Crossed Bones (20 page)

"Their cause being--?"

"Teaching white folks a lesson, as best I could tell. There's a whole lot of anger and hatred there. It's not like the sixties, when good folks wanted to work toward equality. This is just plain hatred. They don't want to build anything. They just want to tear things down." Yancy drained his drink. "We've had the vote on the flag issue, but it isn't over. Not by a long shot."

"Thanks for telling me that," I said, finishing my drink and putting the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. It was time for me to get moving.

"There's something else I can tell you," he said, rising and starting toward the door.

I followed him and then stepped in front as I went out the door. He was going to make sure I was out of the house before he opened his mouth. On the top step, I turned to face him.

"Someone else showed up to make
Hampton
's bond." He said it so calmly he knew he was dropping a bombshell.

"Someone else offered fifty grand to bond Scott out?" I didn't even try to hide my shock. "Who?"

"Fella name of McBruce. He had an accent. You know him?"

It took a moment for the brain cells to fire, but when they did, I felt my mouth drop.

"You do know him, don't you?" Yancy said with a hint of amusement. "Now it's your turn to share a few facts."

I didn't see the harm in it. "He's Stuart Ann Shanahan's estranged husband."

"No kidding." Yancy grew thoughtful. "Why would he want
Hampton
released? His wife's up at the courthouse twenty-four/seven making a total fool of herself."

"Now that's an excellent question," I replied, my own brain spinning with possibilities. "Did he act clandestine in any way?"

Yancy's eyes narrowed. "Not what I'd call clan-destine. But he had cash money on him. That's a lot of dough to be hauling around. It made me nervous as hell for him to sit here with it."

"He came here personally?" Somehow I'd thought he had called.

"In the flesh. Big fellow. Dark red hair, burly. If you saw him, you'd know who he was. And if he opened his mouth, you'd know without a doubt."

"He had a brogue?"

"If that's what you call talking like his throat was clogged."

"Thanks, Yancy. You've been a great help."

"My pleasure, Sarah Booth. You know, I was just a kid when I started out in this business, and your father was always fair with me. He kept me from making a few bad mistakes." He grinned. "You can pass all of this along to Coleman. I'm sure he'll be asking what you learned."

"He doesn't know I'm here."

His grin widened. "I sort of doubt that." He nodded and looked behind me. When I turned, I saw the brown patrol car parked just under the big oaks in the park. Coleman was waiting for me. An icy chill fluttered through my stomach.

"Good night, Sarah Booth." Yancy stepped back inside and closed the door.

As I turned to head to my car, the lights of the patrol car snapped on and I was caught in the beam like a possum on the highway.

With enough training,
a Daddy's Girl can ignore a pie in the face. In times of embarrassment and indignity, such as a trip to the gynecologist, this tactic is invaluable. Staring at the ceiling on the doctor's table, knees in the air, there is no way humanly possible to acknowledge what is actually going on. The only response is to pretend that something else altogether is happening.

Blinded by Coleman's headlights, I decided to adopt this tactic. I walked to my car as if he didn't exist. If he wanted to talk to me, he was going to have to come over to my car and speak.

I had just slid behind the wheel when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Sarah Booth, we need to talk."

"Yancy is right inside his house. You can get any information you need straight from the horse's mouth." My hand went to the ignition, and Coleman's fingers on my shoulder tightened. Not painfully, but close to it.

"Please. I want to talk to you." He released the tension on my shoulder.

I put both hands on the wheel as if I were driving, and tried to breathe deeply. My lungs had shrunk. There wasn't enough room for air.

"What is it?" I asked, my focus straight ahead.

"Let's go for a ride."

"No." I didn't want to be alone with Coleman in the August night. A million stars were scattered across the sky, and I remembered several moments Coleman and I had shared in the dark.

He opened the door and began sliding into the seat. He was a solid man, and I remembered, unwillingly, how comforting I found his arms. I had no choice but to move to the passenger's side, though it meant a slightly humiliating scramble over the console.

Coleman started the car and eased into drive, circling around the park and then heading out County Road 16 toward
Opal
Lake
. The lake was a well-known parking spot for teenagers, and on such a lovely summer night, there were bound to be dozens of lustful couples parked along the shore. I slunk down in the seat and decided that silence was the weapon of choice.

The warm August night kissed my face as we drove down the lonely road. Coleman made no effort to talk until we turned down the rutted lane that led to the lake. We passed four cars and two pickups before we parked beneath a tallow tree that gave a lot of privacy but allowed a good view of the silvery lake.

"Did Yancy tell you who bonded
Hampton
out of jail?" Coleman didn't look at me as he spoke.

"He did not. You could get all of this information from Yancy. He said he didn't have to tell unless he was called into court."

"He doesn't have to tell anyway," Coleman said. In the light of a three-quarter moon, he was grinning slightly. "I already know."

"You do?" I regretted the question as soon as it popped out. It made me sound way too impressed.

"You should know this, Sarah Booth. Bridge Ladnier put up the bond money for
Hampton
."

"Why would Bridge do that?" I asked, trying to hide my surprise. But Coleman saw through me and he had his answer. Anger washed over me. "So I didn't know the man I'm dating bonded Scott out. Just another shining example of all the things I don't know about men. So sue me."

Coleman's hand touched my face, a whisper of electricity. "My God, Sarah Booth, you make me want to risk everything."

My anger, my only weapon, evaporated. I wanted him to fold me into his arms, to kiss me until I had no reason. I wanted him in that age-old way of women and men. Yet I knew that such an hour of wantonness would destroy us. We would end up hating each other and ourselves.

"Take me home," I said in a whisper. "Please."

