Jodi Thomas (47 page)

Authors: The Lone Texan

BOOK: Jodi Thomas

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“Great,” she said and pulled her pack out from under the table. She couldn’t stay here, it would look strange. Maybe she’d just hop out of the truck and find somewhere to sleep until morning. Down the road seemed as good a place as any to go.

Edith walked her out and held her pack as she climbed into the bed of Hank’s huge pickup truck. Reagan settled in between saddles and serious-looking riding gear.

She noticed that Alex, tall and blond, sat perfectly still in the passenger seat, but Hank was swearing that he’d hand-cuff the female sheriff if she tried to get out again. Reagan wasn’t sure either of them even noticed her hitching a ride.

She leaned toward Edith. “Doesn’t anyone think they’re a little strange?”

Edith frowned and looked at them, then shook her head. “He’s the only one brave enough to stand up to her when she’s had a few and she’s the best sheriff we’ve had in forty years. Besides . . .”

Hank threw the truck in drive and roared down the road before Edith finished.

Reagan leaned back on one of the saddles and tried to figure out the couple yelling at each other just beyond the back window. Somewhere in an old paper she remembered reading that a McAllen had died in the line of duty. A highway patrolman, maybe, or a marshal. Or maybe, she guessed, the last sheriff of Harmony.

By the time Hank turned off on the farm-to-market road, he had to be going eighty. He hit the first pothole so hard Reagan almost bounced out of the truck bed. Three minutes later he was braking and she was rolling around in the back like the last pumpkin on the way to market.

He was out of the cab before she could settle enough to sit up.

“Sorry, kid,” he said as he offered her a hand down. “Alex is threatening to throw up. I can’t waste any time.”

Reagan grabbed the strap of her pack and let him lift her down. He couldn’t be much over thirty, but the worried tone in his voice made him seem older. When she put her hand on his shoulder climbing out, he felt solid as rock.

“It’s all right. I understand. Thanks for the ride,” she mumbled as she thanked her stars that Jeremiah’s house wasn’t farther from town.

“Will you be all right from here on?” Hank asked. “The old man’s house is a hundred yards up that dirt road. I’d turn in there, but he’s left holes wide enough to swallow the truck.”

“I’ll be fine.” Reagan fought to keep her voice from shaking. The shady lane he pointed to looked like it could easily make it onto the “Top Ten Most Likely Places to Get Murdered” list.

Hank reached in a toolbox and pulled out a flashlight. “You can leave this at the diner or at the fire station next time you’re in town.” He hesitated then added, “Good luck with the old man.”

Reagan took the flashlight. She didn’t want to go on down the road, but she wasn’t about to climb into the bed of Hank’s truck again. One more mile and she would have had brain damage for sure.

They both heard someone vomiting.

Hank groaned and climbed back in the vehicle. He was gone before Reagan could figure out how to turn on the light.