Читать онлайн книгу «No Ordinary Sheriff» автора Mary Sullivan

No Ordinary Sheriff
Mary Sullivan
Shannon Wilson is on the fast track to the top. A DEA agent from the big city, she's simply passing through Ordinary, Montana, to settle a score. And no small-town sheriff will derail her plans simply because he flashes a badge and a great smile…no matter how sexy he looks in that cowboy hat.After all, Sheriff Cash Kavenagh is ready to settle into that white-picket-fence ideal. And Shannon isn't about to swap her fast-paced lifestyle for such an ordinary existence. Only problem is–wrapped in those big masculine arms of his, Shannon can't seem to shake the feeling that life with Cash may just be the most extraordinary thing that's ever happened to her.


Beyond the badge…
Shannon Wilson is on the fast track to the top. A DEA agent from the big city, she’s simply passing through Ordinary, Montana, to settle a score. And no small-town sheriff will derail her plans simply because he flashes a badge and a great smile…no matter how sexy he looks in that cowboy hat.
After all, Sheriff Cash Kavenagh is ready to settle into that white-picket-fence ideal. And Shannon isn’t about to swap her fast-paced lifestyle for such an ordinary existence. Only problem is—wrapped in those big masculine arms of his, Shannon can’t seem to shake the feeling that life with Cash may just be the most extraordinary thing that’s ever happened to her.
Cash stood in front of her and countered everything she knew about men
Shannon stopped, arrested by the sight of his massive bed. A faint glow of moonlight spilled through a window. Too many images of her and Cash mobbed her mind, images of them naked, covered only by moonlight and each other.
She wanted him. Now.
She felt his gaze on her. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her, his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps stretching his white dress shirt.
“Need help with anything?” he asked, as though he knew what she’d been thinking as she stared at his bed.
“I want to go to bed with you.”
“No.”
No? He turned her down? “Why not?”
“We want two different things in life.”
“Like what?”
“I want a relationship. I want kids and a family now.”
He was turning things upside down, making a hash of her assumptions of what men were, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
Dear Reader,
No Ordinary Sheriff is the last in my Ordinary, Montana, series. I’ve enjoyed writing about this fictional town. As with most towns, it had its share of good and bad characters, and happy and sad experiences. As with all romances, stories closed with happy endings.
The town “grew” as I wrote about it. It started as one story about Hank and Amy on the Sheltering Arms Ranch. As I added characters to each story, they asked for their own novels and Ordinary became a series. This is the sixth and final installment.
Cash Kavenagh showed up a number of times as Ordinary’s sheriff. He begged for his own story, his own happily-ever-after. Finishing almost where I started, the heroine, Shannon, is Janey Wilson’s sister. Janey was little Cheryl’s mother. Cheryl starred in the first novel, No Ordinary Cowboy.
Here is Cash and Shannon’s story! Hope you enjoy it. I love to hear from readers, so please contact me through my website, www.marysullivanbooks.com.
Best,
Mary Sullivan
No Ordinary Sheriff
Mary Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mary Sullivan likes to turn people’s assumptions on their heads. She believes that all things are possible for those who believe in themselves. Watch for role reversals in No Ordinary Sheriff. Can a man enjoy cooking and creating the comforts of home? You bet. Can a woman be an effective cop and love her job? You bet. Contact Mary through her website, www.marysullivanbooks.com.
To my fabulous siblings—
Pat, Margaret, Dianne, Paddy, Dorothy and John—
thank you for supporting my writing.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u9d62ff36-58f2-5eda-8727-0885b2acfdc5)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue60c626b-ee20-5f6f-a9d7-0b8da6e0e35a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4d32ea1f-1305-5391-978d-18c6a56fe02f)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u8bb81553-942b-55dc-a800-2e61a2cc5418)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
ON MONDAY MORNING, Shannon Wilson stood in front of her brother Tom’s apartment door with dread running cat’s claws across her nerves. She’d already given him a good ten minutes to answer.
Her sister’s voice came through her cell phone. “I’m concerned about him,” Janey said. “He looked terrible when he was here.”
Two weeks ago, Tom had come to see Shannon, and he had looked awful, emotionally spent.
Go to rehab, she’d said.
Sure, he’d replied with his sweet lopsided smile.
She’d known he wouldn’t.
Instead, last week Tom had visited Janey in Ordinary, Montana.
“Before he left,” Janey said, “he wouldn’t stop hugging me and telling me he loved me.”
Shannon needed her to stay calm. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Promise you’ll check up on him?”
“I’ll head over to his apartment as soon as I hang up.” Liar. You’re already here. “I’ll call if there’s a problem.”
Had those visits been Tom’s way of saying goodbye? Had he planned to hurt himself? Shannon knocked again, rapping so hard her knuckles hurt, covering the phone with her other hand so Janey wouldn’t hear.
Come on, Tom, answer.
“I’m so worried.” Janey was the older, wiser sister, but Shannon had an urge to reassure her.
“I know.” Me, too. Terrified. “You go to Disneyland. You worked your butt off for this trip, sis, and planned it for a year. It’s your family’s dream vacation. Go. I’ll take care of things here.”
“I don’t know—”
“If you don’t leave, I’ll come to Ordinary and drag you to California myself.”
Janey chuckled. “Okay, okay. I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”
Shannon tried to laugh, but it sounded phony. “Something really tacky?”
“You got it.” Janey’s answering laugh was genuine. Good. Shannon had managed to assuage her fears.
“Call me if you need me.”
Not likely. Her sister really had earned this trip.
Shannon ended the call. She glared at Tom’s apartment door. What about her own unease? Who would reassure her, when she was the one always taking care of others?
When she’d called Tom half an hour ago, he’d sounded out of it, but not drunk. Which drug was it these days? She knocked again, loudly enough to rouse everyone in the building.
He’d said he was home and didn’t plan to go out—why wouldn’t he answer?
Swearing, she hurried down to the first floor through a dirty stairwell that reeked of boiled cabbage. The smell nauseated her, reminded her of the poverty she’d clawed her way out of.
She knocked at the first apartment. The superintendent answered.
“There’s something wrong with my brother in 308. You have to get me into his apartment.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes. Now.” Her panic made an impression and he followed her upstairs with his set of master keys.
On the third floor, he unlocked Tom’s door.
The stench hit her first—garbage and stale cigarette smoke. He’d started smoking again. Despite everything the family had done, was doing for Tom, it wasn’t enough if he wouldn’t take care of himself.
Why couldn’t men handle the problems in their lives?
She stepped over a pizza box.
With the toe of her shoe, she nudged aside a grubby shirt. There was something on it—God, old vomit. Oh Tom.
Afraid of what she would find, she stepped into the living room. Laundry and dishes littered every surface. Dust coated the room.
When she walked across the stained carpet, something crunched under her foot. An unfinished pizza crust.
At first, she looked right past Tom.
He lay on the sofa so folded in on himself she’d mistaken him for a pile of laundry. She approached. His clothing was soaked with sweat, his once hale body ravaged, his stomach concave as though it were eating itself. He’d grown even thinner in just the past week. The deep clefts bracketing his mouth looked deeply ingrained, as though he’d carried them for a lot longer than his thirty years.
Shannon sank to her knees beside him and touched his arm. Too hot. He stank.
“Tom,” she whispered. “What have you done to yourself?”
He raised a hand as if to touch her cheek. Too weak to complete the action, it fell back to his stomach.
“Cathy,” he whispered and smiled.
Cathy? He thought she was his dead wife? What was he on?
His pulse raced beneath her fingers. How could a man’s heart beat so fast without hurting itself?
She turned to the super. “Call 9-1-1. It’s an overdose.”
Of what, though? He’d done so many different drugs, taken anything to deaden memories of the crash.
She wiped his forehead with her sleeve. “Tom, talk to me. What did you take?”
“Shannon?”
“Yes. What did you take? I need to know.”
“Meth.”
“How much, sweetie?”
He didn’t respond. “Tom, how much!”
Still no answer. She was going to kill the bastard who sold her brother the meth.
“Where’s Cathy?” he whispered.
Shannon grabbed the photo of Cathy and the two boys from the coffee table. His fingerprints coated the silver frame and glass. She wrapped his hand around it.
“Here, honey, they’re right here.” He thought they were still alive. That would last only until the drug cleared his system.
Tom, you’re breaking my heart.
“Where did you get it?” she asked.
“Huh?” He was falling asleep.
“The meth,” she yelled and shook his shoulder, her fear making her harsh. “Where did you get it?”
“Ordinary.”
“Ordinary? You’re kidding. Who in Ordinary would sell you meth?”
He whispered something and she leaned close. “Cooking. Main Street.” His voice was thin.
He looked past her. “Where’s Cathy?” Panic started to set in. His pupils dilated until they were huge, and Shannon took his hand. He nearly cut off her circulation.
The terror in his eyes begged her to do something, anything, to save him.
How? What?
“Tell me what you need, honey.” His eyelids drifted closed.
“Stay with me, Tom.” He opened his eyes at her words. If he fell asleep he might not wake up again. She refused to let him die, damn it.
She sprinted for the kitchen. In the freezer she found ice cubes furry with frost and an old freezer pack. She carried them back to the sofa.
Where should she put them? On his chest? His forehead? For God’s sake, why hadn’t she ever studied first aid? Her hands shook, but she managed to tuck the cubes into his T-shirt, because she didn’t have a clue what else to do.
Cathy smiled at her from the photo, watching every move with her lively brown eyes as though asking her sister-in-law to take care of her man while she was gone. Shannon swore she could detect Chanel No. 5, Cathy’s favorite, and smell the kid-sweat of Casey’s and Stevie’s hair. She almost turned, half-convinced they were about to barrel into the room with mischievous grins to throw themselves into their aunt’s arms.
But Shannon’s arms were empty. She slid Tom’s hand over the picture so she couldn’t see their faces.
