The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 (15 page)

"Nadine Flagg," she was saying, "told me you're dating that new teacher who came here from Pocatello."

Callister gossip. John tolerated it because he knew that beneath all the nosing into people's lives, most folks in Callister would do anything they could to help a man if he needed it. But tolerating it didn't mean he intended to fan the flames by telling his mom about his meeting with said teacher in the courthouse after hours and how she would have stuck her hand in his pants if he hadn't stopped her. Besides, a man his age
dating
sounded dumb. He chuckled as he sliced off a bite of cake. "Just ran across her accidentally in Betty's Road Kill. And only once, so you and Nadine don't need to get carried away."

"Son, you're thirty-two and you've been divorced over three years now."

"Broke as I am, I can't afford women." He savored a bite of the white cake that tasted as good as it looked.

His mom sighed. "I know you're working for starvation wages. When you finish with this sheriff's thing you've committed to, I wish you'd talk to your dad. Nothing would make him happier than to have you come home and move into the foreman's house. It's just sitting there empty since Warren left us. We could use your help. We aren't getting any younger, you know."

"Mom, you'll be young forever." John didn't like hearing talk about his mother aging. "If Dad wants me closer, it's so he won't have to yell so loud when he chews my ass."

She smacked his knee. "Listen to you. You may not want to admit it, but you two are just alike. Both hardheaded as bulls."

John winked at her. "It's
you
I get that from."

"Pshaw. What am I going to do with you?" She sipped from her glass and John grinned at her choice of an expletive. If the house weren't full of people, she would have said, "Bullshit."

"Mom, do you remember Isabelle Rondeau?"

"Vaguely. I heard she's back, living on the old place."

"What do you know about her and her family?"

"Not much lately. When she lived here before, she was a shy, good little girl, so self-conscious of her red hair and those freckles. She never gave anyone a minute's trouble. Her mother and I went to Callister High School together. It broke Helen's heart when her only daughter ran off with one of the Bledsoes."

"I'll bet," John mumbled around a bite of cake.

His mother took a sip of champagne. "But Helen accepted it. She told me once she would never try to pick out a man for Isabelle after the bad choice she'd made for herself. Frenchie Rondeau was such a bastard. I suspect that when Isabelle was a girl, she thought Billy Bledsoe was her only chance."

His mom leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, rolling her glass between her palms. Her eyes took on a distant look. John could see she was a little tipsy. "Poor Helen. I always wished I could help her, but I didn't know how. It's bad business to step between a woman and her husband." Mom sighed and sipped again. "She cooked in Betty's 'til the day she collapsed and died."

John had a dim memory of Helen Rondeau cooking at Betty's Road Kill Cafe, but as a teenager, he had paid no attention to such. "Just like that? What'd she die from?"

"Sudden heart attack. Passed away in the helicopter on the way to Boise. Ten years back, I think. I always figured she died young from living with a mean and hopeless drunk. Paul's headed down the same path as his dad. Don't tell me you've had a run-in with him."

"Art 'Dimos shot Isabelle's dog. I had to go out there. He said some mean things about her. I wondered why."

"Oh, it's probably because Art and Frenchie feuded for so many years. I doubt if Isabelle has done anything bad to Art."

"Okay, you started it, now you're gonna have to tell me the whole story. What'd they feud over?"

"Land, of course. Rondeau's grazing land is some of the best on that side of the county. Art wanted it in the worst way so he could expand his sheep herd. When Frenchie wouldn't sell to him, Art tried to take it by throwing his weight around and bullying the tax assessor."

John's curiosity perked up. Callister County's tax assessor was a nice, grandmotherly lady of sixty-something who had held the office for years. John saw her or someone from her office every day. The idea of anyone bullying her set off a burst of protectiveness in him. "What do you mean? What did he do?"

"Frenchie always struggled to pay his taxes. Art watched like a hawk. He tried to set up a situation where the county would take Rondeau's land for taxes, then if Frenchie couldn't pay up, Art would be able to buy the land cheap for back taxes."

A spark of anger flashed within John. Lately, he kept running headlong into a righteous streak he hadn't known he had. "Why, that old crook."

His mother laughed. "You're too young to remember, but they came to blows a couple of times, downtown in the saloons. Some of us even wondered if one would end up shooting the other."

"Does Art still want the land?"

"I doubt it. Lou leaving took some of the bluster out of his drawers. His thinking's always been screwed up, even when we were young."

"He's got a nice house," John said, picturing the log structure that looked like a picture in a magazine.

"He spent a fortune building it just the way Lou wanted it, but that didn't keep her from leaving him. She'd had all she could take. I don't know why your dad hangs on to his friendship. I don't know what they have in common."

John thought he knew. As far as he was concerned, Tom Bradshaw and Art 'Dimos had similar controlling personalities. His mom frowned and looked at him over her shoulder. "That's something else I hate about you having that sheriff's job. You're bound to have to deal with people like Art. Or Paul Rondeau. You could get yourself shot."

In an abstract way, getting shot had occurred to John. Cops did, after all, get shot. Bbut he wouldn't worry his mother with the thought. "Mom, it's the twenty-first century. People don't shoot the sheriff these days." He popped the last bite of cake into his mouth and scraped the white frosting off the dish with the side of his fork.

