The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 (17 page)

At home, she placed the bouquet on an antique table in the living room where she could see it every time she passed the doorway. She floated around the house for the rest of the day, doing laundry, helping Ava clean her room, giddy when she thought about the gift. Did all women feel like this when they received flowers from a man?

Don't be silly, she warned herself. He was only saying thank you. Remember, he's a cowboy, which means he's had dozens of women. She hadn't heard about them up to now because she had never gotten on board the gossip train.

* * *

He arrived Thursday morning just as she was leaving to take Ava down to catch the school bus, but she waited while he and her daughter had a conversation about school. Feeling panicky and not knowing why, Isabelle stayed out of the way and didn't mention the flowers, hoping to express her thanks in a private moment when she wouldn't be so nervous.

The school bus came late, so by the time she returned, he was already riding Trixie. She busied herself with chores in the house, practicing her thank-you speech and willing herself not to look outside to see what he was doing.

They had agreed he would ride each horse for forty-five minutes or so and he usually rode Dancer last, so after three hours had passed, she let herself look out. Sure enough, he was in the corral attached to the small barn, loosening the cinch on Dancer's saddle. She walked over.

"I found the flowers," she said. "Thanks. They're real pretty." She felt clumsy and stupid at using such an old cliché.

He smiled and said she was welcome.

"It wasn't necessary. I mean, I didn't go out of my way or anything."

"I know. Just letting you know I appreciated you feeding me. Seems like it's hard to find a flock of friends to talk to or spend time with around here. The sheriff can't just go out and have a beer."

She stuffed her hands into her jeans back pockets and looked at the ground. What else could be said about the flowers?

He dragged the saddle off Dancer's back. She helped by taking off the blanket, then the headstall, and together they walked across the driveway to the tack room in the big barn. The morning's panic attack came back and she could feel her pulse swishing in her ears. "How'd it go today?"

"Okay. The blue devil's in a mood. We had a bit of a rodeo at first, but he settled down."

She nodded, tongue-tied, and tried to claw words from the air. Her heart pounded as if she had been the one riding Dancer.

Inside the tack room, he lifted the saddle onto its sawhorse. She watched as he unbuckled his chinks, her gaze settling on the buckle that fit just below the waistband of his jeans. She looked away quickly before he could catch her staring at his fly. The tack room almost seemed too small for the two of them and the electricity humming in the air around them. After he hung the chaps on their nail, he gave her a grin. "I'm thirsty."

He had put a cup in the tack room so he could have a drink of water from the stand faucet just outside the barn door. He picked up the cup, walked outside to the standpipe, rinsed out the cup, then filled it. He tipped it up and drank the whole thing without stopping. She couldn't keep from staring at the muscles working in his throat. When he finished, he wiped his mouth on his flannel shirtsleeve and gave her another big grin. "Good water. I do love well water."

Well, what could she say about that? Who didn't? Tongue-tied again. "If you aren't in a hurry, I could send some home with you. I think I've got an empty jug over at the house."

"Cool," he said.

They walked to the house and she found a plastic milk jug in the mudroom, washed it out in the laundry sink and filled it from the faucet. When she handed it to him, he took it with a big smile. "My morning coffee's gonna taste a whole lot better."

She followed him outside toward his truck. "What's going on in your office today?" she asked him, mostly to make conversation and she hated losing his company.

"Don't know yet. Haven't talked to Rooster today."

"Ah," she said and nodded.

He opened the driver's side door, set the jug of water inside, then turned back to her. "When are you planning on bringing in those calves?"

"Not until the pasture comes on better. May or June. Why?"

He leaned his bottom against the front fender of his truck and crossed his ankles and his arms, looking like he wanted to talk. "I think the horses are ready. They need more to do."

She leaned against the fender, too, and crossed her arms. "I've been thinking about getting a few head of buffalo instead of calves." She didn't know where that came from. She had thought about it, sure. But not since she had returned to Callister.

He tucked back his chin and blinked at her.

Uh-oh. He thought it was a dumb idea.
Maybe it was, but she charged on, putting her private musing into words. "If I get calves, I'll have to buy seventy or eighty head, but I could get along with only about a dozen or so buffalo calves."

He looked down, like he was studying his boot toes. "You want the horses to work buffalo instead of cows?"

"The buffalo calves don't get trained to the routine as fast as cows do. You have to replace the cows every couple of months, but you can work the buffalo for a year maybe."

A laugh burst from John and he shook his head. "I've never seen a horse try to control a buffalo. They're tough animals. Aren't you afraid one of them will challenge the horse?"

"Some of the trainers down in Texas use them. As long as they're no older than yearlings, it doesn't seem to be a problem."

"Aren't they expensive?"

"These days, no more so than cows. I'm just thinking of my pasture. A dozen buffalo will eat a lot less than seven times that many calves."

"Good point."

She nodded. "I'm thinking it's what I should do. I don't need to spend any more money than I have to."

"You'd have to shore up your fences. Four barbed wires doesn't present much of a barrier to a determined buffalo."

"I know, but Paul can do that." She grinned. "He works for free."