He was burning up. Most of the ice had already melted
The photo skittered sideways. The rhythm of his breathing changed. His chest rose and fell too rapidly.
“Come on, come on,” she whispered to the ambulance, as though the mantra would get the paramedics there any sooner.
The Montana ambulance system was usually pretty quick. Shannon knew a bunch of paramedics in Billings. They were good at their jobs. So why was it taking so long?
“Tom, are you still with me?”
He didn’t respond, no longer seemed to recognize her.
“Hey!” she yelled to the super. “Where’s the ambulance?”
“I called.” He hovered at the apartment door but didn’t enter, as though an overdose were contagious. “They said just a couple of minutes.”
She heard the pounding on the stairs then, almost mistaking it for her own heartbeat, or maybe Tom’s where her fingers sat on his wrist.
When a pair of paramedics entered the room with a stretcher, she said, “He took meth. I don’t know how much. I don’t know when. Do something. Hurry.” Her voice broke. She still gripped Tom’s hand even though it had fallen slack.
“Okay, we got him.” The paramedic spoke quietly. He eased her away from Tom. “We’ll take care of him. We know what we’re doing.”
She nodded and stepped back, bunching a fist against her mouth.
Calm down. Tom needs you.
The paramedic quickly took her place, kneeling beside Tom. “His blood pressure’s through the roof,” he told his colleague who stood beside the stretcher and took notes.
Tom looked from one man to the other, confused. When the paramedic tried to take his temperature, he weakly flailed at the man.
“Tom,” Shannon said. “Take it easy. These people are here to help.”
His throat gurgled.
“What’s happening?” Her voice rose an octave.
“He’s choking on his saliva.” The paramedic turned Tom onto his side.
Shannon pressed a hand against her roiling stomach.
“Shannon, are you okay?”
At the sound of the deep voice behind her, Shannon turned slowly, giving herself time to put on her game face. Officer Dave Dunlop had entered the apartment.
They had history. She wanted to forget it. He wanted to make up for it.
“Dave,” she said, keeping her voice cool enough to discourage familiarity. She was tired of putting him off. He had to get the message one of these days. “It’s Tom. My brother.”
“Looks like he isn’t going to make it.”
Shannon gasped. Dave had a habit of being socially inept. Wrong response, wrong time. Not the best trait in a cop.
“For God’s sake, Dunlop,” one of the paramedics said. “Show some humanity.”
Dave grimaced. “Sorry, Shannon.”
Within seconds the paramedics had Tom on the gurney and wheeled out the door.
Dave stared at Tom as he passed. “Poor bugger. I wouldn’t have recognized him.”
Shannon tried to follow but Dave wrapped his fingers around her arm.
“Let me go. I need to get to the hospital.”
“Shannon, I can help you with this. I can take care of you.” Trust Dave to use a time like this to try to ease his own conscience.
In her experience, women handled things, not men. Men had their uses—brute strength, fun in bed, pillow talk—but she was better off on her own.
“Give it a rest. It’s too late to make things up to me.”
She pulled out of his grasp and he let go easily enough. He wasn’t cruel. Just clueless.
“If you really want to help,” she said, “call the cops in Ordinary. Someone there is cooking meth. That’s where Tom got it.”
“They’ve got cops. They’ll deal with it.”
“I need you to notify them. They’ll take a call from you more seriously than if I just show up to ask.”
“Okay. I’ll call today.”
She glanced around. What should she bring to the hospital? Tom owned nothing of value. His days were populated by despair, cravings and addictions.
Nothing else in his life meant anything to him anymore.
A glint of silver on the filthy carpet caught her attention. Tom had dropped the photo of his family. This mattered. Only this. When he awoke in the hospital, he would want it.
She picked it up and left the apartment. Dave followed her down the stairs, his presence like a weight on her back.
“What are you doing in the old neighborhood?” he asked. “You said nothing could drag you back here.”
She didn’t answer. Of course she would come back for her brother.
Shannon ran to her car. She didn’t expect Dave to have much luck with the cops in Ordinary. She relied more on herself than on the local cops. They’d never found Janey’s rapist, had they? She’d had to do that herself once she was old enough.
She sped to the hospital. By the time she got there, Tom had slipped into a coma.
There was nothing they could do for him but keep him on life support and wait for a change, the doctors said. What did that mean? Were they waiting for his death?
She stood by his bedside. The terrifying image of him with tubes running everywhere was burned onto her retinas.
Slipping the photo under his limp hand, she gave instructions for it to stay near him, either on his body or on the bedside table.
She brushed too-long hair from his sweaty forehead and willed her tears away. Better to be angry. Furious.
“I’ll get whoever did this to you,” she whispered with an intensity she hadn’t felt since Janey’s rape. “I’ll crush them.”
“Shannon?”
She turned around. Dad. Who had called him? Dave? Good. He’d done something right.
“Tom’s bad.” Her voice cracked and she moved into her father’s arms. As usual, though, she ended up comforting him more than receiving comfort. Dad had fallen apart after Mom’s death, too, but that time it had been Janey who’d held the family together. These days, with Janey living in Ordinary raising her own family, the job had fallen to Shannon.
She called the twins to tell them what had happened and then held her father while he cried. She’d deal with her own grief later.
* * *
“FRANK?” SHERIFF CASH KAVENAGH stood behind his desk in the Sheriff’s office in Ordinary, Montana, and stared at the man who was technically his father. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Francis Kavenagh might have shared his DNA with Cash, but he hadn’t given much else of himself to his son.
Autumn sunlight streaming through the office’s open door limned Frank’s once-broad shoulders. He was shorter than Cash remembered.
Behind him, cars drove by on Main Street. A junker Cash didn’t recognize sat at the curb. Frank’s?
One of Main Street’s shop owners walked along the sidewalk, but didn’t glance at the stranger. Thank God. A brisk November wind blew in. Another ordinary day in Ordinary. Or not. Cash’s father was here.
Cash’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, though. Nor was his nose. It was Frank, all right. He still wore the same old lady-killer cologne—Kanøn—applied with a heavy hand. It had been popular thirty or more years ago.
“Why are you here?” Cash asked again, the belligerence in his tone unintentional. He came by his attitude toward Frank honestly. Life had taught him to distrust the man.
“I wanted to see you.” Frank’s voice had weakened, didn’t have the authority it used to.
Pushing sixty, he looked closer to seventy. He’d been vain about his thick head of hair, but most of it was gone, the remaining yellow-gray like an old bedsheet. Sort of matched the tone of his skin.
“I told you to never come to Ordinary,” Cash said.
“I know.”
“Get in here and close the door before someone sees you.”
Frank did.
Broken veins dotted his cheeks and the creases of his nostrils.
“You look like hell. I guess the hard living finally caught up.”
Frank winced. “Yeah.” He stepped toward the desk. “Can I sit?”
Cash nodded. He didn’t want the man here, should boot him out, but— He seemed unwell. Cash didn’t care, but couldn’t turn him away.
“I tried to talk to your mother.” Frank fell into the chair with a sigh that started in the soles of his shoes. “She wouldn’t see me.”
“She’s happy now.” Cash sat down on the business side of the desk. “She got herself a good husband the second time around. Leave her alone.”
“I figured that out.” In a gesture so familiar it hurt to watch, Frank ran his hand over his head as if fixing his non-existent hair. “I need to tie up certain things. Make them right.”
“‘Tie up things?’ What is this, some kind of deathbed confession scenario?” Despite the joke, unease circled in Cash’s gut.
A cynical smile spread across Dad’s face, colored with sadness. “Yes.”
Cash froze. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Cirrhosis of the liver. End-stage. I wanted to see you before I…go. To apologize for the way I treated you and your mom.”
“It’s been twenty years.”
“I know.”
“You couldn’t have apologized before now?”
“I should have.”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
Frank stared at him. “For a long time I thought I didn’t, about either you or your mother.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
Frank met Cash’s bitter smile with a grim one of his own.
“I know I don’t deserve a thing from you—”
“You got that right.”
“—but I want you to know that you and your mom were the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“It sure didn’t feel that way.”
Frank glanced away and nodded. “It took losing you two for me to realize it.”
“So, what do you want from me? Money?” Man, that bitterness was giving everything Cash said a real hard edge.
“No, son. Nothing. I came for you, not for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was a rotten role model. You never got married and had kids.”
“That has nothing to do with you.” So what if Frank’s concerns echoed his own? He’d tried to find someone to settle down with—honest to God he had—but that was nobody’s business but Cash’s. Particularly not Frank’s.
Frank had never appreciated Cash and his mom, yet Frank thought he had to right to criticize Cash for not having married yet?
You’ve been worried about that yourself a lot lately.
So what? That’s my right. Not Frank’s.
Besides, Cash was only thirty-six. Who knew what could happen in the next few years?
Frank raised a placating hand. “Okay. I’m sorry. For everything.”
Frank’s dry-eyed apology moved Cash more than tears would have. What he wouldn’t have given for this sincere, humbled man to have been his father twenty years ago. Cash resisted the apology.
“You’re a dollar short and a day late. I don’t need anything from you.”
“I can see that, Cash. You’ve done well for yourself. I asked around.”
“Who did you talk to?” Someone here in town? Cash felt a moment’s panic.
“Don’t worry. I did it long distance. You have a good reputation in the area.” Frank stood. “You’re a better man than I was. I’m proud of you.”
“Am I supposed to go all gooey and soft now? After you neglected me and mom during the marriage and since the divorce?”
“I know. It’s not much, is it? But it’s true.”
He didn’t know what to say. The man looked bad enough to elicit sympathy, but all of those years of anger backed up in Cash’s throat. Choked him. Strangled every decent word he might have said.
Frank gripped the door handle and Cash’s heart rate kicked up despite his anger, the child in him preparing to watch his father walk out of his life again.
“I just hope you find a good woman to love,” Frank said. “And don’t waste the opportunity like I did with your mother.”
“Don’t you worry about me,” Cash countered. “There are plenty of women in town who’d be happy to take up that position.”
