Return to Oak Valley (39 page)

Don Bean was a big, beefy man, about six-foot-two, barrel-chested, and dripping wet, he weighed around 240 pounds. He was about Sloan's age and he'd been running his own business almost since the day he'd graduated from high school. If you wanted tractor work done, from road to ponds, you called Don Bean. Welding? Yep, he did that—when he had time. Timbering? When the rain quit, he'd be happy to do that, too. Construction? Well, he'd be willing to turn his hand to that—if the price was right. He was a well-known, well-liked good ole boy: His humor could be rough, his tongue brutal, and he didn't take crap off anybody. He was also known to be handy with those ham-sized fists, but his good heart and his good humor endeared him to just about everyone. Grinning at Shelly, he drawled, “Don't worry, the trip through town won't bother ole Beau none.”

“I wasn't thinking of Beau,” she said tartly. “I just don't think he's a pretty sight for any kids to see.”

His bright blue eyes laughing at her, Don said, “Oh, in that case, I've got a couple of yellow tarps I can throw over him.” He winked. “I planned to do that anyway. Don't want some do-gooder old lady having a heart attack or calling animal abuse.”

“Thanks, Don, I appreciate it.”

He waved her away. “No problem. Accidents happen. Don't give it another thought.”

Shelly paid him and pulled away.

She wasn't in any hurry to go home, afraid that all she'd do would be to mope around the house and barns. Seeing M.J.'s apple red pickup parked at the side of the Blue Goose, she pulled in beside the other vehicle.

The aroma of frying ham and cinnamon rolls teased her nostrils as she pushed open the door and walked inside. Hank looked over his shoulder from where he was busy cooking up something on the grill and grinned at her. He tipped his hat. “Ah, good morning to you, darlin'. Couldn't stay away from my cooking, could you?”

Shelly smiled. “Well, I haven't actually tried your cooking yet—it was Megan's efforts I tried, remember?”

“So it was. So it was. But you're here now…”

Shelly shook her head. “But not to eat—just some coffee, maybe. I'm looking for M.J.”

Several of the tables were full, mostly with couples or families; some she recognized, some she didn't; the ones she did called out a friendly greeting as she walked to where M.J. was sitting at a table for two tucked into a corner near the wood stove. As she joined M.J. she eyed the plate of sausage gravy and biscuits in front of M.J. and regretted her full stomach. Though tempted to try a half order, when Sally came to the table she settled for coffee.

Shelly and M.J. made conversation until after Sally had placed the heavy white mug in front of her and gone on to serve another table. Sally had barely turned away before M.J. pounced.

Brown eyes gleaming, food forgotten, M.J. leaned forward and said, “If you aren't the slyest thing. How
dare
you have a date with Sloan Ballinger and never breathe a word to me? Am I or am I not your best friend? Am I not the only person in the world who knows all your innermost secrets? Such as the fact that you have been known to eat peanut butter right from the jar—in bed?”

Shelly took a sip of her coffee. “How did you hear about it?”

“Bobba,” M.J. said cheerfully, smiling at her. “And Chuck Brannigan. And Bill Tanner.”

“Jeez, is there
any
body in the valley who doesn't know what happened?”

“Well it's not noon yet, so there's probably a few souls who haven't heard the valley drumbeat.”

Shelly grimaced and shook her head. “I'd forgotten how quickly news spreads.”

M.J. swallowed a bite of her biscuits and gravy, and, her face sober, she said, “Listen, all teasing about Sloan aside, I'm sorry about Beau. I know he meant everything to your plans. Were you able to find out how they got out?”

“Someone hit Acey on the head, opened the gates, and drove them down to the valley floor,” Shelly said baldly.

“Oh, no. How horrible! Who would do such a thing—and why?”

“The favorite culprit at the moment is Milo Scott, but we don't have any proof.”

“The lease!” M.J. exclaimed, her cheeks pink with anger. “That bastard! I'll bet he did it to get you to back off trying to break the lease.”

“That's the best guess. I can't think of anyone else who would be that malicious. And it couldn't have been an accident—not with Acey getting his head bashed.”

They discussed the subject for a few minutes, then, pushing aside her half-empty plate and reaching for her coffee, M.J. said, “OK, enough of that. Now give.”

“It was just dinner,” Shelly said, not pretending to misunderstand her. “We're trying to, um, be friends. Make a bridge between the Granger and Ballinger families.”

