Can't Stop Believing (HARMONY) (12 page)

Cord looked at the rotting lumber that would no longer hold a wheelchair. “I’ll have you one built by tomorrow.”

“I can pay,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I’m happy to help. I’ll worry about this. You worry about getting that friend of yours well enough to use it.”

He put on his hat and headed for his pickup. When he backed out, Ronny was standing on the porch staring at him. She didn’t wave or say a word, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile.

Within thirty minutes he’d collected supplies and called Galem to tell him to round up Jefferson and Jackson. Johnson, the youngest of the president brothers, could help Zeb with the cattle, but he needed the other two and Galem. “Meet me at the hardware store. Tell them to wear carpenter belts fully loaded for work.”

Galem didn’t ask questions; he just said, “We’re on our way.”

Cord closed the phone and smiled. They were seasoned ranch hands. The two could handle pretty much any job, and he had no doubt Galem would keep advice flowing until they were finished.

When they arrived, pickups were loaded with supplies and they headed back to the duplex. Cord saw no sign of anyone inside either side of the place, so he set to work.

Halfway through the job, Martha Q Patterson pulled up in her old car, which rattled to a stop. Everyone in town knew the owner of the bed-and-breakfast. She’d been so wild in her youth that folks still told stories about her.

“Cord McDowell?” she yelled as she rushed toward him.

He straightened and reached for the shirt he’d pulled off half an hour ago. “Yes, Mrs. Patterson.”

She was out of breath by the time she reached him. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes never left his chest.

“I’m building a ramp for Ronny.”

Martha Q folded her arms and finally looked up at him. “You want to tell me why?”

“She asked me to.” He didn’t see any need to tell her more. Cord didn’t like questions and never gave more than a short answer. He stared down at the lady, wishing she’d go away.

To his surprise, the tall, thin man who’d offered them a lift yesterday stepped out the back door of the duplex and rushed to Martha Q like she was an old friend. “I’m so glad you came by,” he said to Martha Q before offering his hand to Cord. “Mr. McDowell, I don’t think I properly introduced myself to you last night. I’m sorry; exhaustion is my only excuse. I’m Anthony Carleon, and, if you’ve no objection, I’d love to explain to Mrs. Patterson exactly what is happening here.”

Cord nodded once and went back to work, happy to be out of the conversation. Hell, he didn’t really know what he was doing here. This had nothing to do with his farm or Nevada’s ranch. He had plenty of work to do on both, but, strange as it would sound to most folks in town, he and Ronny were friends. Ever since he’d gotten out of prison he could count on her saying “Good morning” to him or talking about the weather when he came in to get his mail. When no one talks to you for days, such a small kindness meant something. It meant even more when he watched and saw that she was so shy she barely looked at others.

As he worked, he listened to the man who’d called himself Mr. Carleon explain that some guy named Marty Winslow might one day be able to sit in a wheelchair, and Ronny promised him when he did that she’d wheel him out of the house and they’d take a walk.

When Martha Q finally drove off, Cord thanked the man, and Mr. Carleon laughed. “She only wanted to be part of what was going on,” he said. “Despite her bluster, she thinks very highly of you.”

“She does?” He didn’t think someone like Martha Q would even remember him.

“Yes,” Carleon smiled. “She was telling one of the other boarders at the inn just this morning that your wife had picked a fine man this time.” Carleon looked around at the ramp. “From your work, I would have to agree. This looks like it will still be standing when the house falls down.”

“Thanks.” Cord wasn’t sure for what—for passing on the compliment, or for his work. “If you’re staying here, you’ll let me know if Ronny needs anything?”

Carleon straightened but didn’t answer.

Cord knew he’d have to say more. “She’s a friend. I’d like to help if I can.”

The older man must have believed him, for he said, “I will. But I work for Mr. Winslow. I board at the inn. Marty, my employer, has round-the-clock nurses to help him, and I’m here to run errands, but I’m guessing Ronny could always use a friend. I hope you’ll stop by often. I’m here whenever I’m needed.”

He pointed at the dried-up creek that ran behind the duplex. “If I cross the creek, I’m actually very close. Thanks to Mr. Galloway for pointing out the shortcut.”

