Jodi Thomas - Wild Horse Springs

Tim must have finished writing his thoughts because he walked to the other side of the cell, the free side, and joined Thatcher.

“I think it’s creepy out on nights like this,” he said, as if he thought Thatcher would welcome conversation. “Town’s growing so much it seems brighter than it used to.”

“Tim, stop talking like you were born before electricity. You’re twenty-five.” Thatcher hated how Tim—and Lauren too—both thought they were so much older than him.

“I know, but the town’s growing. There are two whole new blocks of houses behind the church and half a dozen new cabins out by the lake.”

Thatcher decided he must be brain-dead, because he started talking to Tim. He pointed toward the building project in the empty space between the two main streets. The city council said it would look like a grand town square when they finished, but the land was cut by roads into a triangle and who ever heard of a town triangle? “Does that look like a bandstand or a gazebo to you?” he asked Tim, hoping to avoid talking about jail for a while.

“Nope.” Tim tilted his head one way, then the other, as if the question would make more sense that way. The framed-out bandstand was covered in snow. “It reminds me of a ten-foot-high white spider now, with legs that stretch out thirty feet.”

“You’re right.” Thatcher wouldn’t have been surprised if the monster lifted one of its legs and began to walk. “You think it’ll look any better when they get it finished? Folks say there will be grass and benches and maybe even statues.”

Tim nodded as if finding a topic to discuss. “Sheriff said the construction companies brought in crews to build it and the new baseball field with under-the-stands locker rooms at the high school. Everyone claims the construction crews have caused more trouble than they’re worth. Most of the workers moved into trailers behind the gas station, and word is there’s a party out there every night. We got a crime scene waiting to happen out there. The foreman from across the street complained to the sheriff that his crew either shows up drunk or high.”

Thatcher almost said he knew that for a fact, but telling Tim anything would be telling him too much. He simply wanted to forget what he saw yesterday when he looked in that trailer window; what was going on in there had nothing to do with the trouble he was in now. He shouldn’t have hit Luther.

Thatcher tried to reason it out, but he swore his fist was flying before his brain had time to think about the consequences.

His momma always told him to stay out of other folks’ crimes unless you want to be a part of the next one they commit. She was right. Of course, she also told him she could see him from wherever he was because they shared the same color eyes.

“Mom, if you’re watching now, you might want to look away,” he mumbled to himself. Tim was too busy talking to notice.

Lauren finally came back and Tim abandoned talking to Thatcher, so he moved over to his bunk and tried to sleep, but questions kept running through his brain. Why’d he get involved yesterday? Why didn’t he just mind his own business? If he hadn’t tried to help the little girl. If he hadn’t followed the kid home. If he hadn’t taken the food back, he’d be out at the Lone Heart Ranch eating supper with Charley and his wife and Lillie. He’d be teasing her, calling her Flower and she’d be talking back calling him “That.”

Thatcher smiled. Life hadn’t given him many breaks, but meeting Charley’s family made up for that. Lillie was nine now and thought she knew everything. Only once she’d been small like the kid he’d tried to help yesterday. That thin little girl was vulnerable. She didn’t have parents who cared if she ate, and that was the least of their crimes.

CHAPTER SIX

Tuesday night

DAN BRIGMAN CALLED himself every kind of fool as he walked into the Nowhere Club. He’d asked a woman for a date and then stood her up. He hadn’t even called last night. She’d been everything he needed right now. Someone fun, easy to get to know, great to kiss. A wild, beautiful lady he could spend some time with and not worry about getting involved. No strings. No complications. She’d made that plain from the first.

She was the dream he’d always wanted and never had.

And, thanks to Thatcher Jones, Dan had blown his one chance. She probably wouldn’t bother to speak to him tonight, and all he had was a memory of one great kiss. Maybe the best kiss he’d ever experienced, or ever would.

There was the possibility she hadn’t thought it was a date. She’d just said that if he could find a place open, she’d be hungry. Maybe showing up a day late wouldn’t matter. Brandi Malone didn’t strike him as a woman who made long-term plans.

By the time he’d left the sheriff’s office after one final check of Thatcher and his two babysitters and gone home to clean up, it was almost eight o’clock. If he was lucky, he’d hear her second set, even if she didn’t talk to him afterward.

Any plans of taking the lady back to his place had vanished when his daughter showed up this afternoon. The singer he met might be beautiful and wild, but they were both too old for him to even suggest making out in a car. His old Jeep didn’t have much of a heater, and he was not taking her out to dinner in the county cruiser.

At least he’d switched into civilian clothes and left his gun belt at home. Of course he did have a small revolver strapped to his calf and his badge was tucked into his coat pocket. A lawman was a lawman; it was not just his job.

He almost turned around halfway to the county line. The weather was getting worse. If he stayed a few hours at the bar, he’d probably be fighting snow going home.

“No,” he said aloud as he pushed on the accelerator. He was going. It was about time he made a memory. At the rate he was going, he’d head into old age without having that “once in a lifetime” affair.

Twenty minutes later, Dan climbed out of the Jeep and turned his collar up against the freezing mist. He might as well go in and make a fool of himself. At least he’d have something to regret.

“Evening, Sheriff,” the bartender said with a nod as he shouted loud enough for half the drunks to hear. “You coming in undercover tonight?”

“No.” Dan smiled as if the question didn’t bother him. Dan never went undercover, even though the club was officially in the next county. “I’m just here to have a beer and listen to the music.” He glanced at the bartender’s nametag. “You got any objections, Sorrel?”

“Nope.” Sorrel Douglas shrugged his bony shoulders. “Would suggest you don’t order food. Kitchen’s backed up. We’re getting a lot more folks in here on weeknights since Brandi came. Drunks around here act like they’ve never seen a real country singer, so they come in early and eat during the first set, then hang around way too late for a weeknight to catch the last set. It’ll be closing time before you get anything but nachos.”

Dan ordered a drink and found a table in the back just as Brandi Malone stepped onstage. The crowd settled. Even the drunk who’d been drooling on the next table raised his head and grinned.

The sheriff swore the air in the place settled as conversations stopped and people who had been playing pool in the back moved where they could see a woman in knee-high blue boots take the stage. Her skin looked pale in the lights, and her dark curls floated around her like a cape.

Dan held his breath. Even if she never spoke to him again, it was already worth the drive to just see her.

As he always did, Dan measured the crowd for trouble. Mostly couples, a few small groups of girls-night-out types. A dozen men standing at the bar. Cowboys, oil-field workers, truckers and a few bikers. No one in the place appeared to be looking for trouble, but a few were starting to drool in their beer as they stared at Brandi. She wore a long silk shirt over leggings, and the boots he’d seen before. Her hair wasn’t tied back as it had been yesterday. When she looked down at her hands, she curtained most of her face from view, and he wondered if she did it on purpose.