Trespass (25 page)

“Sounds like a lot of people have been looking for you for quite a while,” he said. “You in some trouble you want to tell me about?”

She nodded, happy he was playing Good Cop. She’d gratefully play Good Criminal right back. “Yeah. I’d like to turn myself in. Please. And I’d like a lawyer, before I say too much else.”

His eyebrows rose. “A lawyer?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that’s my right.”

He scratched his chin. “Wait. And you said you’re turning yourself in?”

She nodded. “Will someone be assigned to me? Because I don’t have any money.”

“Sorry, Miss Novak, but I don’t really understand what you’re asking me.”

Her confidence faltered. “I want to have a lawyer here, before I get charged or however it works.”

“Only criminals need lawyers, sweetheart. You been watching too many police dramas?” he asked, smiling.

She bit her tongue before she could blurt,
But I am a criminal.
Instead she said, “Why am I here exactly? Your deputy was looking for me. Russ told me so, after I told him I needed a ride here. After I ran off,” she added lamely, trying to juggle her stories, unsure what was going on.

The sheriff leaned back and his chair creaked mournfully. “You got to know why you’re here. You been gone for what, a month now? Ben found you in the Missing Persons database. You’ve got a whole bunch of worried people back in New York who got no idea where you ran off to.”

“Oh.”

“So I’ll have the honor of letting folks know you’ve been found. Lucky me. Now if you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, leaning on his desk and giving her a sage, fatherly look, “you can feel free to tell me about it. We’re here to help you, you know. Ben said you lied about where you were from, and I can’t imagine that’s a good sign. Now, if you need to be put in touch with a domestic-abuse case worker…or substance abuse?”

She felt her eyes grow wide. “No, definitely not. I just…I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t suppose you could look something up for me? If I give you somebody’s name? There was this guy back home that I was afraid of…”

“Okie dokie, hang on.” The sheriff jiggled his mouse to wake his computer, typed and clicked for a minute. “All righty, what’s this fella’s name?”

“His last name was Drew. I don’t know his first name… Everyone called him T, though. He’s from Buffalo.”

He punched some keys. “Drew…Buffalo… Tomas Drew? Hospitalized August twenty-eight for a concussion, accidental, then convicted on an outstanding warrant for possession and distribution of illicit substances and assault. That sound like the guy?”

She blinked. “Oh. Yes, it does.”

“Well, with a previous conviction he’s looking at four and a half to nine years, mandatory minimum for New York. Don’t think you need to worry about him for a while. Unless he’s got some friends…?”

“No, no… It says the concussion was accidental?”

“Yup. That’s pretty common in drug-related disturbances. So-called big shots refuse to rat each other out.”

Or admit a girl took them down,
Sarah wagered. “Well… I um, I was worried about him, if I went back home. I sort of freaked out, I’m afraid. That’s why I ran away.”

“Put yourself under homemade witness protection?” the sheriff teased.

She smiled weakly, confusion and hope and disbelief expanding in her ribs, too fast and too full. “I guess. But anyhow, am I just free to go, or…?”

“Course. I’ll need you to sign a statement, and you’ll want to make some phone calls, I imagine. Let everybody know you’re okay? And we can chat more about social services, for when you go back.”

“Yeah, of course. Listen…”

“Mm-hmm?”

Determined not to lie ever again, Sarah struggled for the words. “Russ didn’t know about all this…that guy’s conviction and all that stuff… When I first ended up at his place, he only took me in to be kind, and let me help out to make some money…” Unable to figure out a truthful way to cobble in the last of the details, she trailed off, hoping the sheriff might fill in the rest.

“I’m sure he didn’t. Russ is the last guy I’ve ever suspect of knowingly harboring a missing person. Don’t you worry, he’s not in trouble.”

“Oh, good.”

“So let me get you set up with a phone in the break room, and you can spread the good news to all those worried friends of yours, okay? And I’ll get the paperwork sorted out so we can get you off that missing-persons list.”

“Okay. Is there someone who could drive me to Russ’s afterward?”

“Sure. I’ll do it myself, as soon as Ben’s back from his call.”