Cord stopped breathing. “Bryce Galloway?”

Carleon answered casually, “Why, yes, do you know him? He’s one of the boarders at the inn.”

“No, but I’ve heard of him. My wife thought he might be in town, but I thought he was just passing through.” Bryce Galloway had just moved to the top of his list of who might have slashed his tires.

M
ARCH
21

A
S
THE
DAYS
ROLLED
INTO
SPRING
, M
ARTHA
Q
AND
M
R
. Carleon developed a habit of sitting on the porch after supper. They found that both enjoyed watching the day age into evening. She decided he was a pleasant man. At her age, pleasant men could fill the lonely hours sometimes far more than women friends.

She’d learned that he’d lost his wife to cancer twenty years ago and had no children. Which, to her way of thinking, was a blessing for her. Everyone she knew had not only children, but grandchildren, and they were simply boring when Martha Q knew she had no chance of one-upping them with a better story.

As they took their places among the wicker furniture, Martha Q began. “It’s a really nice night tonight, Mr. Carleon, don’t you think?”

“I do.” He waited until she was settled in her chair before he sat down. “Here among all your huge old elms, it reminds me of New England.”

“Me too,” she answered, even though she’d never been to New England. In fact, she wasn’t even sure where it was. Up north somewhere, but all the states got fuzzy past the Mississippi.

“How was Marty today?” Martha Q figured she’d better change the subject before he asked where in New England she’d visited.

“He’s weak. Very weak. I can’t say I was much for moving him, but like his friends, I couldn’t just stand around and watch him die. Now at least when he wakes up, he smiles through the pain. His first word is always
Ronny
.” Carleon stared out at the trees’ shadows crawling toward the house. “I don’t know if he loves her so much as the dream of what might have been between them, but she is very dear to him.”

“She’s a good girl, I can tell you. I’ve known her all her life. Some say a man like him wouldn’t be loving her if he were healthy, but I say it doesn’t matter why he loves her. The important thing is, he does. Having a special man like that care about her will make all the difference in her life. In her later years, she’ll have him to remember and know that, even for a moment, she was special to someone.”

Mr. Carleon nodded. “I see their love more every day. Each time he stays awake an hour longer or manages to move his arms to do a few simple exercises, her face lights up like Christmas morning. I don’t think she believes he’s going to die. That’ll make it harder on her when it happens.”

“There is no easy where death’s involved.”

“How right you are.”

They grew silent as Bryce Galloway walked up the walkway. Unlike the other boarders, Galloway never bought the simple supper at the inn. He usually went into town or to the bar for his dinner, unless of course it rained; then he drove the black Rover he’d rented to a drive-through and bought a bag of junk food. The smell of fast food often drifted down all the way to the first floor from his room. For a man who insisted his food be cooked with no dairy, fat, or sugar, Bryce sure brought a great many greasy bags in.

Martha Q had no idea where Bryce went, but he seemed a busy man for someone who never mentioned a job or friends in town. His rental car looked like it was built for off-road travel. But he seemed more the type who thought he was roughing it if he stayed anywhere without a golf course connected to the property.

“Evening,” Galloway said with a wide smile that flashed for only a moment when he looked up.

Mr. Carleon leaned forward and welcomed him without a smile. “Evening.”

Bryce didn’t bother with small talk. At some point he’d quit trying to make an impression on them. Maybe because he knew they’d already figured him out. He simply tipped an imaginary hat and went into the bed-and-breakfast.

Martha Q waited until she heard him tromping up the stairs before she said, “If I were writing a mystery right now, that man would be the character who did it.”

Mr. Carleon laughed. “I believe you’re right; though I don’t have a single fact to back up my opinion of him, I’d bet a month’s pay that he’s up to something.”

Joni Rosen, dressed in her usual black, joined them on the porch. Martha Q didn’t mind, except that Widow Joni was petite, and little women always made her feel bigger. She solved the problem by moving to the swing and covering up with a blanket, which she really didn’t need.

Joni had that sadness that hangs around after a funeral. At a certain age Martha Q decided it makes people over fifty feel comfortable around each other. They’ve all spent time in that well and know it.