Cash wasn’t boasting. He knew it from experience.
“Good.” Frank opened the door to leave.
Cash held his tongue. They’d said enough.
“I know you won’t believe me, Cash, but I love you.”
With that Frank was gone.
In the weighty silence left behind, Cash breathed heavily, trying not to succumb to regret and maudlin sympathy. Frank had forged his own way.
Cash’s hands formed into fists and he leaned on them on the desk, hard, so he wouldn’t run after Frank.
Even so, when the doorknob turned, his heart lifted.
But it wasn’t Frank.
His deputy, Wade Hanlon, stepped in, ready to relieve Cash as he did every night.
Hating himself for it, Cash rushed past Wade out the door, looking both ways up and down Main Street. Just past the edge of town a car veered off the road and rumbled onto the unpaved shoulder. A ball of dust enveloped it before it righted itself into the lane. The rusted old junker.
Dad.
When the dust cleared, Cash could just barely tell that the car he was driving was the old junker that had been parked in front of the station.
Dad didn’t have money.
Cash started to run. To catch it.
Dad. Stop.
He’d made it a block before someone honked, startling him to a halt. Timm Franck eased his old pickup closer and rolled down the window. “Hey, Cash, are you okay? What are you doing in the middle of the road?”
Had he actually run out into the street to chase Dad?
He’d just made a fool of himself on Main Street.
Had anyone else seen Frank? Had they realized he was related to Cash? These were Cash’s people, Timm a good buddy, but they knew nothing about his past. He intended to keep it that way. Cash settled on a lie. “I was trying to catch someone speeding through town.”
“On foot?” Timm laughed. “That’s a new one.”
“I saw a car rushing past, tried to get the plate number.”
Timm smiled. He’d bought the lie. “Wonder who it was?”
“I didn’t recognize the car. Someone driving through, I guess.”
He’d always promised himself he’d be a better man than Dad, but here he was, lying to a friend.
How could he stand here and behave so calmly when his stomach was turning somersaults? Because you learned a long time ago to bury emotion. Mom had done enough crying for the both of them and Cash had learned to be the strong one.
“See you later,” he told Timm and strode back to the office.
Everything was fine. He was fine.
* * *
SHANNON CALLED HER superior at the Domestic Field Division of the DEA in Denver.
“Have you found anyone to help me out?” she asked Sam Morgans.
“Nothing’s changed since you called yesterday. We’re working at max. I’ve got no one to send to Ordinary right now.”
“You’ve got me.”
“You’re on vacation—one I practically begged you to take. Remember?”
“I remember, but—”
“Stop. There’ve been plenty of studies. Police officers working in stressful positions need regular time away from the job.”
“I know. I’m on vacation, okay?”
“Good. Now rest. As soon as I have a team available, I’ll send them up to Montana.”
“But still not likely for another month?”
“That’s right. You enjoy your vacation. Got it?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks, Sam.”
Shannon cursed.
This sucked. Someone had sold her brother bad meth and they were still out there, selling that crap to others. Tom had said it was being cooked in Ordinary, Montana.
Despite the overdose, on that point, he had seemed lucid.
Whoever Dave Dunlop had spoken to in Ordinary had said there was no way the meth had come from there. “Look somewhere else” was about all Dave could get from them.
When she’d protested, Dave had said the cops knew their town. He couldn’t butt in.
So the local cops were a dead end.
Maybe Dave couldn’t do anything, and maybe the DEA had no one right now, but she was available. She could snoop around. And would. Vacation or not, Tom’s overdose trumped everything.
She got out of her car and entered the hospital. It was Thursday. Tom had been here since Monday. So had she, sitting with him every day.
She entered his room. No change. Tom, wake up. Please.
She stayed with him for a while but the whole situation ate at her. She was sitting here in a hospital room with her sick, and probably dying, brother while a meth manufacturer and drug dealer walked free in Ordinary.
No way.
Shannon stormed out of Tom’s room and did what she always did in times of stress. She took control.
A couple of hours later, she arrived at Janey’s house just outside of Ordinary. She had a quick meal then jumped into the shower to wash the city’s grime from her skin, along with her anger and grief, wishing like crazy this was a normal Thursday night and that this had been a normal week.
But it hadn’t been, and this was a bad time for wishful thinking.
Tom still floated in his coma—and she still hadn’t told her sister.
She dialed Janey’s cell number. “Janey? It’s me.”
“How’s Tom?” Some kind of animated music played in the background.
“Not good. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Just a minute. The kids are watching a Disney movie. I can’t hear.”
A second later, it went quiet on the other end and Janey said, “What were you saying?”
“Where are you?”
“In the bathroom of the hotel room with the door locked.” She laughed. “It’s the only way I can have peace and quiet. About Tom?”
“He overdosed. He’s in the hospital. In a coma.”
She heard Janey gasp. “Oh my God. We’ll come home right now.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. I almost didn’t call because I knew you’d say that, but I had to tell you.”
“But—”
“No buts. Honestly, there’s nothing you can do.”
“Poor Tom. Life has been too hard on him.”
“It sure has.” Shannon changed the phone to her other ear and took a sweater out of a drawer Janey kept packed for her. “I’m staying at your place, okay?”
“Of course, but why are you there?”
“Tom got the drugs in Ordinary. I’m taking a look around.”
“Ordinary?” Janey’s voice held disbelief.
“Apparently the town isn’t the source. It isn’t being made here, but he definitely got it here.”
Shannon’s next bet was on the biker bar Janey used to complain about.
“I’m going to check out the biker bar in Ordinary first.”
“Biker bar? That’s gone. The Sheriff chased them out of town. They’re all over in Monroe now at a place called Sassy’s.”
“Okay, I’ll scope it out.”
“Shannon, be careful,” Janey warned in her big-sister voice.
“I will. I’m good at my job.”
“I know. I worry anyway.”
“I’ll see you when you get home Sunday.”
No matter what her sister said about being careful, Shannon was going to check out that bar. The distance between bikers and drugs was no big leap for imagination.
She hung up and spread her favorite lotion over her skin, then dressed in panties, a bra and a pair of jeans. She had just picked up the sweater when she heard something downstairs.
She stopped and held her breath.
Another noise. A creak on the stairs. Damn.
There was definitely someone in the house.
She finished pulling on her sweater and took her gun out of her purse. Hiding behind the bedroom door, she waited.
CHAPTER TWO
NAVIGATING A MINEFIELD of children’s toys, Cash crept across the veranda to the front door of the Wright house. With the toe of his cowboy boot, he nudged aside the cop car he’d bought for Ben’s third birthday.
Cash’s buddy, C.J., was married to Janey and crazy about his wife. They had a bunch of great kids C.J. adored. Cash was still single—children a daydream—and nothing but an honorary uncle to his friend’s children.
Now Dad was dying and Cash might be the end of the Kavenagh line. He wanted what C.J. had with Janey, a family life instead of the horror show his childhood had been.
‘I was a rotten role model. You never got married and had kids.’ Was it Dad’s fault?
Yeah. Maybe. He didn’t know.
The crisp wind that had arisen with nightfall spoke of autumn running into winter. He inhaled the scent of leaves breaking down on damp earth then exhaled on a sigh. If he had a bunch of kids, he might be in California visiting Disneyland, too, like the Wrights.
Instead he was here, investigating a light on in the upstairs window of what was supposed to be an empty house.
Hailey Hall babysat Janey’s kids sometimes. She would have a key to the house. Cash had caught her and her boyfriend, Jeff, in the weirdest nooks and crannies around town, making out like, well, teenagers.
He wouldn’t put it past those kids to use the place while it was empty.
He opened the front door and stepped inside. Time to teach them a lesson by scaring the wits out of them.
He looked for anything out of the ordinary, treading carefully in the darkness in case the intruders weren’t Hailey and Jeff. His gun sat like a metal backbone, tucked into the waistband of his pants.
This was only Ordinary, but crime touched even small towns. No sense taking chances.
Moonlight poured in through the kitchen window, illuminating groceries on the counter—including a white box from a bakery over in Haven. He lifted the lid and checked inside. Doughnuts.
Damn kids. They had some nerve bringing snacks. A plate, silverware and a mug sat in the drying rack along with one small pot. An empty tin of canned pasta and sauce had been thrown in the recycle box. They’d made themselves at home. He was going to give them a good piece of his mind.
Only one of them had eaten, though. Probably Jeff. Kid was growing like a weed.
Cash heard a sound from the top floor—a drawer opening and closing, maybe.
He climbed the stairs. In the dark, his hand touched a stuffed animal that one of the children had left on the railing. He rubbed the soft fur between his fingers. Yeah, a bundle of kids and a great wife to wake up to every day would go a long way toward dispelling this feeling he’d had lately of…of…holding his breath, of needing…something to happen, even before Frank showed up this evening.
Another noise, softer this time, pulled him out of his reflections. Snap out of it. Self-pity wasn’t usually Cash’s thing, but at the rate Hailey and Jeff were going, they’d have children long before he ever did.
Crazy teenagers. They were going to curse him from here to Memphis because, really, where were a couple of horny teenagers supposed to go when they still lived with their parents?
He strode down the hall and banged his fist on the wall to give them a chance to cover up before he walked in.
Hailey must be wearing that great-smelling perfume.
“You two had better be using condoms.” He stepped to the doorway.
The bed was empty but he had the sense of someone being in the room. The skin on the back of his neck tingled, but before he could react, the door slammed against the side of his face and pain exploded in his forehead. “Son of a bitch!”
He reached for his weapon.
A woman jumped from behind the door with a gun in her hand.
They stared each other down, weapons drawn and aimed, tension as thick as honey in the room.
Cash didn’t glance down to see what kind of gun she held, semi-automatic or pistol. He watched her eyes. If she planned to pull the trigger, she would show it a fraction of a second before with a subtle flinch.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Who am I? You’ve got a lot of nerve, lady, breaking into my buddy’s house. What did you think you could steal?”