“Great. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Russ set the hose aside, checking his phone for the hundredth time since he’d dropped Sarah off. Nothing. Not even Ben had called; the message he’d received in the sheriff’s parking lot had been about setting up an overdue dentist appointment. He went back to his chores, lost in the details, more lost in his thoughts. Lost in images of Sarah in handcuffs, in court, in prison with no hope of parole.

Beside him, Tulah jumped to her feet, ears perked. She barked.

“Shush.” He checked his phone again. Nothing. He checked the battery and the reception bars, both strong. He sighed then started as Tulah went nuts, setting Kit off in the distance. He heard the source of their excitement, tires on gravel.
Ben.
Russ took a steadying breath and wiped his hands on a horse blanket, hoping he didn’t look as gutted as he felt.

He raised his hand as the cruiser trundled to a halt. To his surprise, Sheriff Walters himself emerged. To his vastly greater surprise, Sarah appeared from the passenger side.

“Whoa.”

“Howdy, Russ!”

“Heya, Sheriff. What’s—” He shut up as Sarah put a finger to her lips behind the sheriff’s back.

“Little lady re-enters civilized society and who does she want to see first? Lucky man.”

Russ forced a smile to cover his incomprehension.

Sarah walked up to him, gaze volleying between the two men. “Thanks for the lift, and all the help,” she said to the sheriff.

He tipped his hat to her. “Call if you need anything. You’re the most exciting thing that’ll happen all season, I’m sure.” He turned and nodded. “Russ.”

“Sheriff.”

Russ and Sarah stood side by side and watched until the cruiser was replaced with a cloud of dust. He looked to his right, mystified by how it was that she was standing here.

“I’m free,” she said softly.

“How?” He whispered it, as though they might somehow be under surveillance.

“The guy I assaulted…he didn’t die. And he didn’t press charges. He’s in prison for drug trafficking and nobody reported me for having anything to do with it.”

Russ blinked for a few seconds, trying to turn the words she’d said into coherent thoughts.

“They were looking for me because I was on a missing-persons registry for disappearing.”

“What?”

She took his hand in both of hers, thumbs rubbing his knuckles. “Russ, I’m sorry. I’ve made the last week hell for you, when I should have figured out a way to find all this out for myself. Or turned myself in soon—”

He cut her apologies off with a kiss, folding her into his arms and wishing he never had to let go. After a long time he released her to arm’s length, studying her face. “So you’re free.”

“I’m free… And I’m staying, if you’ll let me.”

His heart stuttered. He took her hand and led her to the porch steps to take a seat. He kept their thighs and hips touching, afraid she might float away on the cold fall breeze if he didn’t keep them physically connected. Clearing his throat, he managed to form words. “You don’t want to go back home?”

“There’s not much for me, back there…my old job, a few friends, more trouble. Maybe here I could take a couple odd jobs, help you with the animals. Maybe save up and buy a car and take classes someplace. I dunno. I feel like I can do anything, now. Like this is that fresh start I always fantasized about. But for now, maybe for the winter, I’d like to just stay here like I have been, helping you. Thinking about what I want.”

His hopes sank. “So you think it’s temporary? A few months?”

“A few months of chores, getting the hang of things before I think about going back to school. But staying with you…I’d like to do that for as long as you want me, Russ.” She scanned the sky, eyes lit up in the sun. “It’s only been a week, but I can’t imagine leaving here.” Her gaze moved to his face. “Or you.”

Warm air seemed to fill his chest, so full Russ thought he might just float away himself.

“I better come up with a good excuse for lying about being from Florida, I guess,” she added, smiling.

Ideas pummeled Russ left and right. “We need to get you some more clothes…a winter coat. Oh, and better-fitting boots and a saddle.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Let’s get me outfitted… I’ll pay you back in chores, or tips if the bar wants my help.”

“I don’t care,” Russ said, and pulled her against him once more. He felt the chilly skin of her cheek against his neck and released her. “You’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.”

She nodded. “Let’s get me home.”

Russ took her hand and led her up the steps and into the warmth. He watched her wander through the den, taking everything in as a free woman. In turn he studied her, this person so suddenly allowed to be here with him. Miraculous.

