Christine Wenger - The Cowboy And The Cop

“I’ll take full responsibility, Sergeant.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She positioned her arms to direct drivers. “What brings you downtown?”

“I had to go to the license place.”

That did her heart good. He was doing something according to the law.

“If I didn’t get my license, you can bet you cops would be all over me.”

“And I’d be leading the charge,” Amber said, blowing her whistle at a particularly fast car. “Slow down! Tell me what you want, Dad. I’m a little busy here, and, again, I don’t want you to get hurt in this traffic.”

“I never get a chance to see you, daughter.”

“Dad!” She blew her whistle at another car. “Spill it or get to the sidewalk and we’ll talk later.”

“I want you to move back home to the bosom of your family.”

“The what?” She laughed. “You mean you want me to cook, clean and keep the law off your back.”

He shrugged. “Guilty. Will you come home?”

“When pigs fly, Dad.” She knew her father was teasing her, but she’d never leave her cute apartment over the Happy Tea Pot and China Shop unless she was moving out of town for a state police job. “Now get to the sidewalk, please.”

“Come over for dinner and we’ll discuss. Kyle is picking up some chicken and ribs and those corn muffins that you like from Smokin’ Sammy’s House of Hickory.”

Yum. She did like Smokin’ Sammy’s.

“I’ll come over for dinner. Thanks for the invitation.” She smiled. He was so transparent. He knew it, and she knew it. “But I don’t want any talk of me moving in. Wait a minute, you’re not still moonshining, are you?”

He didn’t answer, but she held up traffic while he walked to the sidewalk. He clutched at his heart. “Amber—I mean, Sergeant Chapman, how can you ask me such a thing? I’m as pure as the newly fallen snow.”

She laughed at his theatrics. Her father could always make her laugh.

“What about my brothers?”

“The same. They ain’t making moonshine.”

“They’d better not be!”

“Six o’clock?”

“I’ll be there, Dad.”

The traffic had dwindled to a few cars. It was then that she saw Luke Beaumont exit the courthouse and walk to the lot.

He waved to her and she walked toward him.

“What luck, huh?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“That you had to ask those three guys to leave because of the fire code.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“I found out that they were going to bid on the ranch. I’m not sure I could have outbid them. That was a close one.”

“Good.” Amber nodded. “I’m very happy for you.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t know that the Beaumont Sheriff’s Department were sticklers for fire code violations.”

“Oh. We are. Absolutely. It’s very important to enforce all codes as that are on the books.”

That sounded pompous, but she didn’t want Luke to think that he was receiving special treatment from her because he was a Beaumont.

Nor did she want him to think she had helped him because she was some kind of devoted fan.

She did it for the town.

“I’m off duty, Luke. Do you need a ride?”

“Since I taxied right from the airport, I was going to hitchhike to visit my father in rehab, but I’m not ready to deal with him yet. Would you mind driving me out to the ranch? Hopefully my truck is there and working, and I can drive up and see my dad later, but, yeah, I’d appreciate a ride home. Thanks.”

She radioed Dispatch that she was off duty and pointed to her cherry-red Honda CRV. “That’s my car.”

They walked to her car and Amber clicked open the locks. “Hop in.”

Chapter Four

It was about fifteen miles to the ranch; most of it was highway except for the last five. They made small talk about the weather, bull riding and the town in general. Amber was careful not to talk about the condition of his ranch. Luke would see it soon enough.

“What happened to the entry arch?” he asked as they arrived.

“Hurricane Daphne. The storm is responsible for pretty much everything.”

“Hmm...the entry arch is the first thing I’m going to fix.”

It contained the logo of the Beaumont Ranch, five ornate B’s in a circle for Big Dan, Valerie Lynn and their three boys. It was made of wrought iron, from what Amber remembered, and every vehicle and pedestrian passed under that arch.

Obviously, it bothered Luke that the symbol of his family was on the ground.

“Hang on.” He got out of her car and pulled the arch to the side of the driveway.

He got back in and she started up the long drive to the homestead. Luke stuck his head out the window as they passed by several outbuildings in need of repair.

“Dammit!” he shouted. “Look at those wrecked buildings.”

“I’m sorry, Luke.”

The homestead came into sight. The roof had collapsed in the middle and the land that used to be around it was either bare or choked with weeds. Amber remembered beautiful flowers around the home—Valerie Lynn Beaumont had had a green thumb—but whatever had once bloomed had vanished. The portico had collapsed, twisted, and was hanging on by a couple of thick boards someone had propped up against the main portion.

“That has to be replaced,” Luke said.

Two of the big picture windows had also blown out and were covered by sheets of plywood.

The whole place was in need of paint, but that was probably the least of his problems. He had yet to look inside. There was no need for a key. The door was half off its hinges.

“Let’s go in, Amber. I might as well see inside.”

“That’s okay. I’ll stay here.”

“C’mon with me. Please.”

She got the impression that he didn’t want to be alone when he saw the condition of the homestead that had been in his family for generations.

“Okay,” she finally said, feeling like she was intruding on something private. Something that was strictly reserved for the family that belonged there.

Too bad she didn’t have the same feelings about the sad little bungalow in the middle of a junkyard. That was just a place where her parents fought about everything from rusted car parts to illegal moonshine.

When she looked around at the inside of the Beaumont ranch house, she wanted to cry.

Magnificent Stickley furniture had warped and was unsalvageable except as firewood. Fabulous blankets and baskets were covered in mud. Actually, the whole floor was warped and muddy. The beehive fireplace in the middle of the room had cracked and the remnants had fallen to the ground. Black mold crept up the walls.

It broke her heart to see family treasures destroyed. Some might be able to be saved, but most of what she’d seen would have to be trashed.

There were pictures and portraits of some long-ago Beaumonts. Some were intact, some had watermarks and were bulging out of their frames.

Amber turned to Luke, whose mood seemed to be alternating between sad and mad.

She wanted to hug him, but felt that was too forward. They’d only been high school acquaintances, nothing more. She hoped he didn’t know that she’d had a crush on him since Mrs. Maloney’s first grade.

So here she was at thirty years old without having a serious boyfriend at the present.

Most of the time, she was too focused on her career. She was devoted to keeping Beaumont a safe place for everyone to live, in which children would thrive.

To that end, she coached mixed teams of soccer, softball and basketball, and led the Beaumont children’s chorus and drama club.

She divided her marriage “close calls” into three categories, although there were probably more. The cops were too full of themselves and moved on to their next conquests; the adventurers were too hyper and moved on; and the playboy types found younger women.