“I’m not stealing anything. My sister lives here.”
Then why hadn’t he met her? “What’s your sister’s name?”
“Janey Wilson. At least, that’s who she used to be. Now, she’s Wilson-Wright.”
Okay, so she knew Janey. That didn’t mean she was Janey’s sister.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Who wants to know?”
He had to give her credit. She was cool as a brick of ice. All business. Even with a gun in his hand, he didn’t intimidate her.
“I’m Cash Kavenagh, Sheriff of Ordinary.”
Her eyelids flickered. She knew his name.
“Let me see ID. Slowly,” she said.
He drew his wallet out with careful movements, his aim never wavering and his eyes still focused on hers. Amateurs got trigger happy and people died.
He handed the wallet to her and she double-checked that it was he in the photo.
“Okay, you’re the Sheriff.” She handed it back.
“Now that we’ve got that settled, who are you?”
“Shannon Wilson. Janey’s sister.”
“You don’t look anything like Janey.” Janey was short and voluptuous, a dark-haired Goth with immaculate white angel’s skin. This woman, a cool drink of lemonade on a hot day, had long golden hair, flawless tanned skin and pink lips. Her toned athlete’s body made his libido race double time.
Some of Janey’s attitude shone through. Man, she was gorgeous. And tough. He liked that.
“Your turn,” Cash said. “Let’s see ID.”
Still aiming her gun, she took her driver’s license out of a purse she picked up from the bedside table and handed it over.
Okay, she was Shannon Wilson, but…
“Let me see the permit for the gun.”
She looked like she might refuse, then sighed and passed it to him.
It was legit. What was a woman doing with a Glock 23.40?
“Why do you carry it?”
“Protection. I’m an investigative journalist. Sometimes I get into sticky situations.”
Why carry a semi-automatic revolver instead of a small pistol?
Growing up in the house of Kavenagh, Cash had developed a finely tuned bullshit detector, courtesy of his father. At the moment, it clanged like a fire alarm.
“What are you doing in Ordinary?” he asked.
“Vacationing.”
A lie.
“No way. Janey or C.J. would have warned me if you were going to stay here.”
She shrugged. “I only called Janey to tell her a minute before you showed up.”
“How’d you get in?”
“I have my own key.”
“Why haven’t we met before?”
“We have.” She dropped her permit back into her purse. “At Janey’s wedding. It was a long time ago.”
He had a vague memory of a pretty blonde, precocious and flirtatious. She’d come on to him, but had been eight or nine years younger than he. He’d run the other way.
“Because of my job,” she continued, “I haven’t visited a lot, but Janey and I talk on the phone all the time.”
“You haven’t visited once in ten years?”
“Yes, but you and I seemed to miss each other. You were visiting your mom a couple of times. Once you were on a training course in Bozeman.”
“How do you know that?”
“Janey told me.” She smiled. “I asked where her good-looking friend from the wedding had got to.”
She’d been interested in him. She’d been too young, though. She wasn’t too young now. She was beautiful, with a woman’s body and knowing gaze.
He was interested, all right.
He tucked his gun back into his waistband and she put hers away in her purse.
Cash leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “You wanna tell me why you’re really here?”
She raised one blond eyebrow.
He waited her out.
“Fine. I’ll tell you the truth, but first I need a coffee.”
She brushed past him and that great-smelling perfume followed her out of the room. So did Cash, like a bird dog on the trail.
Vanilla. She smelled like sugar cookies.
Cash’s hand touched that stuffed animal on the stair rail again and his gaze fell on the sway of Shannon’s hips. She had great hips.
Downstairs, she turned on lights as she went.
She took her time making a pot of coffee, not once looking at him.
He sat at the table in silence, enjoying the elegance and efficiency of her movements. A couple of minutes later she put coffee mugs on the table, along with the box of donuts, and sat across from him. She pulled something out of her back pocket—a black leather badge holder like his—and slid it over to him. He opened it. DEA. Special Agent Wilson.
Stunned, his gaze flew to hers.
“Janey never said you were a cop.” It put her off-limits. Damn.
Unlike his father, he didn’t fool around with co-workers, even if she didn’t work in Ordinary. He didn’t want to have anything to do with female cops. His dad had screwed everything with breasts, no matter her age or her occupation, from female cops to hookers.
He’d cost one cop her job. It had been the end of his career, too.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were DEA?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone here to know.”
She bit into a donut and a dot of jelly ended up on her lower lip. He tried not to imagine himself licking it off.
“What’s the case? You’ve got to be here for a reason.”
“I’m on vacation.”
He ignored that. “Is it centered in Ordinary?”
She sighed and nodded. “I think it might originate with the bikers in the next county, though. I’m here to see what I can learn.”
“About what?”
“Someone in the area is cooking crystal meth.”
“How do you know? I haven’t heard a thing about it.”
“It’s happening.”
“Why are you so sure it’s here?”
“My brother visited last weekend and stayed with Janey.”
“Tom? The one who lost his family to a drunk driver?”
She nodded.
“I met him. Nice guy, but messed up. No wonder. What about him?”
“He brought meth home with him. Said he got it in Ordinary.”
Cash’s mind raced. Where in Ordinary? From whom?
“So the DEA sent you here to investigate? Why didn’t they contact me?”
“A cop in Billings called your office and was told there were definitely no drugs here and that you wouldn’t investigate.”
“I didn’t talk to anyone. Must have been my deputy.” Wade should have brought that info to him, but his deputy was still fairly new. There were a lot of things Cash still had to explain to him. “I’ll call the DEA and let them know I’ll cooperate.”
She raised a staying hand. “I’m not here officially.”
“What?”
“I really am supposed to be on vacation, but I can’t let this go.”
“Why not? You have no jurisdiction here.”
She put her donut down on a paper napkin, carefully, and he had the sense that she was trying to hold herself together. “It’s important to me. Tom overdosed.” She looked like she might break down but then sucked it up. As he’d thought upstairs, she was tough. Strong.
“He’s in a coma,” she said.
“Is he going to live?”
“I don’t know.” She wrapped her hands around her mug.
“You need to take a giant step away from this.”
She shook her head. Those full lips thinned to a determined line, her chin took on a mulish jut and those pretty green eyes suddenly became cop eyes—hard-edged and suspicious.
“I spoke to the domestic field division in Denver and they have their hands full right now. There are meth labs everywhere these days.”
“Then wait.”
“I can’t.”
“I’ll call your bosses.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m on vacation. My sister will be home soon and I’ll visit with her.”
“Who are you kidding? My guess is you won’t sit still while you think there are drugs in the county.” It wouldn’t be the first time a cop went rogue for a family member in trouble.
She shrugged, admitting nothing. Distrust radiated from her. She didn’t have faith in the local law enforcement—and that included him.
She likely thought he didn’t have the goods to do the job, that he was a country hick who couldn’t deal with anything more serious than speeding tickets.
He’d been raised in San Francisco. By a cop. He understood exactly what human beings were capable of, and he knew how to deal with it. All of it.
He walked to the sink and rinsed his mug.
“I’m taking care of C.J.’s horses while he’s away. Mornings and evenings I’ll be around. I’ll also be investigating drugs in the area.” He pointed a finger at her. “You stay out of it. Got it?”
She nodded, but she was lying again.
“I mean it.” Cash left the house.
He walked to the corral to gather in C.J.’s horses and his own, Victor, who Cash boarded here on the Wright land.
Wind whistled through the tops of the poplars lining the driveway. Their few remaining leaves chattered like a bunch of old women, sending him confusing messages about his dad and families and model-beautiful tall blonde women.
She was a grown-up now, no longer a kid who was off-limits.
He was angry with her because she’d come into his jurisdiction to investigate a crime she had no right to look into. She was too close to the victim, and needed to keep out of it.
His body, though, and some part of his mind or his heart, wondered: What if he gave it a shot? What if he asked her out?
She was gorgeous, and she’d thought about him over the years. She’d asked Janey about him whenever she visited Ordinary, hadn’t she?
He’d seen the look in her eyes. She still found him attractive. He certainly found her attractive. How could he not?
Cash put away the horses for the night and got into his truck to drive home, his thoughts drifting to Shannon.
His house sat between Ordinary and Haven and it wasn’t a long trip. He turned down a driveway nearly hidden from the road that ran half a mile through a tunnel of trees.
The house was pretty in the moonlight with its purple gingerbread trim—too pretty for a man. He’d bought the two-bedroom from Timm Franck’s sister, Sara. It sat on a piece of land that would allow for a sizable addition later, when he started his family.
As he stepped out of the truck and stared at his house, his stubborn mind returned to thoughts of Shannon. Again.
Forget it, buddy.
Why?
Because she’s a cop.
Yeah. She is. So what?
How important was that, really? They worked for different jurisdictions. Hell, different levels of government even.
He knew she was off-limits. At least, his rational mind did, but she’d kick-started both his libido and his crazy need to move forward on that family.
Maybe her being a cop could work in his favor. She would have the same values and morals as he. She would understand that the job got crazy, that sometimes the hours were long and dangerous.
And she was hot. She drew him in like no one had in a long, long time. How insanely perfect was that?
Hope sent that feeling of holding his breath, of waiting for something to happen in his life, to change and move forward, scurrying off into the night.
A sigh gusted out of him and he stared at his dark house, unable to resist a couple of “What ifs?” What if Shannon were waiting inside for him? What if she were his and they could start on that family he wanted so badly. How good would that feel?
What was that old saying? If wishes were horses, beggars would ride? Hope did that to a person—made a beggar believe he could be a wealthy man.
The only ones waiting inside for him were Paddy and Danny.
Cash opened the front door. The dogs bounded out and circled the bushes that would one day be replaced by a stable. He left them to their business.
He stepped inside and turned on the living room light. Empty. What if it weren’t?
Cash went straight to his computer. He had a buddy he’d studied with, Denny O’Doyle, who’d ended up working in Washington. Cash emailed for info about Special Agent Shannon Wilson of the DEA.
