Ransom Canyon (11 page)

She laughed softly. “Eventually, I will be older. I’d love to get flowers. Yellow roses, of course.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Then without a word they walked back to the truck.

Neither said a word as he drove back, but her hand rested in his. He wasn’t sure how she felt, but for him Lauren was like the windmill place. She felt so right by his side.

When they were close to the lake, she asked, “Why’d you take me out there, Lucas?”

“I wanted you to know about it, so when life gets too much, you’ll always have a place to go. Mr. Kirkland probably won’t know you’re there, and my guess is even if he did know, he wouldn’t care. I’ll be leaving for college soon. You can have my secret place if you like. Sounds like, with your folks, you’ll be needing it.”

“You’re right, and I’ll go out there, too. My mom told me she’s giving me her old car for my sixteenth birthday. She said after three years she really needs a new one anyway. I don’t imagine Pop will take that well.”

“Do they ever agree?”

“No. It’s like fighting is the only way they know how to talk.”

He turned down the long decline to the lake and her house. “My folks never fight. They don’t have time with all us kids. Sometimes I hear them whispering after we’ve all gone to bed. I imagine they’re reintroducing themselves to one another.”

Lauren smiled. “I’d love to be part of a big family.”

He stopped just before the last bend in the road and turned off his car lights. “Who knows, maybe someday you will be. You’d better get out here, so it’ll look like you walked in from Tim’s place.”

She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for taking me to a symphony tonight.”

“You’re welcome,
mi cielo
.”

As she climbed out, she asked, “What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you one day,” he said.

She shrugged and closed the door to his old pickup.

He watched her until she disappeared around the bend, then he drove home.

When he left here and times got stressful, he’d think of his special place and picture every detail in his mind. Maybe the memory would calm him.

When he visualized, Lucas knew he’d see Lauren there, too.

* * *

L
AUREN
SLIPPED
THROUGH
the back door and tugged off her tennis shoes, now covered in mud and sand. The air in the house was warm on her skin, but she could almost feel the frost between her parents. Pop was glaring at the TV. Mom was in the kitchen, checking messages on her phone.

“How was Tim?” Pop asked.

“Better. Says his mother is babying him so badly he’s thinking of beating himself to death with his cast.”

The sheriff didn’t blink. “That would be one horrible crime scene. Tell him to drag his ass over the county line first. I don’t want to be the one to have to deal with his body.”

She smiled at her pop’s sense of humor.

Her mother stood and walked to the doorway. “That’s a sick thing to say, Dan. I wonder that you haven’t warped the child.”

Pop ignored Margaret. “I saw Reyes’s old pickup rattle past about half an hour ago. Was Lucas visiting Tim, too?”

Lauren nodded. “Yeah, we figured since he wanted to die, we would throw him in the lake. With that cast he sank like a rock, and bubbles rose for five minutes. Lucas headed back home after the assisted suicide. After all, with Tim gone, there was no one to do all the talking. I had to stay behind and clean up the milk and cookies mess. Wouldn’t want Tim’s mom to deal with a funeral and crumbs everywhere.”

Pop glanced at her, holding up one finger as if to say
wait for it
.

Then he smiled as Margaret fired. “You have warped her with your perverted cop humor. She’ll probably be scarred for life. I can just imagine what the breakfast conversation is like around here.”

Her parents were so busy bickering, neither noticed Lauren leaving. She walked to her room as an amazing realization hit her. Her father had baited her mother. She’d guessed a long time ago that Margaret loved fighting, and now, apparently, her pop had caught the bug.

As she curled up on her bed, she tried to push the sounds of their voices aside and remember the way the night sounded out by the windmill.

This time in her life, this night, what had happened between her and Lucas all felt so good except for one thing.

She knew she could never mention how she was feeling now to her pop. For the first time in her life she had a secret she’d never share with anyone but Lucas. Just between us, he had said. The way he’d saved her life, the kiss at the hospital and now tonight.

