The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 (34 page)

Even before she arrived at the sawyer's house behind which Paul lived, she saw her brother's boat parked beside his travel trailer. Being an ardent fisherman and white-water river runner, he owned a modified sledboat with an engine powerful enough to take him from here to Portland. The boat was bigger than the travel trailer.

She came to a stop behind it as Paul picked up a plump roll Isabelle recognized as a sleeping bag and tossed it over the side onto the deck. "Stay in the truck, Ava."

She slid out of the Sierra and approached him. "Are you taking the boat out?"

"They're catching some good ones down on the Snake."

"That's eighty miles away." She threw a pointed look at the sleeping bag. "You'll be back by Wednesday, right?"

He stopped and looked at her, his expression dark and insolent. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Paul! Don't say that. You have to be back."

"I don't
have
to do anything, Izzy."

She almost screamed in frustration. A memory rushed at her—all the times she had seen Paul, even when he was no older than fourteen, stand toe-to-toe with their father. He'd had a rebellious streak from the day he was born and he feared nothing he could see. The tormentors he couldn't see were another story.

"Okay." She threw a hand in the air. "Be an ass. Make life hard on everybody. I don't blame Sherry for not wanting to come back to you."

He came to where she stood, his eyes red and tearing. "Izzy, I gotta get outta here. Don't you see that? It's all falling in on me." He released a sob and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. "I ain't no good in town. Don't you see? I gotta get on that river where there ain't nobody but me and that black water."

She thought of the times she had followed him into the forest and found him in a cave or curled in sleep under a tree. Perhaps, in his adult life, the boat and the river had replaced the dark woods as an escape from a pain greater than he could manage. She swallowed the tears that had been pressuring her throat all morning. "I understand, Paul. Honest, I do.... Look, a travel trailer is no place to call home. When you get back, I want you to come to the house. Be with me and Ava. John says you only have to pay a fine. I can cover it, then we'll work on putting your life on track. We'll find a counselor and we'll talk to Sherry. Together, Paul. We'll work it out together."

He hefted a Styrofoam cooler over the side of the boat.

"We're family, Paul.... We're family." Even she heard the desperation in her voice.

He wiped his eyes again. "I can pay the fine, Izzy. I got money. You go on home and don't worry. I'll be back in time."

She let out a held breath. He seemed to be more in control of himself. Of course he could pay the fine. He made good money when he worked. "Okay, good." She started to walk backward toward the Sierra. "You bring us a big fish and we'll cook it. I'll make fried potatoes like Mom used to."

"Izzy?"

She stopped. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get between you and somebody you care about. I just ain't good for—"

"That isn't true, Paul. The only people I care about are you and Ava. You just come home. Ava and I'll be waiting for you."

He turned and lifted his tackle box over the side of the boat. "I'll see."

More words would fall on deaf ears. Her brother had a stubborn streak that ran as deep as his penchant for self-destruction. She climbed behind the Sierra's steering wheel and lowered the window. "We'll be waiting, okay? Don't let us down."

Chapter 22

By law, the sheriff acted as bailiff in Wednesday court.

John half expected Paul to ditch his court date, but the guy showed up on time—sober, scrubbed and shaved and wearing pressed clothes. So Izzy had honed him into good shape for his appearance before Judge Morrison.

She accompanied her brother. The minute John saw her pass through the old courtroom's tall double doors, his heart pitched into a jitterbug. He hadn't seen her or talked to her since Saturday morning in his office.

Duty-bound to stick close to the judge, he had no opportunity to speak to her. From the corner of his eye, all through the hearing, he watched her sitting alone on the long front bench. She ducked her head and dabbed at a tear with her fingertip as the judge delivered a stern warning to Paul, levied a heavy fine, then released him. It could have gone a lot worse.

Though Paul fared well with the judge, John still felt a stricture in his chest knowing and seeing firsthand just how much Izzy had been hurt by her brother's latest stunt.

After the hearing she followed Paul out of the courtroom but didn't so much as nod to John. With two more cases slated to be heard, John couldn't break away. At the end of court, Judge Morrison called him into chambers to discuss pending issues, which consumed another hour.

When he finally escaped the prosecution process, John stopped by the clerk's office and was told Paul's fine had been paid. He only hoped the payer wasn't Izzy. Not wanting to add to gossip, he didn't ask.

Back in his office, the state of affairs with Izzy and her brother continued to peck at him. Surely, as soon as she worked past her anger and embarrassment, she would call and thank him for what he had done for Paul. She had to know his decision not to charge him with a felony had saved his ass from a fate far more serious than a fine.

For the rest of the week John waited for the call that didn't come. Misery weighed on him like a heavy cloak. He had lost his taste for food, thus his belt fit a little looser. The red mark he had made on the calendar glared back at him. She should get her period any day. He fought to keep from calling her.

On Sunday, a week later, the person who did call was Luke McRae, reporting that Smokey Jane was pregnant.

The news brought both joy and sadness. Izzy would be thrilled. John longed to be a part of her happiness and felt disappointment she hadn't been the one who called and told him.

At the same time he celebrated the prospect of a new foal, he wondered if Izzy, too, was pregnant.

Nah.
Why was he worried? Maybe she wouldn't call him and tell him about a horse being in foal, but she would call and discuss herself, wouldn't she? She had promised.