What kind of woman was she?
An hour later, he got his response. Shannon Wilson was on the fast track to the top. She was smart, independent and…ambitious. The DEA had big hopes for her. Huge hopes. She was going places.
Cash’s heart sank. Great. An ambitious cop. Wasn’t that just the kiss of death? After Dad, Cash had had a bellyful of cops with ambition.
She was DEA, she likely investigated drug problems in every part of the country. Probably thought Ordinary was a hick town compared to the places she’d been.
He wandered to the living room and stared at the empty furniture. Shit. For a few minutes there, he’d had this incredible dream.
He went to the front door to call in the dogs but his voice caught in his throat. Disillusionment and disappointment weighed on him. That feeling of being stuck in life slunk back in from the shadows of the yard and settled in his chest.
No way would Shannon settle in a place like Ordinary, Montana, and no way would Cash leave, not when he had a great job, amazing friends and this house.
He knew what life in the big city was like, chock full of temptations to distract a man from what was really important—family—and Cash wanted no part of those distractions.
* * *
EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning Cash returned to the Wright ranch, his nerves humming.
He thought of the woman in the house.
She’s on her way to the top, Denny had written.
He walked to the stable and pulled open the heavy doors. He didn’t mind taking over this task while C.J. was gone.
C.J.’s neighbor to the east was taking care of the cattle. Cash need only worry about the horses.
He fed them, then turned them loose in the corral.
Still no movement in the house that he could discern. Too early for her to be up, maybe. He returned to the stable to muck out the stalls, enjoying how his muscles burned at the effort, how this activity differed from sitting behind a desk writing reports.
When he finished his chores he washed up at the sink in the barn then grabbed a pressed, beige uniform shirt from his truck and changed out of his flannel shirt in the meager warmth of the stable. He’d head straight into Ordinary for work from here.
He slipped into his sheepskin ranch coat and pinned his Sheriff’s badge to the outside. He traded his old work boots for his polished cowboy boots.
There’d been no flicker of light in the house. Odd. He hadn’t taken her for a lazy woman.
He pulled onto the highway for the drive to town and had gone no farther than C.J.’s neighbor’s land when he saw Shannon jogging along the shoulder toward him.
Facing traffic. Smart girl.
The rising sun highlighted one side of her body.
She wore a snug long-sleeved t-shirt under a quilted vest, and tight jogging pants that hugged mile-long legs. Her calves and thighs looked strong.
She’d pulled that pretty blond hair into a ponytail that swung with each step. She looked young and stunningly beautiful.
The breath lodged in his throat.
He pulled over and rolled down his passenger window. She approached, panting steam into the cool air.
“You always run this early?” he asked.
She nodded, her cheeks pink from exertion. “It’s the most beautiful part of the day.”
She looked across the fields and the early-morning light turned her hair and skin to gold. Her face was relaxed, unlike he’d seen it last night.
Cash imagined how tempting she must look waking up in bed before crawling out for her run. He would have trouble letting her go.
“It’s gorgeous out here, isn’t it?” She smiled at the scenery and he wished he’d put that smile on her face this morning.
She’s on a fast track to the top.
Cash cleared his throat. “How long was your run?”
“I just finished five miles.”
Fit, all right. And ambitious. A real go-getter.
He wouldn’t be dating her.
Just Cash’s luck. He finally meets the perfect woman and she’s off-limits—and not only for her ambition. His first instinct about her being a cop was the right one. Cash didn’t sleep with co-workers. Ever. His father had done enough of that and look what happened to him. Disgrace. Public humiliation.
Dad had worked tirelessly, had investigated every angle, had spent weeks on end ignoring his family while he worked cases, on his way up to Commissioner of the San Francisco police force. Always the big shot. Dad hadn’t walked. He’d run. And strutted.
Cash valued his job and his relationships in this town. He would fight for them tooth and nail, against any enemy, even a green-eyed girl who was already turning him inside out. Cash set his jaw hard to ignore his frustration.
He had to keep his distance.
She reacted to his frown and backed away from the car.
“See you around,” she said.
In his rear-view mirror, he watched her run away from him. A sudden groin-stirringimage of her naked legs wrapped around his waist jumped to mind.
“Hell.”
This attraction was wrong.
He didn’t need his dying Dad coming around telling Cash he was late getting a wife and family, nor did he need a stunning DEA agent visiting town to wreck his stable life. He needed to reconnect with his priorities, his goals. He wanted a family. He wanted it here in Ordinary, where people appreciated and respected him. Where life was sane.
He whipped out his cell phone and called Timm Franck.
“Ordinary Citizen.” Timm published the town’s newspaper.
Without preamble, Cash said, “You know Angel’s been trying to hook me up with Danielle Beacon?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Timm answered with laughter in his voice. “Sure, I remember. You ready to take the plunge?”
“Yep. How soon?”
“You’re serious! Okay. How about tonight?”
“Can’t. It’s Austin’s movie night.”
“I forgot. Let’s double date tomorrow night then, at Chester’s.”
“Have Angel call Danielle then tell me what time to pick her up.”
Cash hung up and chuffed out a frosted breath in the cold truck. He closed the passenger window and pulled out onto the highway.
He needed to rub the image of the prettiest woman this side of the Rockies out of his mind, even if she did have slim, strong legs that went on forever. Another woman could help him do that.
So you say.
Yeah, so I say.
All the way into town he told himself that a little determination could go a long way.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN CASH ARRIVED in Ordinary, he glimpsed Austin Trumball, his Little Brother, sidling into the laneway at the edge of town, his manner secretive.
Twelve-year-old Austin was a good kid, but lost these days. Cash was always on the lookout for him. He had a bad feeling about Austin, that without a little guidance, he could end up in trouble.
The only place that laneway led was the alley running the length of Main Street behind the businesses.
Why was Austin going back there? Over a year ago Cash had caught him dumpster-diving, starving and scrambling for food thrown away by the restaurant. Cash had applied to become his Big Brother the next day. He tried to feed him a couple of real meals a week.
If Austin was looking for food, Cash needed to know. He’d give him twenty bucks to go to the diner for a burger.
He parked the truck in front of the cop shop and walked back to the alley.
He found Austin behind Chester’s Bar and Grill. Smoking. Damn.
Why couldn’t Cash protect the boy from all of the bad temptations in life?
When he saw Cash, Austin dropped the butt and stomped on it.
“Don’t move.” Cash grabbed him by the collar and eased him against the brick wall. He bracketed the boy with an arm on either side. The pungent scent of marijuana hung in the air.
Crap. It hadn’t been just a plain cigarette.
Puffs of air crystallized into vapor as the boy panted. He looked at everything but the sheriff towering over him. Cash could see that sharp little brain working—calculating the odds of getting away.
Cash thought they’d developed a real strong bond in the past year, but apparently not. Austin had been on a great upswing after Cash had taken him under his wing. Something had changed though. For the past month something had been wrong. Cash shook his head, so damn discouraged that he hadn’t gotten through to the boy.
“Where’d you get it?” Cash asked, angry that he couldn’t protect Austin better.
Austin, caged between Cash’s arms, looked up at him with all the defiance such a skinny boy could muster. He shook his head, the mulish jut of his jaw evidence that he wasn’t about to give Cash an answer.
Cash worked hard to keep himself from shaking the answer out of the boy.
With the unpredictability and speed of youth, Austin slipped under Cash’s arm to run. Cash snagged the tail of his filthy jacket and pulled him back. He heard Austin’s breath whoosh out of him. He didn’t want to hurt the kid, but needed Austin to understand how serious this was. Austin was headed down a road that would one day lead to a jail cell.
Cash leaned close and lowered his voice. “I know all the moves a kid like you can make.” His fear for the boy made his tone hard, unsympathetic.
He saw Austin’s dilated pupils, the dark bags under his eyes, and the sunken cheeks of his thin face. For a while under Cash’s care, Austin had begun to look good, but man, this was regression.
Austin had classic golden boy good looks and the smile of an angel the rare time one could be coaxed out of him.
“Where’d you get the marijuana?” Cash asked again, his tone more demanding.
A flash of fear lurked beneath Austin’s defiance. “I—I found it.”
“C’mon, Austin, you’ve never lied to me before. The truth this time.”
“Screw you, man.” Austin looked like he wanted to either fight or cry. Why was adolescence so hard for some kids? “Why don’t you leave me alone?”
Because the haunted look in your eyes tells me you want to be rescued.
Cash placed his hand on Austin’s shoulder, but Austin shrugged it off. The boy squeezed his lips shut and shook his head. Cash knew he’d gotten as much out of him as he was going to. For stubbornness, Austin was hard to beat. Except maybe by Cash himself.
An image of Austin’s mother flashed into Cash’s mind—a sweet but helpless woman who reminded Cash of his own mom—and Cash didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him why he’d chosen this boy to care for.
Cash hadn’t given up on himself. Even during the toughest days, after Dad had lost his job as Commissioner of the San Francisco police force, his house and his car to bankruptcy, and his wife and son to separation followed rapidly by divorce, sixteen-year-old Cash had pulled himself and his mom through.
Later, after he’d studied to become a police officer, he’d left California. He couldn’t work where his father had hammered his sterling career into lead.
Austin deserved a chance at a good life, too. Cash wouldn’t give up on him.
He grasped the front of Austin’s thin ski jacket and shook him gently.
“Austin, get your shit together or you’ll end up a drug addict. Or unable to take care of yourself. Like your mother.”
Austin trembled, probably as much from fear as the cold.
“Is that what you want?” Cash asked, knowing Austin was terrified of exactly that fate.
“You’ve gotta stop pushing your luck.” Cash let go of Austin’s jacket, more frustrated than he could say. Maybe he should give Austin a taste of what jail time felt like, give him a really good scare. Yeah, putting him in jail was a great idea.
Decision made, he ordered, “Follow me.”
