Welcome to Harmony (17 page)

“I’m still hungry,” she whispered back.

“I’ll buy you a malt on the way out.”

She grabbed his jacket and folded it over her arm, holding it tightly as they moved through the crowd. Noah looked back and offered his hand.

Reagan didn’t take it. She wasn’t into holding hands. He didn’t seem to mind. He just ordered the malt, and by the time he’d dug the money out, it was ready.

They made it almost to his truck before a shout stopped them.

“Preacher!”

“Get in the truck,” Noah ordered her as he turned to face trouble.

Three shadows moved toward them, kicking up the white dust of the parking lot as they rushed.

Reagan, making no move toward the cab of the truck, tried to see around Noah as he widened his stance.

The local boys had been at the rodeo, but all three wore leather football letter jackets, not denim. They weren’t part of the rodeo, they were just locals. Boys a few years past high school but still refusing to grow up, she guessed.

All three were older than Noah.

She couldn’t make out their faces, but the way they spread out told her this probably wasn’t the no-name town’s welcoming committee.

“You came a long way to take our prize,” one said. “My little brother was riding tonight, and he was hands-down the pick to win until you showed up.”

“Look.” Noah stood his ground. “Your brother is more than welcome to come down to Harmony’s rodeo and compete for our buckles.”

They’d spread out enough so that Reagan could see one of the guys clearly. He wasn’t tall, but had a hard kind of beefiness about him.

Noah could no longer keep an eye on all three, so he spoke to the one in the center, who seemed to be the leader. His voice was low and calm, but not friendly.

It crossed her mind that these three were the most incompetent thugs she’d ever seen. They were trying to frighten Noah and her, but they didn’t look like they knew what to say. These boys should have stopped by some of the foster homes she’d been in for a course in bullying.

Finally, the one nearest her laughed. “Is this your girl, Preacher, or your little sister?”

Reagan glared at him. She hated not looking her age, and she despised it when others mentioned it.

“She don’t look old enough to be out this late, Preacher. Maybe we should turn you in for pestering a kid?”

“Yeah, maybe you’re some kind of child molester,” another one shouted.

Reagan sensed it now. Noah might not have been angry when they tried to bully him, but he didn’t like them picking on her.

“Lay off,” he said. “She’s a friend.”

“Cute.” The guy moved closer, puffed up like a horned toad. “Reminds me of those Ewoks in
Star Wars
. She’s got the wildest hair. What color is it, anyway?”

As his big hand reached out toward her, Reagan decided she’d had enough. She threw her malt directly at his chest.

The paper cup exploded, sending the cold cream from his face to his boots.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other two moving on Noah. All Reagan could do was think about keeping the one before her from joining his friends. She began kicking the beefy guy as he swore and screamed and backed away, trying to wipe malt out of his eyes.

She doubled her kicks, landing several against the back of his knees, making him almost fall as he twisted and turned to avoid her assault.

He finally stormed away, calling her every name he could come up with.

When Reagan turned, she was expecting to see the other two beating Noah, but they were just standing five feet in front of him, frozen.

It took her a moment to realize what had stopped them.

Standing on the bed of Noah’s truck was Brandon Biggs with a pipe in his fists long enough to do some serious brain damage.

Noah slowly turned until he also saw what had stopped them. “I don’t need your help, Brandon,” he said. “Get out of my truck.”

Brandon smiled. “I ain’t here to help you, Preacher. I’m here to save these fools before they get too close to that girl of yours. I’m still doctoring the scabs on my leg from the last time I talked to her.”

Brandon swung out of the truck bed without turning loose his pipe. “Why don’t you take her home while I finish talking to the Fraser boys? We’ve been waiting for weeks to discuss a problem we had the last time they visited Bailee. I figure tonight is as good a time as any to settle things, and I’d appreciate you butting out of my business.”

The Fraser boys were already backing away when Noah pulled Reagan toward the truck. He opened the driver’sside door, pushed her inside, then climbed in behind her.

“Should we leave Brandon? Those guys are older and there are three of them.” Reagan couldn’t believe she was worried about the troublemaker.

“Brandon can take care of himself. Trust me, he lives for this kind of stuff.”

“Are you two friends?”

“No.” Noah backed the truck into the road. “But I don’t hate the guy like a lot of kids do, so I guess that makes me as close to a friend as Brandon’s ever had.”

“I’m sorry I hurt him now.”

Noah laughed. “You got his attention. Sounds to me like he respects you, Rea. It appears my girl is tough.”

“I’m not your girl,” she snapped. The last thing she wanted in the world was to be someone’s girl. She knew what that meant, and little of it was good, from what she’d seen. “And stop acting like that creep has a crush on me.”

He looked at her as if trying to read her in the low glow of the dash lights. “What’s bothering you, Rea?”

She waited a minute, then decided to be honest. If it ended the friendship, so be it. She’d been fine before she met Noah McAllen, and she’d be fine if he walked away and never spoke to her again. “I think we need to get a few things straight.”

“About me turning into a werewolf?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to figure out what you meant.”

“No, not that. Well, partly, but not all.” She wasn’t making any sense. “Rule one,” she started over. “I don’t like people touching me. Not you. Not anyone.”

“I kind of noticed that,” he answered.

“And I don’t want to be called some guy’s girlfriend like I belong to him or something.”

“All right. We stay just friends. Fine with me.”

She thought for a moment, then added, “And you be straight with me. Don’t ever try to play me.”

“Agreed,” he answered. “I try to be straight with everyone. I don’t have the brains to remember lies.”

“Okay, tell me. Why do you want to be my friend?”

Noah shoved his hat back. “I don’t know, really. I just saw you out on that bench one day eating lunch all by yourself, and I wanted to get to know you.”