Martha Q knew the only way to cheer Joni up was to gossip. The little woman never started gossip, but she didn’t mind spreading it along. She and Joni filled Mr. Carleon in on what they knew of Bryce Galloway. He’d shown up in town two or three years ago like he’d just bought the place at a half-price sale. He was friendly and outgoing, becoming buddies with everyone right away—or at least with all the people he thought counted.

Barrett Britain, Nevada’s brother, introduced him to everyone as the man who would someday take over the Boxed B. They’d been roommates in college, but Bryce had never visited Harmony before. He came one summer to ride dirt bikes, but he stayed fascinated with Nevada.

Strange thing was, no one in town ever saw him with Nevada until they saw the wedding announcement in the paper. By the time he married her a few months later, you would have thought she was the outsider, judging from all the hugs he got. Of course, the wedding was at the country club with all the important people attending. Martha Q heard all about it because some guests stayed at the inn and felt the need to fill her in on what she’d missed.

Joni explained how Nevada went right on being her wild self even after the wedding, and folks started feeling sorry for the city boy who’d moved in and tried to handle her. She was always wrecking a car or making a scene. Word was she was once so drunk, she fell down a flight of stairs and bruised up one whole side of her body. The poor man had to nurse her back because nobody in town wanted to go out to the Boxed B with her there drinking and the old man dying.

The marriage was over after a few months. Bryce left saying they’d get back together, but it never happened.

When Joni went in for cocoa, Mr. Carleon told Martha Q about the look he’d seen on Cord McDowell’s face when he’d mentioned Bryce.

Martha Q returned the honesty by saying there was something about the polished Bryce Galloway that bothered her. “I’ve taken to locking my bedroom door at night and hinted that the widows do the same. He hasn’t done one thing wrong, but something about him doesn’t add up.”

“Maybe we should keep an eye on Galloway,” Mr. Carleon suggested. “I have a friend on the Houston police force. I might just give him a call tomorrow. He might be rich, but probably not rich enough to make police records disappear. If he had problems, they’d be filed somewhere.”

“Would you?” Martha Q squealed with excitement. She was living a real-life mystery.

Joni Rosen picked that moment to step back outside and insisted on knowing what was going on.

Martha Q had to include her; after all, it would have been rude not to.

With their heads together over cocoa, the three planned to set up their own neighborhood watch on Bryce Galloway.

The next morning at breakfast they enlisted the other two widows. While the ladies went out to buy trench coats and black hats, Mr. Carleon crossed the creek and went to work for Marty Winslow. He’d already decided that their little spy game was harmless and would be something interesting to tell Marty when he woke. He might even go with Martha Q to her writers’ meeting at the library. Maybe he’d hear a few bits Marty would find interesting. Carleon had always thought him a brilliant young man.

When he stepped on the porch of the duplex, Carleon almost collided with the big kid next door named Border Biggs. His head was freshly shaved so even more tattoos were visible than usual.

“Morning,” Border said in almost a growl. “Mr. Carleon, ain’t it? I heard you came with Marty when he arrived.”

“Yes,” Carleon smiled, remembering that the tattooed biker was, hard as it might be to believe, sweet Mrs. Biggs’s grandson. “And you must be Border. Your grandmother makes the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted.”

The big thug raised an eyebrow and nodded. “She’s something, ain’t she?”

“Yes. I’m enjoying the breakfasts she makes immensely.” Carleon knew he hadn’t won the kid over by simply one compliment.

In an offer of friendship, or at least peace, Carleon pulled up his sleeve. “What do you think of that?”

On the older man’s arm was an eagle in full flight with an American flag between his claws. “I got it in ’Nam. I don’t remember why, but it seemed a good idea at the time.”

Border didn’t look less frightening when he smiled. “That’s so cool, man. Really cool.”

Somehow they were no longer strangers. The kid stepped off the porch and headed toward his Harley. “See you later, man.”

Mr. Carleon buttoned his cuff. “See you later, Border.”

As he walked into Ronny’s little apartment, he thought about how this was the strangest town. He was part of the widows’ detective agency, hunting a man they thought looked like he might do something wrong, and he was also friends with the local Hells Angel. No wonder his boss, Marty Winslow, loved this place.