Austin’s gaze shot to Cash’s face. What was going on with him these days? Who was Austin hanging out with who were getting him into this kind of trouble?
“Where to?” Austin asked.
“To the Sheriff’s office.”
“Wh-why?”
“I just caught you in possession of marijuana, didn’t I?”
Austin nodded.
“I’m a cop, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but you’re my Big Brother.”
“That doesn’t give you a free pass to commit crime. Is that why you wanted me in that role?”
Austin mumbled, “No.”
Cash hadn’t really thought so. At the beginning, they’d had too much fun together. Not lately, though.
Austin should be in school, but at the moment it was more important to teach him this lesson than to drive him there.
Cash herded him out of the alley and onto the sidewalk of Main Street.
Austin tried to wrench his arm free of Cash’s grip.
Cash’s fingers dug into Austin’s bony elbow. With a quiet yelp the boy came along.
On the way to the Sheriff’s office, Cash nodded to the people of Ordinary who passed them by. Austin hung his head and shuffled beside Cash.
Cash’s office sat between the small grocery store and Scotty’s Hardware. Seeing it filled Cash with pride.
In a backhanded way, Frank had inspired him to become a cop, if only to prove that it could be done in a better way.
That a man could be a good and honorable cop and make a difference to the people around him. That a man didn’t have to drive his way through every obstacle with the force of a Mack truck to get to the top. That a man didn’t have to want to get to the top. That a man could be happy in his job, just the way it was, just where it was.
Cash opened the office door and stepped inside, taking Austin with him. He nudged him into a chair in front of the desk.
Wade Hanlon came out of the washroom.
“Anything interesting happen last night?” Cash asked.
“Not a thing.”
Cash turned to Austin. “Stay put there for a minute. I need to talk to the deputy.”
Austin put his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders.
Cash gestured Wade toward the back of the room and asked quietly, “Did someone call from Billings asking about methamphetamines in Ordinary?”
“Yeah, that afternoon I took over while you went to the dentist. I told them we didn’t have that problem here.”
“Apparently, we do.”
“We do?” Wade looked surprised but also a tad sheepish. He probably didn’t like disappointing his new boss. “How do you know?”
“There’s a man in hospital in Billings who overdosed on meth he says he picked up here.”
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
“Yeah, I do. I know the guy. He’s a friend’s brother.”
Wade looked even more embarrassed. “Sorry, Sheriff. I had no idea.”
“In the future, let me know about those kinds of calls. I need to know everything that goes on around here. Everything. Got it?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open around town. That meth is here somewhere.”
“Okay, boss.”
Wade stepped to the desk and opened a Styrofoam container from the diner. It held a couple of cinnamon buns. “Those’re for you. There’s fresh coffee. See you tonight. Seven, right?”
Cash and Wade worked opposite shifts.
Cash took Austin to the movies on Friday nights, so Hanlon came in an hour early.
After Wade left, Cash walked around the desk.
He noticed Austin’s gaze flicker to the cinnamon buns. Yeah, he’d have the munchies right now, from the marijuana. Looking at Austin’s thin face, he amended that.
“When was the last time your mom bought groceries?”
Austin shrugged and remained close-lipped. Cash had to admire his loyalty to his mom. In his own way, the kid had a lot of class. Connie Trumball wasn’t doing much of a job mothering her boy, but Cash had yet to hear Austin badmouth her.
Connie wasn’t a great mother, but she was Austin’s.
Cash took a can of ginger ale from a small refrigerator and handed it to him.
Austin looked up, surprised.
Sometimes Austin was so closed off he seemed encased in concrete. At other times, like right now, the boy had cellophane for skin. Cash got such a clear glimpse of Austin and his quiet suffering, of his settling for less in life that Cash wanted to hold him and whisper, wish for more, dream for more. Don’t settle. You deserve it.
“Take it,” Cash urged.
He slid a bun across the desk.
“Eat,” he ordered.
Austin hesitated, then picked up the sticky bun and took a huge bite. He licked icing from his fingers, then slurped loudly when he washed it down with ginger ale.
Cash pushed the second bun across the table. “I can’t eat this one, either. Want it?”
Austin shrugged, then took the box and dug into the second bun. When Austin finished he wiped his mouth with the dirty sleeve of his jacket. Cash cringed. That coat belonged in the garbage.
“Okay,” Cash said as he stood. “Let’s go.” Cash pointed toward the jail cell. “You commit the crime, you pay the price.”
Austin shot him an owl-eyed look of terror. He stood and swallowed, his little Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin throat.
“I have to go to school.”
“Not today.” He pointed toward the cell. “Go.”
Austin shuffled in and Cash locked the door behind him. He had more to say to Austin, but not until the boy had spent some time behind bars.
“Might as well sit,” Cash said. “You’re going to be here awhile.”
Austin sat on the narrow cot and stared at Cash with huge eyes.
“I have to go out,” Cash said. “Nap if you want. There’s a blanket on the chair.”
Austin shook out the folded blanket, then lay down and pulled it over himself, covering his old jacket, cheap running shoes and all. In a matter of minutes, he was out like a light.
Austin was a sweet kid in so many ways. Since his father’s death half a dozen years ago, though, the only attention he craved was a father’s.
Cash thought of his own dad. Staring at Austin brought home how much Cash had missed in his relationship with his own dad.
It didn’t seem right to never see Frank again.
What if yesterday was the last time Cash ever saw his dad? Panic drove fear through Cash’s blood. He’d always known that Dad was on this earth somewhere and it had felt right, even if only for Cash to feel righteous in ignoring his father.
But if Dad were gone? Truly gone? Dead? Not a trace of him left on this earth?
Cash couldn’t avoid the truth. It would hurt like hell.
A pressure had been building inside of Cash since that moment he had run after his father’s car yesterday. That pressure was the need to find his father, to talk to him again. Soon. How much time did Dad have left? Did Dad have enough money for proper medical care? To eat? To live out his dying days in dignity?
Austin stirred in his sleep and Cash thought of how much Austin would want to see his dad if he could, but fate had taken that option away from the kid.
Austin had no choice.
Cash did.
Cash didn’t want to waste whatever time was left with his dad. He needed to find his father before Frank died.
Decision made, Cash put on his cowboy hat and headed out the door, locking it behind him.
He forced himself to calm down. Right now, Austin needed him. There were things Cash had to do to take care of the boy.
His breath fogged in the cold Montana air. He knew full well it was a no-no for Big Brothers to buy their Littles gifts, but Austin needed so much. Cash would be damned if he’d let the boy freeze in that flimsy fall jacket.
If anyone didn’t like that he was providing essentials for Austin, they could sue him.
The irony of a cop breaking Big Brother “laws” didn’t escape Cash.
Before he bought anything, he had to go talk to Austin’s mom, to tell her where Austin was and why. He didn’t want to, though. She pushed his buttons, made him remember too much of those years when he’d had to take care of his own emotionally fragile mom.
He phoned her instead. He’d memorized her number in case something happened to Austin when he was out with Cash and Cash needed medical history.
When Connie answered the phone, Cash told her what he was doing with Austin today.
“Whatever you think is best, Sheriff.”
He disliked the tremor in her voice. He wanted her to make the important decisions about Austin’s life. They shouldn’t be left to a relative stranger. Cash wanted her to be the adult, the parent she should be, to give Austin the strength and guidance a kid like him deserved.
Cash visited the school next.
On the drive over he passed Mary Lou McCloskey driving in the opposite direction, speeding like a demon. Mary Lou, one of the sweetest women in town, knew better. He’d have a word with her at some point. At the moment, worried about drugs in the area getting into the hands of preteens, he needed to talk to the principal.
Ordinary Middle School sat on the edge of town. Once there, Cash spoke to Paul Hunt, the principal, explaining why Austin would be away today.
Twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year-old kids laughed and talked in the halls between classes.
“Any idea where Austin could have picked up the marijuana?” Cash asked.
“None. The kids here are pretty good, but you know weed’s a temptation for them. It’s easy enough to find.”
“There’s more. I’ve heard a rumor there are methamphetamines in the area. Have you seen any?”
“No, but that’s worrisome.” Paul had been leaning back in his chair but sat straighter now. “Meth is dangerous stuff.”
A boy ran down the hallway past the principal’s open door. “Taylor, slow down,” Paul called. “No running in the halls. Sorry, Cash, what were you saying?”
“There’s a man in the hospital from taking meth he picked up in Ordinary. In a coma.”
Paul stood and closed the door. “That turns my blood cold. Are you sure he got it here?”
“Pretty sure. There’s a problem throughout Montana. I just hadn’t suspected it was this close to home.”
“Me, either. I don’t have anyone at the school who looks like they’re taking it.”
“Yeah, it ravages people quickly. You can usually tell.”
“Listen, Cash, we have an assembly in a couple of weeks—students and parents. On Thursday. Will you come talk about the dangers of drugs? Both the kids and their parents need to be informed about this issue.”
“Good idea. What time?”
“After lunch. One o’clock.”
These kids were too young to do meth, but you just never knew… Cash stood to leave. “Call me if you hear even a whisper about meth in the school.”
“You got it. I’ll keep an eye on Austin when I can.”
“Appreciate it.”
The stores were open by the time Cash left school and he bought a thick, durable ski jacket. New, not used and worn like the stuff Austin’s mom bought him. Cash also picked up a wool hat and Thinsulate gloves.
After a stop at the New American diner for breakfast, he returned to the cop shop.
Austin slept soundly in the cell with his mouth open and drool dripping toward his ear. He had one arm flung above his head and the other dangling over the side of the cot.
Cash sat at his desk and booted up the computer. He searched data in San Francisco for Frank’s whereabouts first, but Dad had hidden his tracks. Why? Why come all the way to Ordinary to tell Cash he was dying and then drive away without leaving contact information?
Maybe because of your reaction to him? You weren’t exactly welcoming.
Yeah, and I refuse to feel guilty about that.