“Because you felt sorry for me?”

“Because I already know everybody else in the school, but I didn’t know you. Because you didn’t look busy.” He laughed. “And you didn’t look like you’d make it easy.”

She smiled. “And you don’t like doing things easy.”

“You guessed it.”

They spent the rest of the way home reliving the almost-fight, making it longer and more exciting with each telling. They talked.

She waved good-bye from the porch as he pulled away, even though she knew he couldn’t see her in the dark. Uncle Jeremiah would never waste electricity by leaving on a light.

After the pickup had disappeared, she stood looking at the moon and thinking that for the first time she could remember, she felt peaceful.

It couldn’t last, she reminded herself. Nothing ever lasted. The only thing she knew for sure about people was that eventually, they’d let you down.

TYLER WRIGHT WENT INTO THE POST OFFICE TO MAKE HIS weekly complaint that someone was working all the crossword puzzles in his magazines before they reached his mailbox. But in truth, his heart wasn’t into complaining today. For weeks he hadn’t had time to do more than flip through the magazines, and then it was for discussion topics, not the puzzles. He had other things on his mind.

Correction, he had one thing on his mind . . . talking to Katherine. He’d decided his mystery lady was more a Katherine than a Kate, though if he ever did meet her again, he thought he’d call her both. Katherine when they discussed interests they had in common, Kate when he teased her.

As he waited his turn, then stepped up to the counter, Johnny Donavan, the postmaster of Harmony, was ready for him. “I know. I know, Mr. Wright. Someone is reading your mail.”

“Not reading it. Writing in it,” Tyler answered. “I buy those magazines for the foyer of the funeral home, and they look used the day I get them.”

Johnny pressed his lips together and smiled, making wrinkles wave across his cheeks all the way to his ever-growing ears. “Well, Mr. Wright. It’s not as though your customers are going to read the magazines. Or, for that matter, complain.”

Tyler hated funeral home humor. He hated it when people introduced him as “the last to let them down” or “apt to give you grief.”

He tried another tactic. “Who sorts the mail, Johnny?” “You know as well as I do that Ronelle Logan does the downtown mail. She has since her daddy got her the job four years ago.”

“Could I talk to her?”

“No.” Johnny shook his head. Not all of his chins kept up with his face. “Last time you tried that, she was sick for two days and her mother came in to give me a piece of her mind. And believe me, Mr. Wright, you don’t want a piece of that woman’s mind.”

“I don’t want to upset Ronelle.” Tyler smiled. “I just want to give her this. I picked it up in Lubbock the last time I was there.”

Johnny frowned. People were always bringing in little gifts for him at Christmas. Cookies, cards, even gloves now and then. But no one had ever given Ronelle anything. It looked downright suspicious even if he didn’t know why.

“Just tell her it’s from a friend,” Tyler said. “I don’t even want her to know it’s from me.”

“Well, I guess it would be all right.” He took the envelope, moving it slightly as if guessing the weight. “I’ll have to look at it first.”

“I didn’t seal the envelope,” Tyler answered, wondering if he’d have to put postage on the package before Johnny would deliver it to the back room.

The postmaster opened the flap and tugged out a large crossword puzzle book. “
The Best Crossword Puzzles of 2005 from the Country’s Top Newspapers
,” he read.

“I’ll look for 2006 when it comes out.”

Johnny nodded and shoved the book back inside the envelope. “I’ve never seen one so big. She usually brings in those little ones she gets at the gas stations.”

“Neither had I. They sell them at the big truck stops.” Tyler smiled. “I’m hoping it’ll last her a while.”

“It might, but she considers crosswords a timed event. If it ever makes it into the Olympics, we’ll lose her to the glory, I’m afraid.”

“It’d be Harmony’s loss.” Tyler tried to look like he meant the lie.

Back in his car, he picked up the copy of a hand-drawn map of an old cattle trail. A librarian at the state capital had sent it to him, guessing he’d love to study the details marked down more than a hundred years ago.

Friday afternoon, the sun was shining, and he had no funerals pending. Life didn’t get much better, he thought. He’d decided over breakfast to take the afternoon off and wander the back roads. If he got lucky, very lucky, he’d see an indentation in the earth where thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of cattle crossed this land before fences barred their way to the railheads in Kansas.

Just thinking about walking on the exact spot where early settlers had walked always made Tyler smile. His father had loved history and made bedtime stories out of the legends of this part of the country. After his father died, Tyler spent months writing down all the stories he remembered, but in the end they only made him sad when he realized he’d never have children to pass them on to.

Tyler checked his watch. If he planned it right, he’d miss dinner but still get back in time to e-mail Katherine. As he drove out of town he thought of how much he knew about his Kate, and how little at the same time.

He knew she was allergic to shellfish and liked to eat barbecue with her fingers even though it was messy. She’d said she loved rainy days when the earth was sleepy. She thought she was fat. She’d read
Gone With the Wind
every summer since she was fifteen and had never seen any of the Harry Potter movies. She collected crystal snowflakes for a Christmas tree she said she never had time to put up.

Tyler waved to a farmer mending fence as he turned off one farm-to-market road and onto another.

There were so many important things he didn’t know about Kate. He didn’t know how old she was. He knew she rented a two-bedroom apartment and she could hear planes flying over, but he didn’t know the town. He knew her favorite movies and TV shows, but he had no idea what she did for a living.

Something important, he bet. She was a worker, he sensed that. And, as much as she dreaded work, sometimes she was dedicated to it. The few times she’d had to leave, or been late e-mailing, she’d said that it couldn’t be avoided. Once she’d said she was in D.C., but she hadn’t told him why. They’d talked of the capital but never of her career.