It was the please that did it. Coleman started the car and drove, very fast, back to his patrol car. He got out of the roadster and started to walk away, then he turned back.

"This isn't something we can continue to ignore," he said softly.

"I don't have any answers." I was sick with conflict. My body, my heart, and my brain were all at war, all clamoring for a different resolution. There were things I knew were wrong, and tempting a man out of his marriage was way high on the list. But there was no satisfaction in taking the moral high ground. Damn!

"I'm the one who has to find an answer," Coleman said. He hesitated, his strong hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I'm not trying to interfere in what you do, Sarah Booth, but I'm worried. Be careful with Bridge Ladnier. Fifty grand is a lot of money to risk on a whim. I don't want to see you used. And I don't want to see Scott Hampton dead, and that's likely what'll happen if he isn't in jail. Every faction in the county wants to kill him."

I slipped over the console, got behind the wheel, and headed for the safety of home.

By the time
I got to Dahlia House, I was numb. Coleman had slapped me with dire warnings that Scott Hampton was likely a dead man if he left the protection of jail, and the ugly possibility that Bridge's motives weren't pure-- which called to mind what Coleman's motives might be in doing that. To complicate matters further, Tinkie had left a message on the answering machine saying she had gone to
New Orleans
with Oscar on a business trip. Drat! Just when I needed to grill her a little about the man she'd picked out for me.

As I hurried up the stairs to my bedroom, I couldn't decide who I was angrier with--Coleman or Bridge. Why in the world had Bridge interfered?

There was only one way to find out and that was to ask him directly. I picked up the bedroom phone and dialed his number. After fifteen rings I had to admit he either wasn't home or wasn't answering.

"You callin' that man 'cause the one you want ain't available?"

I almost dropped the telephone. Jitty had slipped into my bedroom and nearly startled me to death.

"I'm calling Bridge on official business," I pointed out. She was wearing a Nehru jacket and slim-cut black jeans set off with high-heeled boots. It was a magnificent outfit, but a little warm for August. Then again, ghosts didn't suffer from temperature extremes.

"Men are stupid, but even the dumbest ones catch on eventually, Sarah Booth. You mad at that sheriff, and you're calling up Bridge for consolation."

"I am not! I have a question to ask Bridge." What I said was true, but Jitty was also on the mark.

"What is it you want?" Jitty asked, and all of the needling was gone from her voice.

"I don't know." That was completely honest. I didn't know what I wanted. I was attracted to Bridge on many levels, but in some strange fashion, I'd hooked myself to Coleman. Certainly not in a physical way, but emotionally. Then there was the troubling Scott Hampton. He was a sexy man with no other redeeming qualities.

"You have to know what you want to get it," Jitty said.

"I don't want to be a home-wrecker."

"No, you don't," Jitty agreed. "The trouble with you is that you know what you
don't
want, but you don't know what you
do
want. You got to get your priorities in order. Look at Tinkie. She had her list--security, social position, a man who would be good to her--"

"That's fine for Tinkie, who is vacationing in
New Orleans
while I'm stuck here working." I didn't add that the idea of Oscar made me want to join a convent. There was nothing wrong with Oscar, except he viewed Tinkie as a possession. Sure he was good to her. He gave her everything her heart desired, materialistically. What he couldn't give her was respect. He loved her, but he didn't even have a clue who she was beneath her beauty, charm, and the facade of the Daddy's Girl.

"No man is ever goin' to know who you are, Sarah Booth." Jitty's voice was dark with warning. "Now get that idea out of your head right now. You the only person who knows you inside out." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "You the only person can stand knowing all of that."

"A man doesn't have to know me inside out, but he has to have a clue. He has to want to know."

"That's asking too much." Jitty shook her head. "That's a dream, Sarah Booth."

"Just like equality is a dream," I fired back at her. It was a direct hit. Her eyes widened. "Not two days ago you were telling me how important it was to have a dream. Well, I have one, too. I want a man who knows me, or at least tries to. I want a man who'll put the same energy into me that I'm willing to put into him." I picked up the telephone receiver again. "And the only way I'm going to find that man is to spend some time looking."

"It's nearly ten o'clock on a Saturday night," Jitty said with a hint of sadness in her voice. "I shouldn't have to point out that it's another Saturday night and you ain't got nobody."

She was gone before I could respond. Jitty had pulled her famous vanishing act while lambasting me with a line from an old Sam Cooke song.

18

Something wet and warm slurped across my face.
I opened my eyes to sharp white teeth and a long pink tongue that swept over my right cheek.

"Sweetie Pie," I mumbled as I focused on the bedroom window. It was late Sunday morning. I'd slept for almost twelve hours. Jitty's harangue the night before had exhausted me.

I threw off the cotton sheets and swung my feet to the floor. From out in the pasture I heard Reveler's whinny. Rushing to the window, I saw the sun was well over the horizon. Dang! It was already hot outside. Normally I got up early to ride.

I put on jeans, a sports bra, a sleeveless T-shirt, paddock boots, and a tractor hat with the logo "Cowboy Hardware."

Hurrying outside, I realized I was going into the world without the benefit of even one cup of coffee. The truth was, I didn't want to hang around inside Dahlia House. I didn't want to see Jitty. I was still sore at her from the night before. It was fine for her to have her grand dreams of world peace and equality for all, but I couldn't have a personal dream of relationship happiness. Right.

Reveler came willingly. When I held out the halter, he put his head in it. He loved our morning rides. Lee, my friend who bred the finest horses in the world, had loaned me an old Stuben saddle. It weighed almost nothing as I lifted it onto Reveler's sleek back. In less than twenty minutes, we were curried, brushed, tacked up, and ready to ride. Sweetie spun circles beside the horse's legs as she waited for me to mount up.