John laughed his easy laugh and looked right at her. "Well, it'd be a new experience for me, cutting buffalo calves from a herd. New for these horses, too, I'll bet."

"They can handle it. They'll like the challenge."

He pushed back his hat with his thumb and showered her with a huge smile. "You're something else, Isabelle."

She smiled, too, unable to remember when she had enjoyed a man's company so much. "You are, too."

He glanced at his watch again.

"Gotta go, huh?"

"Not yet. You trying to run me off?"

"No. No, of course not."

"No hurry. I just need to get back soon enough to clean up before I go to the office. Gotta look like the sheriff, you know." He grinned. "I'm pretty low maintenance, so it doesn't take me long."

Low maintenance. She didn't know what he meant by that. "Right," she said, nodding and remembering what Paul had told her about him, which amounted to gossip more than fact.

A pregnant pause, with neither of them talking. "Speaking of being sheriff," she said at last, "I'm curious about something. Did Luke McRae really just up and hire you?"

John laughed. "That's what people think. It wasn't quite that simple. The commissioners were looking for a warm body to fill the seat 'til the election this fall. I was the only one they could find."

"I can't believe you quit ProRodeo to be the temporary sheriff in Callister."

"I'd already quit the rodeo before the sheriff's job came up. I was working at a feedlot in Nampa while I looked for one of those career jobs. I ran into Luke and his wife at a music concert in Boise and the rest, as they say, is history."

"But you said it was the commissioners who hired you."

"After the show, Luke, his wife and I went to dinner. We started talking about college. My degree's in business administration and Luke's wife's got an M.B.A. from one of those rich schools in Texas."

Isabelle had suspected he had gone to college, probably on a rodeo scholarship. What would he think if he knew how dumb she really was? The gap between them grew wider.
Damn.
She looked off and up at the mountain rising behind her house.

"Somewhere in the middle of that evening," he was saying, "from out of the blue, Luke asked me if I'd like to ramrod the sheriff's office for a few months." He looked down and brushed a stone with his boot. "We all had a hell of a laugh."

She giggled, more nervous now than ever. "I can imagine."

"Luke was serious. The commissioners really were looking to hire an interim sheriff. Callister had been without a lawman for over a month. It was a big problem, Luke said, because the sheriff's department has the biggest, most unwieldy budget in the county. The commissioners believed an administrator was more important than a lawman, since there's virtually no crime in Callister. Of course they're wrong about there being no crime, but I didn't know that at the time."

"There was a murder last year." She swung her gaze back to him, wanting to be a part of a conversation she felt was quickly rising over her head.

"A crime of passion. The first murder in this county since 1934. The commissioners think it was a fluke, not likely to happen again in another seventy years. I lived here all my life. I know almost everybody in the county, so I didn't disagree."

"So you said yes."

"I thought about it a while, but I couldn't find much reason to argue against it. I was living from payday to payday, working at a shitty job. My prospects for the future had me flummoxed. In the end, I said, 'why not?' I called Luke up and said I'd meet with the commissioners."

"Wow."

"After they told me what Jim Higgins did, it pissed me off. I guess it hit a soft spot in me. This is my hometown. All my family lives here. I want the public officials to be honest and responsible, whether I'm personally a resident or not."

"You're planning on leaving?"

"I have to when this is over. I have to work at something where I can make enough to support myself and my kids."

Isabelle didn't know why, but that reply left her unsettled.

He glanced at his watch again. "Guess I gotta go," he said and turned to his truck door.

"Thanks again for the flowers. I really like them."

He nodded again, opened the door and climbed inside. As he cranked the engine, he looked back at her, squinting in the sunlight. "I'll see you next Tuesday."

She nodded. He shifted into reverse and the truck inched backward.

"John?"

He stopped. She swallowed the lump that had grown in her throat. "I didn't go to college. I didn't finish high school."

His expression softened. "Isabelle, I don't care."

Chapter 11

Tuesday came with a change in the weather. Isabelle waved to John as he parked in what had become his spot. He slid out of his truck and ambled toward her, dressed in riding boots, a faded denim shirt and faded jeans. His silver belt buckle shone in the sun.

"Hurry," she called to him, pulling Polly's cinch tight. She had already saddled Trixie.

"What's up?"

"Blue skies. Warm day. Time for a change of pace."

She hadn't seen him or heard from him since Thursday. Five days.
Isabelle, I don't care.
The words had echoed in her head a hundred times since he said them last Thursday.

When he had phoned last night, saying he was taking the whole day off and would come out early, and with a forecast for temperatures in the low sixties, she had made a plan. As soon as she got Ava off to school, she snugged a bill cap on her head and went out to catch Trixie and Polly.

As John neared, she was struck by how much she had looked forward to his arrival this morning, how much she appreciated his laid-back dependability. The very thought delivered an unwelcome blow to her independence. She didn't want to want a man's company, didn't want to rely on a man for anything. She had relied on Billy and look what it had gotten her.

She handed him Trixie's reins, unable to ignore how his tan canvas jacket set off his eyes and fit in just the right place at his waist. He could be a model in a Western clothing ad.