Lauren closed her eyes, knowing she’d never mention Lucas, or the way she felt about him, to anyone. But she’d never forget the way she felt when his hand covered hers.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Staten

T
HE
LAST
THING
Staten had told Quinn when he’d left her place Saturday morning was for her to call him. He wanted her to know he would be there when she needed him, or if she just wanted to talk and have dinner. He wasn’t going anywhere just because he learned her dark secret, and he wasn’t planning to push to know details.

She had become more to him than just a friend. He now felt protective of her. Hell, it was more than that, but Staten didn’t need to think about it now.

When she didn’t call, he waited. He would give her space.

After a month, he figured he’d given her enough time. He wanted to see his gentle Quinn again. He wanted her to know that if the past still haunted her, he’d stand near. He needed to make sure
they
were all right. Quinn wasn’t an emotional woman. Hell, she’d carried around the horror of what Lloyd had done to her for years. The news that the piano master was coming to her world had upset her deeply. As her friend, he saw it as his job to walk beside her through this. If conflict came, he was more than willing to stand in front of her and fight her fight.

The idea of catching the next flight to New York and flattening the guy had crossed his mind a few hundred times, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what Quinn would want him to do.

Staten had tried calling Quinn several times but wasn’t surprised she hadn’t answered. She didn’t carry her phone when she worked outside. The first two weeks of February had been cold, but most of the days were sunny. So the Monday after Valentine’s Day, he drove into town to make a few stops, and one of them would be at Quinn’s place.

After he had breakfast with his grandmother and ate a few of her leftover Valentine’s cookies, his mind turned to Quinn, even while his granny rattled on.

He liked the idea of showing up to Quinn’s place in the morning. She’d know he came to check on her, and that was all. They could have coffee and talk.

“Thanks for delivering the magazines, dear.” Granny patted him on the shoulder, pulling Staten from his thoughts of Quinn.

Granny ordered a half dozen tabloids every month and refused to have them mailed to her address at the Evening Shadows Retirement Community.

“You’re welcome. I needed to be in town this morning for a few errands anyway.” He walked around, noticing a new shelf in her kitchen. “You know, you could have the magazines delivered here.”

She laughed. “I know, but I like seeing you. The mailman never eats my French toast.”

“See you next week.” Staten kissed her goodbye and headed over to Lavender Lane.

The need to see Quinn was an ache deep inside him. He told himself he was worried about her, but Staten knew it was more than that. Things were changing between them, and he had no way of stopping what was happening. He liked being in control of his world. He believed when something changed it was usually for the worse. He had spent a month working hard trying to keep his mind off her and their new relationship. He’d kept saying she would call, but she hadn’t.

When he pulled on to her place the air was as silent as ever. It couldn’t be much past eight in the morning. Maybe Quinn was sleeping in.

Staten grinned. He’d like waking her up. They’d be starting just where he planned to end up tonight...in bed. He never made love to her in daylight. He wasn’t sure she’d even be open to the idea.

As he pulled his truck around back so it wouldn’t be seen from the road, he glanced toward the house and slammed on the brakes.

The sheriff’s cruiser was pulled up close to the porch, where Staten always parked.

Staten switched off the engine and was out of his truck before the motor settled. He ran, heart pounding, toward the door. She worked out here all alone. A million accidents could have happened. She could have been hurt in the fields—snake bites happened all the time—or she might have been shot by some idiot popping off rounds at her Lavender Lane sign.

Hell, she could have fallen in her house. Could have lain there for days, dying an inch at a time.

His boots stormed across the porch, and he hit her door so hard it rattled off the hinges. “Quinn!” he yelled. “Quinn.”

Nothing. No Quinn. No sheriff.

Staten stomped through the house, noticing her phone was still on the stand charging. For a second he hesitated at the door to her bedroom. If she was in bed with the sheriff, what would he do? No, impossible, he thought as he shoved the door open and saw a neatly made bed.

Just the fact that he thought of her with another man bothered him. It frustrated the hell out of Staten. They’d made no promises to each other. Hell, they didn’t even buy each other Valentine’s gifts.