M.J. hooted. “And I've got a bridge in Brooklyn I can sell you cheap.”

Shelly flushed. “It
was
just dinner. And he was a perfect gentleman. We ate in Ukiah, seeing Reba and Bob Stanton, by the way, and arrived back in the valley in time to find Beau lying dead alongside the road.”

“Gross. I guess that would pretty much put paid to any romance.”

“Sure did.” Honesty made Shelly admit, “I'm not so certain that it wasn't a good thing—not the cattle being turned loose, but having something to concentrate on other than each other.” She frowned. “I don't want to rush into anything with Sloan.”

“Rush? Are you forgetting that you've had seventeen years to think about him? That certainly doesn't sound like rushing to me.” M.J. shook a finger at her. “And face it, kiddo, we're none of us getting any younger. If I had a hunk like Sloan Ballinger hanging around me, I'd be rushing
him
.” Morosely, she added, “Good men are hard to find anywhere, and especially in the valley—I should know. Except for some ‘prove myself sexy’ romps right after the divorce, I've haven't been laid in months.”

“Thought you were off men.”

M.J. winked. “I like sex, and for sex you need men.” She sighed, dropping the brazen attitude. “At least I do. Believe me, vibrators are not all they're cracked up to be.” She fiddled with her coffee mug. “It's not as if I'm looking for another husband—there are the boys to consider, and between them, and running the store, it isn't like I have extra time on my hands. But sometimes, I don't know, I get lonesome for male companionship—and not just in the bedroom. Sometimes, the boys, the store, and my friends—even your scintillating presence—aren't enough for me. Marriage is one place that I don't want to go for a long, long time, if ever again, but I wouldn't mind having a no-strings-attached sexy affair with a decent guy.”

Thoughtfully Shelly studied her friend. “What about Danny?” she asked curiously.

“
Danny!
” M.J. almost shrieked, her blue eyes bugging. “Our Danny? Good God, I'd rather go to bed with my brother—if I had a brother.” Scowling, she demanded, “Whatever gave you that idea? Danny Haskell is the last guy I'd go to bed with.” She snorted. “Danny, I can't believe you said that.”

“I can't either,” Shelly admitted ruefully. “It was just…I don't know—you're single, he's single, and you can't deny that he's handsome.”

“Yeah, but Danny…I dunno. It'd seem incestuous or something…I think.” M.J. shook her curly blond head. “Nope. Not Danny.” She flashed Shelly a lecherous grin. “But tell me about that cousin of yours. Didn't you say he was coming out to visit? Maybe I can make him feel welcome.
Real
welcome.”

“Roman? I don't know how smart that would be. I adore him, but I can't say that he's dependable when it comes to women—he's always been the love 'em and leave 'em type.” Shelly looked troubled. “No. I don't think you'd want to tangle with Roman. He's a great guy if he's your relative, but otherwise…” She shook her head. “No. You don't want an affair with Roman—Roman would break your heart.”

“Probably, but the sex might be worth it.”

M.J. was still half-trying to convince Shelly that Roman would be perfect to help chase away her sexual doldrums when they walked outside. Spotting Danny and Jeb standing by Danny's patrol car across the street, Shelly waved. Turning to M.J., she said, “I'll say good-bye now. I want to thank Jeb again for his help last night.”

M.J. nodded. “You want to get together this weekend?” For someone usually so cheerful and bouncy, she looked downcast. “I miss my boys,” she said softly. “The house seems so empty without them racing around and driving me half-crazy—even though I tell myself that I like the peace and quiet when they're with their father.” She grimaced. “Which is true for about five minutes.”

“Sure. Why don't you come to my place tonight? We can make up a batch of caramel corn and watch
You've Got Mail
—I bought the video last week. Bring a change of clothes and stay the night.”

“Thanks. I'd enjoy that.” Impetuously, M.J. hugged Shelly. “God, I'm glad you're home.”

“You just want some homemade caramel corn, go ahead admit it.”

“OK, I admit it.”

Laughing, Shelly waved her off and walked across the street to join Jeb and Danny. Both men were leaning against the patrol car, Danny in uniform, Jeb in jeans and a chambray shirt, his features half-hidden by the broad brim of his black Stetson.

“I really want to thank you for your help last night,” Shelly said to Jeb.