He dialed his mom’s number in San Francisco. Jamie answered instead, sounding peeved.
“Hey, buddy, it’s Cash. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mom and Dad.” Yeah, Jamie definitely sounded sullen. “They won’t let me do stuff I want to do. They treat me like I’m a kid.”
Technically, Jamie was still a kid at fifteen.
Every time Cash had this conversation with his half-brother, he lost his patience. He couldn’t relate. He’d lived such a different adolescence. What he wouldn’t have given for the stable family life that Jamie had.
Cash spun the desk chair around to look at Austin in the cell.
“Jamie, at the moment I’m sitting in my office. I just put a twelve-year-old kid in the jail cell. His father’s dead and his mom’s useless.”
Austin stirred, mumbled something, then settled.
“Count yourself lucky you’ve got two loving parents who care enough to set limits.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Cash sighed. “I’m not. This kid is raising himself. I’m pretty sure he’d trade places with you without blinking.”
Cash squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Put Mom on the phone.”
A minute later, Cash’s mom came on.
“Cash, how are you, honey?” She sounded great, so much better than the woman she used to be. She’d found love and it fit her in all the right places.
“Hi, Mom, I’m good. I hate to ask, but do you know where Dad lives these days?”
“Last I heard he was still in the same old apartment.”
“He isn’t anymore.”
“He tried to contact me, but I wouldn’t take his calls.”
“He’s dying, Mom. Cirrhosis of the liver.”
She was silent for a long time then said, “That’s too bad. It isn’t a surprise, but it’s…unfortunate.”
“I didn’t tell you to bring you down, I just need to find him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess because he’s my father and he’s dying.” Austin stirred again and Cash turned around to stare through the open horizontal blinds onto Main Street. “He looked bad.”
“He’s family, that has to count for something.”
“Will you attend his funeral?”
“I’ll have to think about it, Cash, but probably not.”
“Okay.” Even if she didn’t have enough respect for Frank to attend, Cash hoped she would be there to support him.
He hung up.
On his own again.
Cash swiveled in his old desk chair to face the office again, ignoring his numb behind.
Austin sat on the edge of the cot, his hair flattened on one side of his head.
“What do you think?” Cash asked. “You learned your lesson?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” Austin croaked, his voice sounding groggy.
“Tell me what you learned.”
Austin shrugged. “I shouldn’t smoke weed?” He really didn’t get it.
“Listen, I’ve been where you are. I spent a lot of years taking care of my mom when she couldn’t take care of herself, when my dad wasn’t around.”
Austin wouldn’t look Cash in the eye.
“What would happen to your mom if you got into serious trouble, serious enough to end up in jail? You think she has any idea how to take care of herself?”
“No,” Austin mumbled.
He gestured to the cell. “If you’re not careful, one of these days this will be real.”
Austin’s eyes lit with fear.
“If I wanted to, I could cart you off to a social worker who might decide you’re better off in foster care.”
Yeah, that was fear in his eyes, all right.
“Next time I catch you with drugs, I’m going to have to charge you. What life dished out to you isn’t fair,” Cash continued, “but you have to keep moving forward. Don’t be tempted by this shit, Austin. By the easy way out. When you don’t feel strong enough to face it on your own, you call me. Got it?”
Austin finally looked up and Cash was humbled by the gratitude on his face. “Yeah, I got it.”
“You want out?”
“I wanna go home.”
Cash nodded. “Okay.”
He unlocked the cell door and Austin walked past him.
“Give me your jacket,” Cash said.
Austin recoiled. “You’re gonna make me walk home without my coat?”
He frowned. “’Course not. I bought you a new one.”
“Why?”
“Because the one you’re wearing is falling apart. Besides, it’s not a winter jacket.” Looking at Austin, Cash realized he’d misinterpreted the question. As far as he could tell, Austin had meant either “what do I have to do for it?” or “why do you care?”
“Because,” he said as he handed Austin the new one, “I’m your Big Brother. It’s my responsibility to watch out for you.”
Austin took off his old jacket and handled the new one with reverence. He should. It had set Cash back a bit.
Austin’s reaction was off. He should have been excited, kid-happy about getting new stuff, but instead he remained subdued and wary as though he expected Cash to take it away. Or as though he couldn’t believe he deserved it.
“Those are yours, too.” Cash nodded toward a hat and gloves.
“I slipped some granola bars into the pocket of the jacket. There’s a twenty for lunch. Don’t lose it.”
Austin put on the hat and gloves. He cleared his throat and said, “Thanks,” with a small smile. Cash thought he detected a sheen in the boy’s eyes before he turned away toward the door.
Cash stopped him. “Does your mom go through your pockets?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Best go spend that money at the diner now, maybe buy something for dinner, too, then hide it when you get home.”
It didn’t feel right warning a boy against his mother, but this was real life, not Leave it to Beaver. Austin had to look out for himself.
“I got a place in our shed where I keep things. Mom doesn’t know about it.”
“Good. Don’t think I’m going soft on you just because I’m giving you stuff. Next time I’ll have to charge you. Got it?” His stern “cop” voice seemed to make an impression on Austin.
“Yeah, I got it.” Cash could tell he did. Finally.
“I’ll see you later tonight.”
“’Kay,” Austin mumbled and left, the tips of his long hair sticking out from under his new hat.
Cash picked up the old jacket and searched the pockets for contraband. Nothing. Not a single thing, not even an empty gum wrapper.
Man, he hated distrusting Austin.
He didn’t believe that marijuana led to heavier drug use, but Austin must feel the heavy burden of his life. Any escape from the situation would appeal, no matter the source.
Cash had to find that source. Where had Austin picked up the marijuana?
Just out of curiosity, he emptied his own pockets. Keys. A wallet with enough bills in it to make him feel secure. Change. The remainder of a bag of cinnamon hearts he’d bought the other day.
Austin had so little. Pitiful. Just plain pitiful.
He threw on his jacket and ran out of the office after Austin.
“Hey,” he called, and Austin stopped and waited for him.
“Let’s go to Sweet Talk. I feel like candy. How about you?”
Austin perked up. “I like candy.”
In Janey Wilson’s candy store he ordered chocolates and whichever candies Austin indicated he might like. With a mom on welfare, Austin didn’t get a lot of treats in his hard life.
By the time they were ready to leave Cash had a replacement bag of cinnamon hearts for himself and Austin’s pockets were full to bursting. Now Cash felt good, as though he’d completed the job.
They strode to the door, Austin with the slightest of smiles. Man, it would feel amazing to see Austin really smile, or grin, or laugh.
The bell above the door tinkled and Cash looked up. He stopped. So did Austin.
Shannon Wilson entered the shop and, for a minute, Cash couldn’t breathe.
Her eyes took in every corner of the shop and everyone in it before she relaxed and concentrated on Cash.
Once out of cop mode, she looked as radiant as the sun rising on a May morning. She wore a short ski jacket and blue jeans tucked into slouchy boots, and that pretty blond hair in a ponytail again. She wasn’t a cop now. She was just a woman. All woman.
“Hey,” she said, and slid her hands into her jacket pockets. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”
For you. Stop that! “Yeah.” He put his hand on Austin’s shoulder. “So does my Little Brother. This is Austin.”
Shannon smiled and Cash could feel Austin hunch his shoulders. “Hey, Austin.”
Austin stood on his toes and whispered in Cash’s ear, “Can she come tonight?”
No, no, no. Cash didn’t want that, but Austin did.
“You want to invite her? Really?”
Austin nodded.
“Okay.” If that was what Austin wanted, he’d take the chance and ask. “Friday nights I take Austin to the movie theater over in Monroe. You want to come with us?”
He held his breath. Don’t disappoint the boy.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Cash glanced at Austin. He’d put on what Cash called his shuttered look.
She must have noticed it, too, because she said, “Can I take a rain check? I’m probably still going to be here next Friday. I could come then?”
Austin nodded, fast and hard.
When they left the shop, Austin was smiling, first time Cash had seen that in a long, long time.
CHAPTER FOUR
MARY LOU MCCLOSKEY ran her errands about ninety miles west of Ordinary where people didn’t know her.
Last week, she’d gone shopping one hundred miles east instead.
She picked up a couple of packages of a cold medication containing ephedrine at the local drugstore, showing a fake ID to make the purchase. She’d bought the ID from a biker. Since she was making meth for them to sell, they’d been accommodating.
Before heading home today she’d pick up more cold medication in a town ten miles west, also. She shopped different towns every week, miles and miles apart so no one could ever connect the dots.
That, along with what she ordered through her husband’s pharmacy and what she’d ordered online to be delivered to her parents’ old farmhouse, put her in good shape.
* * *
WHEN SHE FINISHED with her purchases, she didn’t head straight home. Instead, she drove to her parents’ farm. They were dead now, killed in a car accident two years ago.
They’d left the property to Brad in the will. Why? This wasn’t the 1900s. They should have trusted her to take care of this place just fine on her own. But no, they’d left it to her husband as though she were too dim-witted, too gently-bred, too female to be of much use. She would have loved having a piece of land in her own name.
She was the one with the brains. She was the one who’d excelled in school, who’d adored math, science, everything. But she was the one who stayed home to care for the children while Brad had a career, while the town looked up to him, while he made money and she went to him every week for handouts.
They’d raised her to be sweet, to be demure and supportive of her husband, but she was smarter than Brad.
Her parents had never seen that.
She stepped into the RV parked a dozen yards away from the house and turned on a light. A sense of satisfaction ran through her. She was a businesswoman. A clever one.
In the small narrow space, she’d made the sweetest little chemistry lab.
She’d seen photos of meth labs, had done a lot of research before building her own. In every photo the labs had been a mess. Not hers. Hers was clean and tidy and perfect, everything lined up exactly as it should be. Three large plastic jars with lids sat beside an eyedropper, coffee filters, glass dish and funnel.
