Jodi Thomas - Rustler's Moon

A fisherman docking his boat stopped to watch her, but didn’t wave. A couple cuddled in a blanket at the far end of one of the private docks didn’t notice her pass. As the evening aged, she blended in with the shadows.

For the first time in her life, she almost believed she was invisible.

When she passed Dan Brigman’s house, she was surprised to see the sheriff with a woman in a flowing dress and heels standing in the room that faced the lake. Dan had mentioned a daughter when he’d shown her the cabin, but not a wife. She’d gotten the impression he wasn’t married, yet the woman looked far too old to be his daughter.

The woman was waving her arms as if arguing with the sheriff, then raised her hands in the air and let them drop to her sides as though giving up.

Angela stood frozen as the woman stormed from the room. The sound of the front door slamming and a car starting reached her ears, then the engine roared up the road behind the sheriff’s lake house.

She was still staring when Dan Brigman walked out on his deck and looked up at the stars.

She thought maybe, just maybe, if she remained perfectly still he wouldn’t see her. But of course, if he looked in her direction, she’d be silhouetted against the moonlit lake. Wild-haired, five-three Peeping Toms were hard to miss.

Angela lowered her head, clicked off the flashlight and walked slowly past his place, hoping the shadow of his dock might hide her from view.

She almost made it to the bend before he called out, “Angela, is that you?”

She turned and watched him jogging toward her in jeans and a sweatshirt. “I thought I’d walk around part of the lake,” she managed to say.

He fell into step with her. “Mind if I tag along? I could use a walk.” The sheriff looked thinner without his vest and forty-pound duty belt around his waist. He also looked somehow sadder than he’d been last week, even in the shadows.

“Not at all.” She clicked back on her flashlight even though the lights from the houses cast a warm glow over a broken path that wandered along between docks and lawn furniture. “You can tell me about the lake.”

“Well, legend says this stop was an old Comanche winter camp. After the Second World War some of the men returning home decided to build here. I always thought they were looking for peace. I know how they feel—no matter how hectic the job of county sheriff gets, when I come home and stare out at the lake, the world seems right.”

As he spoke, his words slowed a bit and his shoulders seemed to relax. When she asked about his daughter, he laughed and told her that she had a date for homecoming. “I’m finding out just how important that is,” he admitted.

“You and your wife must be happy she’s adjusting well to college.” Angela didn’t add that she had no idea how important homecoming dates might be. That wasn’t something she’d participated in at college. She’d had few dates, with friends mostly.

“We are proud of Lauren.” He cleared his throat. “But my wife and I divorced years ago.” He shrugged. “I might as well tell you. You’ll hear all about everyone who lives around town as soon as you start work tomorrow. Margaret left me a few months after I took this job. She wanted to finish school, then do an internship at a big company in Dallas. After that she got a job there and couldn’t leave the big city and all it had to offer. It took me three years to figure out she wasn’t coming back home. It seemed leaving me wasn’t a problem.”

He fell silent. They just walked. She listened to the water lapping against the shoreline and fish slapping the calm lake as they jumped to catch their supper.

She thought of asking who the woman was that she’d seen in the sheriff’s house, but maybe he had a right to his secrets, too. Finally, she broke the silence. “I’d better turn in. Tomorrow will be a big day for me.”

At the spot where she turned off toward her cabin, they stopped and he turned to face her. “Angela, don’t worry about tomorrow. You’ll be fine. We’re all glad you’re here. When I hand over the museum keys, a few representatives from some of the original families will be there.”

He could probably hear her breathing stop, so he rushed to continue. “You’ve already talked to Staten Kirkland. He’s the one who hired you on the phone. You’ll meet the O’Gradys and Collinses as well as the Wagners. All from old families who settled here a hundred years ago. They’re just showing up to wish you the best.”

“Is there anyone I should be worried about?”

Dan laughed. “They are all good people. You might watch out for Wagner, though. Vern’s been known to ask any single girl around to marry him.”

“How many wives has he had?”

“None. Talk is, after he forgot to show up at the church a few times, every woman in town stopped believing anything Vern said.” Dan shook his head. “I don’t know if that story is true. Wagner told it to me himself.”

“I’ll watch out for him.”

Dan laughed. “I promise, he’s someone not easy to miss.”

Angela said good-night and walked down the path to her cabin trying to remember all the names she’d heard. Kirkland, Collins, O’Grady and Wagner. Once she got settled in her new job, she’d look up all their family histories. Though she’d like to forget hers, most people wanted to talk about their roots.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING she was so early to the parking lot of the museum she waited half an hour before the sheriff showed up. While he was unlocking the huge double doors of the museum, cars and pickup trucks began pulling into the lot.

The sheriff stood beside her as the families piled out and greeted each other. Dan leaned close to her and quietly gave her the lowdown. “The couple in the Cadillac are the Collinses, they own the Bar W Ranch. Both their sons are away at school. That van with all the kids are one branch of the O’Gradys. Lots of them around town.” He nodded to an attractive couple with a young son. “The tall couple with the toddler are the Kirklands. Staten owns the Double K. Biggest spread within a hundred miles. Word is his wife, Quinn, is pregnant again. The two men climbing out of that old rusty red pickup are Wagners. They own the Devil’s Fork Ranch.”

Angela fought the urge to bolt. So many people, all coming to see her. Kirkland was tall, big like his voice had been on the phone. The man called Collins looked bored and his wife seemed overdressed.

She suddenly had a dozen questions to ask the sheriff, but it was too late.

People were too near the museum for him to fill her in on any more details, but she felt as if she had at least put a few names with faces.

When the sheriff finally opened the doors, she was surprised to see a banner welcoming her. A long lace-covered table was set up with red velvet cupcakes, lemon squares and juice in tall champagne glasses. All made it seem more a party than her first day at work. Three round little grandmother-types stood behind the refreshments table beaming with pride.

Fifty people crowded into the big two-story open foyer. Angela and the sheriff stood next to the mayor, Davis Collins, and his perfect, much younger wife named Cherry.

Angela fought down a giggle every time the mayor called his wife “Cherry Baby.” Everyone in the room, except Davis Collins, could see his wife glare at him. She obviously hated the name and he obviously didn’t care.

Everyone except two-year-old James Kirkland stood silently as the mayor said what a grand day it was to have a new curator over the museum they all loved.

With keys in her hand, Angela moved among the people trying to remember names. Everyone wanted to show her their favorite exhibit. After two hours, Angela felt as if she’d had a private tour of every foot of the museum from archives with journals of the first settlers, to the gun collections, to a mock-up of the first wagons. All her years of studying Texas history came alive as she touched artifacts that had survived since the time of the first Austin colony, including weapons that were around during the fight at the Alamo, and Native American clothing now treasured as works of art.