All at once, everything felt wrong. Well, not everything. Not Sarah, but this room. This house. Russ looked at the dated wood paneling and the old furniture, all the trappings of a life so stale it wasn’t even his—purchased and settled into along with the rest of this home. He’d gotten dangerously comfortable in this space, alone in his routines and duties, his waiting. Sarah had just avoided a cell, and here they were standing in Russ’s.

“I want you to decorate,” he said, putting his hands to his hips.

She turned to smile at him. “Sure.”

“Change it. All of it.”

She flopped onto his couch, hair bouncing. “Even this squishy old thing?”

“Yeah.”

“But I like it. It’s so soft and full of memories.”

“We’ll make other memories, on some other couch. We’ll break it in ourselves.” He pictured too much, then—relatives visiting, proud introductions, Sarah in a cap and gown for some yet-unknown accomplishment, then perhaps another kind of gown. Children clambering, barbecues outside and laughter within these walls once again. As much beauty and freedom inside this home as there was beyond its windows. Far too much to think about, yet too much felt wonderful. Russ was as overwhelmed with hope now as he had been with dread just minutes earlier.

“Feel like I’m dreaming,” he muttered. “Or drunk.”

“Me too.”

She patted the spot next to her, and Russ rounded the coffee table to take a seat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the puzzle still spread across the wood. He felt like that puzzle, left to rattle around in the musty dark for years, now slowly being put back together, his picture not entirely clear but already promising to be bright and cheerful. Possibly plagued by a hole or two, but that was only to be expected. He poured over individual pieces then reached out, pressing a segment of solid blue sky into its place.

“This is awfully poetic,” Sarah said. “You helping me make sense of all this chaos.” She shook the box lid, filled with hundreds of steps en route to completion.

“I was thinking something like that.” He moved a few more slices of sky around, really only aware of the warmth of her body next to his, and of all the space he could feel opening up in his chest. So much room, suddenly. She wrapped her arm around his back and joined him in sliding bits of landscape here and there, auditioning grass against grass, water against water.

“We’ve got the real thing outside,” he finally said. He sensed her nodding. “You feel like a ride?”

When he turned he found her smiling, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Sure.”

He made them a Thermos of coffee and assembled two sandwiches, and they got the horses ready. As Russ slowed Mitch to let Sarah draw up beside him, he thought she just about fit, out here. He felt excited for the life she might choose to build for herself…tending bar, making dresses, perhaps something altogether unexpected. It was joyful to stand beside someone at the threshold of a new life, to wonder alongside them what the future held, to feel all that hope blooming large in his own chest. He knew as well as anyone that there were no guarantees, no insurance available that could promise a life free of loss, be that loss violent and senseless or meticulously planned. All one could do was live, to plan and hope for good things, and to take the bad in stride, with eyes wide open.

Her voice pulled him out of his head. “It’s not like me to think this way, but I feel like maybe everything that happened back in Buffalo was for a reason. For the best, in its own perverted way.”

“Maybe.”

“Figures my higher power would have a sadistic streak,” she teased.

“Well, if you make it through a Montana winter without losing your mind, I’ve got high hopes for you.”

“Me too.”

“But I’ll buy you a TV for Christmas, just in case.”

She laughed. “Probably wise.”

Christmas
, he thought. And Thanksgiving. Sarah beside him in the truck, heading for Idaho. Beside him anywhere, though—that was gift enough. He led them forward, into the familiar and the unknown, under a sky too wide to measure. Everything mundane, everything mysterious. Everything so exactly as it should be.

About the Author

Before becoming a writer, Meg worked as a record store bitch, a lousy barista, a decent designer, and an over-enthusiastic penguin handler. She loves writing sexy, character-driven stories about strong-willed men and women who keep each other on their toes…and bring one another to their knees.

Meg now writes full-time and lives north of Boston with her extremely good-natured and permissive husband. When she’s not trapped in her own head, she can usually be found in the kitchen, the coffee shop, or jogging around the nearest duck-filled pond.

Meg welcomes reader feedback. E-mail her at
[email protected]
, follow her on Twitter @megguire, or visit her website at
www.megmaguire.com