Her ingredients were precisely lined up in a row along one wall. Iodine. Red phosphorous. Ether. Hydrochloric Acid. Sodium Hydroxide. Methanol. On hooks in the wall, she stored her clean tubing.
She placed her purchases on the end of the table and opened the windows. She dressed in protective clothing and secured a mask around her mouth and nose before starting on her next batch of meth.
First she washed her cold medication tablets in ether to get rid of the red dye covering them and to break the pills down to pure ephedrine.
Then she crushed them into powder and put it into a jar with methanol. Before she started shaking the jar, she checked her watch.
Too bad so many parts of this process were slow and tedious.
She wouldn’t have time to clean up after herself today. Her days were a bit longer on Fridays because the boys stayed after school for sports, and she picked up fried chicken and chips for dinner, so no cooking. Even so, she was cutting it real close today.
She’d have to come back on Sunday to clean up. Time to start coming up with an excuse for not attending church services.
* * *
SHANNON PULLED ON a red leather skirt that showed too much leg and too little modesty. Ditto for the black tank top that displayed too much cleavage. She covered it with a fake fur jacket and checked herself in Janey’s full-length mirror.
Her legs looked long and sleek thanks to her six-inch stilettos.
Ruby lipstick made her lips look full.
Dressed and ready for the biker bar in Monroe, she still had to press her hand to her stomach to settle the butterflies roiling there.
She knew men. She knew bars. She knew alcohol. The three could be a deadly combination. She’d had plenty of experience dealing with all three in her career. That experience, and her training, would get her through tonight.
Sheriff Kavenagh wanted her to leave this alone, to let him take care of it, but that wasn’t in her nature. Tom was her brother. She was going to Monroe.
Not ideal going alone.
It is what it is, she told herself.
She’d been in—and handled—tough situations before and had survived.
Not without backup.
True, so she had to be smart. She stuffed her gun into her purse before heading to the bar.
Meth wasn’t called Biker’s Coffee by accident. It made sense for her to look at the biker gang first, but she couldn’t exactly walk out to the farm where they crashed and ask to see where they were cooking the stuff.
She drove to the bar in the next county wishing she’d rented something sexier to drive than the Fiesta she owned. It didn’t make a ballsy statement, wasn’t really in character with the clothes.
She cruised a long square of rural roads around the bar to check out escape routes.
A couple of cop cars were parked off the small highway on a side road just yards away from a flashing neon sign. No doubt waiting for Friday night trouble at the biker bar. Perfect. Backup was close.
When she arrived at the bar, the first thing she noticed was the neon sign flashing red and yellow beside the highway—sASSy’s. Great. A strip joint. Not her cup of tea, but so what? She was here to work.
The lot was full to the gills with hogs and pickup trucks. The only available spot was a dark corner around back, which she didn’t care for. Nothing about this evening thrilled her except the possibility of catching a lead.
She patted the purse she’d slung across her chest messenger style and drew confidence from the bulge of her Glock as she walked around the building to the front door.
Cops advised women not to carry guns in their purses. A purse could be taken away from a woman too easily and the gun used against her. But Shannon was no amateur. She knew what she was doing.
A group of bikers wreathed in smoke and wearing enough black leather to keep the ranchers of Montana in business for years blocked the entrance.
She struggled with her nerves. She didn’t want just the dealer, she reminded herself. She had no choice, she needed to do this if she wanted to nab the creep who was making the stuff.
When she stepped forward and got the bikers’ full attention, the competition and posturing started. She planned to use it to her advantage.
“Hey,” she said. “Where can a girl get a drink around here?”
“Right here, babe.”
“I got it.”
“Hey, lady. I’m buying.”
Cologne swirled around her, mingling with a whiff of sweat from one of the bikers.
One man went through the door and the rest parted long enough for her to enter the bar, then closed around her after, blocking her exit. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
Her heart rate kicked in hard. Easy. Don’t panic. Panic is the worst way to handle this. Jammed in the middle of too many oversize bodies, she forced herself to wrestle her fear under control. She could do this.
She wiped her upper lip.
She had extensive martial arts training. She had a gun and a cell phone. Two cop cars were a one-minute drive away.
The man in front of her stepped aside and she got a good look at the bar.
A stripper gyrated onstage to the throbbing beat of a rock song so loud the bass echoed in Shannon’s pulse.
The place was packed. More than a few glances flicked her way.
Lights flashed onstage while the rest of the bar was dimly lit, no doubt covering up all manner of illegal activity. She glanced at every corner, assessing the situation.
She’d gone through Awareness Training when training to be a cop. There were five levels of Awareness, all color-coded. At the moment she’d bypassed Condition Yellow—attentive, but relaxed, and had shot straight to Condition Orange—focus directed and watching for potential threat.
Any one of these jokers could become a potential threat in a flash.
Perfect. She was exactly where she needed to be. If she couldn’t find the answer here, the cause was lost. Determination stilled her panic and her sense of purpose returned. She could do this.
Her biggest challenge would be keeping maximum awareness of her surroundings without looking like a cop.
She chose a seat at the bar with her back to a door she was fairly certain opened to the back parking lot.
She’d done as much as she could to keep herself safe. She knew from experience, though, how things could go from safe to shit in a matter of seconds.
* * *
FRIDAY NIGHT IN Ordinary, Montana, was small-town quiet. The shop windows were dark and only a few couples strolled toward Chester’s Bar and Grill for dinner.
As he’d done every Friday for the past year, Cash drove to Austin’s trailer to pick him up and take him to a movie.
Austin’s mother answered on the first knock, ready and waiting for Cash. He hated this part. Connie was about the neediest woman he’d ever met. Her most pitiful aspect was the way she looked at him—as though he were her hero, or savior.
He might be trying to save her son, but he wasn’t rescuing her. That was beyond his limited powers.
He’d done his time with Mom until another man had come along and married her. He loved his mom, and he would come running the second she needed him, but his duty with needy women was done.
He wasn’t taking on Connie.
“Austin ready?” he asked.
Austin appeared behind Connie, but she raised her arm and leaned on the doorframe so the boy couldn’t pass.
“How’ve you been, Cash?” She smiled, probably thought she looked sexy, but all he sensed was loneliness pouring from her in waves. He wished he could help—he really did—but what she wanted, he wasn’t prepared to give. The only thing he could do was try to save her son.
That old claustrophobia he used to feel when his mom needed him too much crept around him, choking him. He needed to get away.
Austin scooted under her arm, thank goodness, and out the door, more than ready for his few hours of freedom.
Connie saw Cash start to turn away and she frowned.
“Austin,” she called, “don’t forget to stop at the Lucky Seven and pick up food. There’s nothing in the fridge.”
Cash’s anger flared. It was a mother’s job to take care of the kid, not the other way around.
He wanted to shake Connie, to yell at her, “For God’s sake, woman, develop a backbone and do right by your boy,” but he was caught in a familiar bind. If he yelled or criticized, he would hurt a woman too weak to defend herself no matter how mildly he expressed it. He remembered how easily Mom used to cry. His anger and frustration had nowhere to go.
He bit his tongue, holding it all in. He left her standing there and climbed into the truck.
“Harry Potter is playing tonight. That okay with you?”
“Yeah,” Austin said, his low voice barely audible.
Was the giant step Austin had taken away from his Big Brother normal I’m-almost-a-teenager-stuff? Or was there something more sinister going on?
At the edge of Monroe, on the way to the Five Points Cinema, they passed Sassy’s Bar. The transient biker population of the next county hung out there, and the parking lot looked jammed full of chrome and bikes.
When they got to the theater, they settled in with popcorn and pop and watched the movie.
Afterward, Cash waited while Austin went to the washroom.
Five minutes later, Austin came out looking pale, with his shoulders hunched up around his ears, setting off alarms in Cash.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Austin mumbled while he kept his face averted. Something seemed fishy.
“Hold up,” Cash said. “I think I’d better use the washroom, too.”
He slipped into the men’s room and scouted around. Nothing looked out of place. There was a pair of feet under the closed door of one stall. Did someone just sell Austin something? Marijuana? Drugs? Or had someone said something off-color or insulting? Something about his mom? Cash’s cop instincts went into overdrive. Why had Austin come out of here so secretive and embarrassed?
He used the urinal and washed his hands, taking his time so he could find out whose feet those were. The toilet flushed and Brad McCloskey walked out. He nodded when he saw Cash.
“Hey, Cash,” he said.
Brad owned the only pharmacy in Ordinary. He was a father of four boys, and his wife, Mary Lou, volunteered at church. They attended services every Sunday.
Brad was one of the good guys.
So why had Austin come out of here with a bad case of something going on, with Brad the only other person here?
Had Austin picked up something that had already been stashed in here? They came to the theater every Friday. Had Austin pre-arranged something? No way could Cash go out and search Austin’s pockets, though. It would break the fragile trust he had worked so hard to build.
Besides, he didn’t have a shred of proof that Austin was doing drugs other than those few puffs of marijuana this morning. All he had was a healthy suspicion of trouble, and trouble didn’t necessarily mean drugs.
He left the washroom no wiser than when he’d entered it, his frustration racing double time.
One thing he would do was put his cop skills to use by taking a closer look at Brad. Was there a wolf hiding inside his mild-mannered sheep’s clothing?
Cash pulled into the Lucky Seven parking lot, the only convenience store and gas station in the county open twenty-four hours.
“You have money to get groceries?” he asked.
Austin blushed and shook his head. So, Connie was using Cash for…cash.
That anger flared again. It had nothing to do with being stingy. He enjoyed helping people, but Connie needed to find a way to support herself.
Resigned, he said, “Come on,” and stepped out of the truck.
* * *
SHANNON HAD BEEN in Sassy’s for an hour already, surrounded by more bikers than she could count, and still knew nothing. She had five drinks in front of her and hadn’t done more than mime drinking them. She wouldn’t put it past one of these jokers to try to slip her a roofie.
She finally asked what needed to be asked, interrupting some guy’s story about a battle they’d pitched somewhere with a rival gang.

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