Slowing his pace, he walked back through the house and stepped out on the porch, realizing he’d acted like a fool. The door leaning against its frame was proof. There was part of him that wanted to be considerate and understanding like he guessed women wanted, but some days he knew he hadn’t quite evolved that far.

Staten stared at the cruiser, trying to guess what could have happened. She could have been hurt, and the sheriff rode with her in the ambulance. He could have had car trouble and asked her to give him a lift.

That made sense.

A tapping came from the barn, and Staten took a deep breath. Maybe she was simply working on one of the machines. Maybe the sheriff had stopped by to warn her about crime in the area. A woman living alone on a farm needed to know if something was going on. Staten didn’t know if she had a gun, but if he had anything to do with it, she would by sundown.

He lowered his hat against the sun and walked slowly toward the noise. Staten was through guessing. It was wearing a bald spot in his brain. If he wanted to worry, he should go back home and worry about how someone had hit one of his bulls last night out on the county road and didn’t total their car. That made no sense. The road ran through open range, but the black bull, even at night, still had the right-of-way. Anyone crossing should have been going slow with their high beams on.

The tapping grew louder as Staten stepped into the barn’s shadows. Quinn was all right, he told himself. She was simply working on that old tractor. If he ever went crazy and did buy her a gift, it’d be a new John Deere.

“Morning,” he yelled, trying not to allow the roller-coaster ride of emotions he’d just stepped off of to show in his tone.

“Morning,” a low voice answered. “How are you today, Mr. Kirkland?”

The sheriff straightened from his perch on the tractor. The two men had known one another for years, worked together when need arose, but neither called the other friend. Staten rarely socialized, and Brigman had a daughter to raise.

“I’m fine, Sheriff.” Staten removed his hat. “I just dropped by to order some more soap from Quinn. My grandmother loves giving it as gifts.” Granny had told him to pick up some if he went by the farm, so Staten didn’t consider it a complete lie. “You happen to know where she is?”

The sheriff jumped down. He wasn’t as tall as Staten, but he looked like a man who could hold his own in a fight. “I came out to help when she told me this old bucket of bolts wouldn’t start.”

When Staten didn’t comment, the sheriff continued, “She was leaving when I pulled up. Said something about having to go to the doctor this morning. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. The clinic never gets busy until school is out in the afternoon.” He grinned. “Moms around here probably do what my mother used to. No matter how I complained, she always made me go to school, claiming that if I was really sick the school nurse would send me home.”

Staten didn’t want to talk to Dan Brigman. He was fighting not to think about what terminal illness Quinn might have. She could be finding out the bad news right now while he was visiting with the sheriff about nothing.

But he couldn’t just turn around and run.

He glanced at the tractor. “Did you get it running?”

Sheriff Brigman shook his head. “Got a minute? I could use your help. If you could start it up a few times, I might be able to see why it’s missing down here.”

“Sure thing,” Staten said, wondering why Quinn had asked the sheriff and not him to work on the piece of junk. Hell, he’d offered a dozen times.

Staten might as well help out. The day had started with him in a good mood, he’d made his grandmother laugh, but from that point things seemed to be going steadily downhill. He had a full day’s work waiting back at the Double K. He was wasting time here.

As soon as the engine started sounding right, he planned to drive back through town and see if he could spot Quinn’s old green pickup. If she was still at the clinic, he might just stop by and get that flu shot. Ellie, the girl working on becoming a nurse practitioner, ran the place. She’d told him back in September to get the shot. By getting it now, it should be good to the last month of winter and maybe next fall, too.

If he walked in to get the shot, he could casually check on Quinn.

“That does it,” Brigman yelled. “She’s running smooth as new.”

Staten cut the engine and climbed down as the sheriff strapped back on his heavy belt. They walked toward the house side by side.

“Someone hit one of my prize bulls last night,” Staten mentioned.

“What was he worth?”

“About twenty thousand before he was hit. About five hundred now.”