Jeb grinned, his teeth a brief flash of white underneath the black brush of his mustache. “Well, I'll have to admit that there are damn few people who could have gotten me out of bed at that hour of the night. Of course, the apple pie went a long ways toward making up for it.” He faked a punch toward her shoulder. “Don't worry about it, kid—families, even one as convoluted and at odds as ours—tend to pull together in a crisis.” He sent her a considering glance. “You doing all right? I know that Beau was more to you than just an animal in your breeding program.”

Shelly made a face. “I'm dealing with it. Nick and I need to sit down and have a serious discussion about the direction we're going to take now. It's hard, but I keep telling myself, it's not the end of the world. Thanks for being there.”

Jeb nodded absently, his attention fixed on something across the street. A brief look at Danny's face showed the same intensity, and Shelly turned around to see what they were staring at with such interest. All she saw was M.J. talking to Mac Ferguson, who owned the local, and only, gas station in town. Mac had moved to the valley twenty some years ago and was now about fifty. He wore glasses, sported a buzz cut, and was on the bony side. He was explaining something to M.J., waving his hands about wildly. Shelly couldn't see what there was about M.J. and Mac that held the attention of the other two men, and she shrugged.

“Guess I'll see you guys around,” she said, and started to cross the street.

Jeb and Danny both jerked her back beside them. “Stay here a minute,” Danny said, an anticipatory grin on his face. “You'll want to see this.”

Mac finished his conversation with M.J. and started off down the street. M.J. walked the few steps to her truck. She swung open the door, let out a yelp and leaped back as dozens of bright yellow, green, blue, and red balloons exploded from the pickup. Balloons in every size, shape, and color floated around her, more spilling from the cab to the ground as she stood there gaping. With the door open Shelly could see now that the entire cab of M.J.'s truck was stuffed with balloons. M.J. staggered back another step, her foot coming down squarely on a blue balloon that burst with a bang. She jumped and squeaked.

Danny sniggered, and Jeb choked back a laugh.

Unaware that she had an audience, M.J. threw back her head, and yelled at the sky, “Damn you, Danny Haskell, wherever you are! I'll get you for this.”

“Guess that's my cue,” Danny said, his eyes bright with laughter. He hitched up his belt and swaggered across the street.

Standing behind M.J. as she stared at the contents of her truck, Danny asked, “Got a problem here, miss?”

M.J. spun around, noticing for the first time Jeb and Shelly laughing from across the street. Amused, she half laughed herself and made a face at them. “And I thought you were my friends,” she hollered.

Looking up at Danny, M.J. said ruefully. “You got me. I owe you, and believe me you
will
pay. You've had your laugh—now what do you expect me to do with all these balloons?”

Danny looked innocent and scratched his head. “Gee, I dunno…make toys?”

Shelly was still smiling to herself when she pulled into the tiny post office parking lot a few minutes later. It would be interesting, she thought as she walked into the small cement building, to see what sort of prank M.J. came up with to pay Danny back. She checked her mail, not exactly thrilled to open the envelope from her bank and discover a cashier's check in her name for $48,000.00. It was the check to replace the one for the right-of way that Sloan had torn up. Now what did she do? She'd already failed with a straightforward attempt to right the wrong done by Josh for gouging Sloan on the right-of way buyout—and had it thrown back in her face for her efforts, thank-you-very-much. She wasn't about to try to give Sloan the money directly, having a pretty good notion that she'd get the same result. But she was determined to do
something
to right the situation. Mulling it over, she got in her vehicle and began to drive home. Passing the high school an idea occurred to her. Noticing a lone car parked in front of the administration building at the rear of the school, she took a chance and pulled in beside it.

The car probably belonged to a janitor or groundsperson, but she'd never know until she checked. Fate was kind to her: Sue Wiggins, assistant to the principal, answered her timid knock on the door.

They exchanged greetings, then Shelly said, “I didn't really expect anyone to be here.”

Sue grimaced. “There's a rush report that Hickman wanted in the mail today, and I didn't get it finished yesterday.”

Shelly hesitated. Sue was obviously busy…maybe this wasn't a good time to put forth the idea that had sprung into her mind the instant she had seen the high school. Then again, if she didn't do it now, she might talk herself out of it. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I hate to interrupt, but there's something I'd like to discuss with you—if you have a few minutes?”