At the beginning of the third week, John felt he was on the road to recovery. He began to accept the facts. The romance was over. Like a man who had been trapped underwater, he struggled to the surface and appreciated the breath of fresh air. Kicking the Izzy habit made him feel as triumphant as when he gave up booze.

A serious relationship with any female was pointless anyway. He didn't make enough money to be squiring a woman around and soon he wouldn't have the time. In a few weeks he would be going to Los Angeles and bringing back his sons for the summer.

He approached the role of sheriff with new resolve. It had taken more than three months to penetrate his psyche, but he now realized the scope of the job of a county sheriff, the complicated function of the only law enforcement agency in a large rural county. He wasn't just another administrator of a government bureaucracy as he had originally—and erroneously—believed. He was everything—the department's operation and finances manager, the server of warrants and subpoenas, the guardian of the county's prisoners and their transporter between Callister County and other jurisdictions. And he was an officer of the court, a role in which he took some pride.

And most important of all, he was the county's only policeman and jailer, the last bulwark between anarchy and Callister County's thirty-five hundred citizens. Daunting as the responsibility was, he had discovered he liked the challenge.

Other than perfunctory supervision by the county commissioners, he answered only to himself. He could see the possibilities for rampant corruption if a man—or woman—was dishonest. If he had a notion to continue in the job—which he didn't—he would press the commissioners to understand that if they desired an ethical, trustworthy individual filling the office of sheriff for a lengthy span of time, they would have to vote in a decent salary. If he knew the commissioners, that wasn't going to happen.

Saturday rolled in wet and gray. After the weather had teased them with spring, a squall had sent the temperature plunging all the way down to the low forties again, but the forecast for Boise was for sunshine.

Rooster would be coming in at three and taking the Saturday night patrol. For his night off, John decided to wander down south to Boise, call up an old friend, have dinner in a good restaurant, maybe go to a movie. A change of scenery and an evening away from the TV would boost his morale.

Betty's was still crowded when he took a break for a late lunch. Sitting alone at a table near his usual seat in a booth in the back corner of the spacious dining room was Rita Mitchell. He was almost glad to see her, wondered if she would like to go to a movie in Boise.

Hell, why not?
he said to himself and ambled to where she sat. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked her.

She looked up at him and smiled. "Please do."

Lorraine scuffed over. "You almost missed the special. Betty cooked fried chicken and mashed potatoes. There's still some left. She made Emeril's apple pie. He's that TV cook."

"Great," John said. "I'll have some of all of it."

"Got my new boots." Lorraine stepped back, placing her feet precisely together for him to look. Her jeans were stuffed into the tops of bright turquoise-blue boots with fancy white stitching around tooled red leaves.

"Hey, those are cool, Lorraine. I haven't seen boots that fancy since I left the rodeo circuit."

"I doubt that. I've heard those cutting-horse people all wear fancy clothes."

John managed a laugh at the obvious reference to Izzy. "I've heard something like that, too. Which son sent the boots?"

Lorraine pulled a pencil from her helmet of blue hair and wrote his order on a pad. "The one in Portland. When I told him I wanted new boots for my birthday, I never expected fancy ones."

John watched as she shuffled away with his lunch order. Lorraine was a widow who lived alone. Her kids had moved away to Portland and Seattle. She stubbornly hung on in Callister because she knew nothing else and her family had been here since 1840. She had to be over seventy, yet she came to work every day waiting tables in Betty's Road Kill Cafe.

In the introspective mood that had settled on him today, John thought about the fact that Lorraine and others like her were the citizens he had sworn to protect. Only this week had he come to realize he would do whatever it took to meet the obligation, including risking his life.

"Does
she have fancy clothes?"

Rita's words brought his attention back to her. "What?"

"I asked if she has fancy clothes?" She picked up her cup and sipped, looking at him across her cup rim with blue eyes he had always thought were pretty. Today they reminded him of ice.

"Who?"

She set down the cup, smiling. "You know perfectly well who I'm talking about. The reason you haven't been in to see me lately." She pulled two fingers with talonlike nails through a two-foot-long fall of black hair. "I tried to tell her what kind of coffee you like, but she didn't buy it from me. She must have gotten it somewhere else, hmm?"

The confrontation caught him off guard. John squirmed. Nope. Not today. Not only would he be making a mistake asking her to a movie, he had already made one sitting down at her table. "Guess I don't know what you're talking about, Rita."

He picked up his cup and sipped and dodged the look in her eye. Lorraine brought his lunch and he had just tucked into it when he glanced up and saw Izzy and Ava come through the front door.
Shit.
His lunch companion visibly stiffened and the smile fell from her face.

Izzy had on faded jeans and a barn coat. Ava was wearing clean jeans, boots and a puffy nylon coat. She carried a little purple satchel. Confusing emotions beleaguered John. On the one hand, he hoped they wouldn't see him sitting with Rita, but a more perverse part of him hoped they would.

"Is that an example of her fancy clothes?"

John shot his lunch companion a look. Yep, taking her
anywhere
would be a big mistake. She picked up her check, stood up and looked down at him with a smile he didn't know the words to describe. "If you ever get tired of those barn smells, sheriff, you know where I am. My shop smells much better."