Dan pulled out his notepad. “Someone ran his car into the back of a couple of thousand pounds on a moonless night. He shouldn’t be too hard to find. Even a truck would take major damage.” The sheriff jotted down a few notes as he walked. “I’ll keep my eye out. Can’t help but wonder what a car or truck would be doing on a back county road late at night.”

“That makes two of us. It’s my land. I’d like to know who’d be barreling across my property.” Staten had a fair idea. Rustlers. They’d been growing bolder since beef prices went up.

“You know of anyone who comes on your land after dark?” Brigman asked.

Staten shrugged. “The oldest Reyes boy, maybe. He likes to look at the stars out where no lights from town interfere, he says. But he’s never caused any trouble, and the few times I’ve seen him, he was walking or riding a horse.”

“He drives now.” Brigman’s voice was low, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I saw him pass my house last weekend in an old pickup.”

They reached the cruiser.

The sheriff offered his hand. “Thanks for taking the time to help me out. I owed Quinn a favor.”

“Any time.” Staten touched his hat with two fingers and headed to his truck.

Twenty minutes later, he was driving slowly down the one main street of Crossroads. If speed-limit signs didn’t slow highway traffic through town, the shops on the main street would be nothing more than a blur. As it was, strangers heading south from Amarillo or north from Abilene or west from Oklahoma only saw mostly what
once was
when they drove through
.
They didn’t see the two fine churches that had stood solidly for a hundred years, or the first-rate school, or the little museum that sat back in a wide park of mature trees just east of town. Grade schools for a hundred miles around brought buses to tour the pioneer museum and see the beauty of the canyon that opened up all at once across the plain, flat land.

Staten was proud of what his family had done to put the town on the map. Maybe by some standards it wasn’t much, but, like most of the farmers and ranchers around, it was all that was needed. Someday, after he was gone, there’d be a wing built onto the museum to hold all the Kirkland files and papers. His family had kept records further back than any settler. His great-grandfather had even kept a journal of the weather, what he did each day and even his thoughts. They might all be gone, but their story would be there on display.

He pulled himself back to his search. Quinn’s old green pickup was nowhere in sight.

He turned around at the rest stop just out of town and circled back. Half the parking spots in front of the clinic were empty, so she would have had no trouble getting a parking place.

He crossed the Country Grocery lot and both gas stations. Maybe he’d simply missed her? It was doubtful she went anywhere else to shop. As far as he knew, she only did major shopping trips for supplies a couple of times a year.

When he left the farm- and ranch-supply parking lot, he decided to go in for his flu shot anyway. Even if Quinn wasn’t there, he was six months past due, and with his luck he’d be the last human in Texas to have the flu.

Ten minutes later the nurse’s aide pushed a needle into his arm, talking, chewing gum and twirling her shoe with her big toe. “You’re late getting this, Mr. Kirkland. Folks your age should have a flu shot.”

He had no idea how old she thought he was, and he wasn’t about to ask. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d simply ignore her, but she’d probably think he’d gone into shock and yell for Ellie. Ellie Emerson was the nearest thing they had to a doctor in Crossroads most days.

So, to save himself trouble, Staten decided to talk to the gum-chewing rattle-box. “I know I’m late, but I was running errands this morning and thought I’d take the time.” He tried to remember what her name tag said. Britney or Binky, he couldn’t remember. He refused to look at the tag pinned almost at the point of her breast. “I see the clinic is not busy, nurse.”

She giggled. “I’m not a nurse, just an aide. I can give shots and take blood. What kind of errands does a big-time rancher like you do? I love your boots, by the way. What brand are they? Don’t you have an assistant on the ranch to run errands?”

He had no idea which question to answer first, so he ignored all three.

When she stared at him, he figured he’d better pick one to answer or he’d be in the cramped room all day until Binky had to go for more caffeine.

Staten answered simply, “I drove out to Lavender Lane to get my grandmother some soap.” He almost added that it wasn’t the kind of thing he could ask one of the cowhands to do, but he didn’t want to talk more than necessary to this woman. Her brain reminded him of a flea, small and jumpy.