"Says you. Policemen get killed every day. I see it on TV all the time in those true crime shows your dad likes. And this is Callister County. There's plenty of misfits around here who might shoot anyone that came in their gunsights." She tipped her head back, drained her glass, then turned to him and patted his knee. "Tell me about my grandbabies."

A part of John wanted to throw his head against his mother's shoulder and weep over the latest turn of events with his sons. "They're doing good. I talked to them on the phone last week and I got a letter from Julie a few days ago."

"California's so far away. But it's not that long 'til summer. I can hardly wait for them to get here. Your dad and I are going to start riding their horses soon as the weather gets better, so they'll be fit for little boys."

The ache inside John's rib cage grew more acute. He had ignored Julie's letter for the past two days, as if it might disintegrate and he wouldn't have to deal with it. Before he could reply to his mother's remarks, to his great relief someone called to her and she rose and left him alone.

As the afternoon turned late, the guests began to depart. His mother had had one glass of champagne too many and his father told her she should go lie down.

John had stayed long enough. If he lingered he might get trapped into conversations about his kids or his ex-wife or his interrupted rodeo career. He had been less than honest with his parents about each of those subjects. Going out of his way to avoid giving his dad a bone to chew on seemed like a good plan.

As he drove past the corral, he spotted his rope horse. He stopped off and said hello to the big gray. He had always thought of Rowdy as a "man's horse." At sixteen hands he was the perfect mount for John's height and weight. Together, they had been a winning team and Rowdy's power and burst of speed out the gate had been a major factor. John didn't mind giving him the credit he deserved. As the horse snuffled and nuzzled him, John wondered if he would ever again be able to keep him on his own place.

At home, he pried off his boots, picked up the new issue of
Western Horseman
and settled into his chair. He hadn't been there long when the phone warbled. The familiar voice on the other end of the line didn't even say hello. "Didn't you get my letter?"

His stomach knotted.
Chaos and confusion.
"Well, hello to you, too, Julie. Yeah, I got it. How're the boys?"

"Carson took them to the movies. That's why I'm calling you now, so I can talk to you privately."

Shit.
"Then speak your piece."

"Carson's been to an attorney and discussed the procedure for adoption—"

"Just hold it right there. I can't imagine you thinking I would go for that. I miss those kids. They mean everything to me. And to my family. Mom and Dad can't wait for them to get here this summer."

"That's very self-centered of you, John. But then you always did think only of yourself and what
you
wanted." John heard a tremor in her voice—either anger or tears, he wasn't sure which.

"I'm not gonna fight with you," he said. "But I'm telling you, I'm not giving up those kids to your boyfriend."

"He isn't my boyfriend. He's my husband. Damn you, John. Can't you, for once, look at the bigger picture? What can you do for them? You don't even have a decent job. My God, you've been absent more than half their lives."

He had heard the same old accusations a thousand times. He had traveled, sure. But he had not been absent half his kids' lives. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't begged Julie to go with him when he traveled and bring the kids.

Before they married, she had been enthusiastic about his rodeo career. After the wedding she refused to even go to a rodeo or to take the boys to one. Every time he tried to discuss it with her, she expounded about cruelty to animals and cowboys being drunks and good-for-nothings. Her rants about his chosen career rankled to this day. "I'm their daddy, Julie, and you can't change that. What I can do is remind them where they came from and be there for them if they need me."

"Given your history, I hardly find that a comfort."

Julie had always gone for the jugular. He let it pass. "So when is school out? I want to get plane tickets—"

"Forget that. My God, with terrorists and child molesters around every corner these days, do you think I'm going to let two young boys get on an airliner and fly across the country alone?"

John rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but he wasn't insensitive to her concerns. "Then I'll come down and get them."

"I don't know. Carson has plans. He's free most of the summer, so he's thinking about an extended vacation—"

"It's my turn, Julie. I didn't raise hell when you got the visitation changed, but I'm telling you now, those kids are spending the summer in Callister. With me and their grandparents. And if it gets to be an issue, dammit, this time, I'll go see that judge myself."

Clack!
She hung up.

He stood there a few minutes staring at the receiver, wondering how the hell he could feel so strong a bond with children whose mother he barely tolerated.

With his attention fractured, he could no longer concentrate on reading. He punched the TV on and found a movie he hadn't seen, but his mind wandered to Ava Rondeau and Billy Bledsoe. What kind of jerk had no interest in his child, especially when the kid was as cute and smart as Ava?

How could Billy not be there with Izzy when she gave birth? For that matter, how could he walk off and leave her? As unhappy as he had been in his marriage to Julie, he wouldn't have abandoned her.

Chapter 10

Delayed by a county commissioners' meeting Tuesday morning, John didn't reach Izzy's until afternoon. As he came to a stop, he saw her working a palomino in the corral attached to the big barn. Ava watched, dressed in jeans and boots and perched on a top fence rail, and John wondered why she wasn't in school. He walked to the fence and rested his forearms on the rail beside her. "What's this?"

"My friend Lindsay's grandpa's gelding," Ava said. "He can't ride him 'cause somebody made him mean. Mama's fixing him. She knows how to make him be nice."

"And how does she do that?"