Houston.”
“Well, we aren’t in Houston anymore. Gram was nice enough to take us in, and we owe her. Our actions here reflect on her, too.”
“So you’re saying if we don’t fit in, she might kick us out?”
“Of course not!” Her grandmother would never resort to reverse extortion. Was he asking because he feared not being accepted, after the way most of his teachers had labeled him last year, or was he secretly hopeful, wondering if antics at Gram’s cookout could be his ticket back to Houston?
“I expect you to be on your best behavior,” she stressed. “Do not screw this up.”
Hurt flared in his eyes, but his tone was his default-mode sarcastic when he said, “So you’re saying I shouldn’t hotwire the guests’ cars and do doughnuts in the back pasture?”
“After your stunt yesterday, you don’t get to make jokes like that.”
“How long are you going to stay mad about that? It was just a stupid candy bar!”
No, it was a destructive pattern of behavior. Then again, if she always acted as though she expected the worst of him, was she creating a self-fulfilling prophecy? “Luke, I—”
Outside, a car door closed, and he shot out of his chair. “I’ll see if she needs help bringing in groceries.” His gallantry was clearly motivated by an excuse to end the conversation, but Kate would take what she could get.
The screen door clattered as he hurried out of the house, and Kate heard Gram call good morning to him. Decades ago, Joan Denby had been able to coax Kate out of her shell when she was feeling abandoned by her father. Maybe now Gram could work her magic on a sullen teenage boy.
There were so few bags that Luke got them all in one trip. Kate offered to help put away the groceries, but Gram said to just leave them out for baking. She then made Luke’s day by giving him permission to hook up his game console to the living room TV while the two women worked in the kitchen.
Once he’d happily scampered off to lose himself in a digital quest, Gram raised an eyebrow in Kate’s direction. “Am I wrong, or was there some tension between the two of you?”
“Always.”
Gram patted her arm. “Hang in there. The teen years are difficult. I seem to recall a certain summer where you and Crystal fell for the same lifeguard at the local pool and life as you knew it was over!” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in melodramatic parody.
Kate chuckled in spite of herself. “Okay, I suppose even I had my tantrums.”
“And you grew into a wonderful woman. Luke has a good heart.”
“I know. I just wish he’d share it with people more often.”
Gram disappeared into the walk-in pantry and returned with a sack of flour and an armful of spices. “Do you want an apron to protect your dress? It’s pretty. Brings out the green in your eyes.” She beamed proudly. “You’re sure to make a good impression in it.”
Alarm bells sounded in Kate’s head, as jarring as a classroom of seven-year-olds all playing xylophones for the first time. Suddenly she recalled a phone conversation with Gram a few months ago. Her grandmother had gently hinted that Luke might do better with a male role model in his life and asked if Kate ever dated. When Kate had said no, Gram had dropped the subject. Now, Kate wondered if her grandmother had simply been biding her time.
“Gram, this welcome party... It’s not going to be a lineup of the county’s eligible bachelors, is it? I told you, I’m not ready for romance.”
Her grandmother smiled sadly. “I lost my husband, too. I understand. But you’re in the prime of your life, with a lot of years left ahead of you. Damon wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
That answer did nothing to settle Kate’s apprehension about the party. “Today isn’t going to be you, me, and a dozen single guys between the ages of twenty and fifty, right?”
“You have your grandfather’s active imagination. As I told you last night, I invited some families. Now, can we get started? I’ve got several desserts I want to bake, and my oven will only hold so many things at a time.”
Telling herself to quit being paranoid, Kate lost herself in the comforting rhythm of working alongside the woman who had taught her how to cook. The first dinner she’d ever fixed for Damon had included her grandmother’s chicken and dumplings recipe. The hours passed quickly. In seemingly no time, afternoon sun streamed through the windows and the kitchen smelled like a decadent bakery. Unfortunately, the kitchen was nearly as hot as the inside of a bakery oven.
At least outside there was a breeze. Kate covered long folding tables with vinyl tablecloths, glad she hadn’t bothered with makeup. It would have melted away. They drafted Luke to dump ice into the drink coolers and pretended not to notice all the food he stole off the veggie tray. Beans simmered on the stove, and a vat of potato salad waited in the fridge. The smell of brisket cooking made Kate’s stomach rumble. While she waited for the grill to heat up so she could throw on some sausages, she opened a bag of tortilla chips and taste-tested Gram’s homemade salsa.
Gram handed her a cold water bottle, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You might want this.”
Kate nodded. “It’s a little hotter than I remembered.”
“Well. Everyone needs a little spice in their lives.”
As Kate sipped her water, two vehicles came down the dirt road that led from the street to the farm. The second was a battered pickup; the one in the lead was a sedan that was probably older than she was but gleamed as if it were washed and waxed daily. As soon as it pulled to a stop, the back door opened. While the driver and front passenger were still dealing with their seatbelts, two blonde blurs of energy spilled out. Followed by a tall man with ink-black hair.
Cold water splashed over her fingers, making her realize she was squeezing the bottle in her hand. “Gram!” She couldn’t keep the note of shrill accusation from her voice. “That is Cole Trent.”
Her grandmother ducked her gaze. “Oh. Did I, um, forget to mention he was invited?”
