Hail Mary, page 5
“Wynn is lovely.” His aunt assumed a nonchalant expression. “I thought you might have noticed.”
He blinked, suspicious. “You know her?”
“Of course. In Blossom Hills, everyone knows everyone, dear.”
Another monumental problem with this place. “She expected Hatfield.”
“I’m not surprised. She never comes to town.”
Annoyance speared through Beau. “Because she was afraid of him?”
“For him, not of him.” Velma snorted. “Wynn is no shrinking violet. But neither is she a fool.”
“You like her,” he said.
“I do.” Velma nodded. “Very much. I’ve watched her grow into a strong, capable, good woman who spends much of her time devoted to others. Some people could learn a thing or two.”
Beau ignored the dig. “She’s dirt poor.”
“What are you implying?”
Nothing he could share. “It was an observation, not a slur.”
“You don’t think—” Harry began, but Beau shot him a quelling look.
“Think what?” Velma asked.
Beau only shook his head. “What can I do for you, Velma?”
For a moment, she studied him, but the flat surface of his gaze made her sigh noisily. “I’ve come about the ribbon cutting.”
“What ribbon cutting?”
“For the new hospital wing. I told you last week. The Board members are all out of town, so I volunteered you to do it. And you said you would.”
Beau had no memory of that. “I did?”
“Well, of course, you did. Do you think I would make it up?”
He stared at her, well aware that she was very capable of a bald-faced lie if she believed it lay in his best interest.
“Besides, you could use a little good press,” she added and stood. “People feel like they elected a stranger!”
“They did,” Beau said.
Velma snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with letting them get to know you, Beau. You’re a fine man, and one I’m very proud of. I like sharing you.”
Heat licked at his cheeks.
“I’ll never be polished enough to shine,” he told her stiffly.
“Sweetheart, you don’t need any polish. You aren’t silver. You’re steel.” She turned and smiled at Harry. “Deputy Baker.”
Harry nodded. “Ma’am.”
She paused at the door. “I’ll see you later then, Beau?”
He sighed.
“Dare I hope you will dress appropriately?” She eyed his bright Hawaiian print shirt. “Surely you have a uniform.”
Not one that fit. Besides, he liked his shirt. Marie had bought it for him. “Harry has a uniform.”
Velma scowled. “You will never get re-elected at this rate.”
He could only hope.
“Four-thirty,” she told him. “And not a minute later!”
“Ma’am,” he said.
She shook her head, sighed noisily once more, and took her leave.
“Family,” Harry said.
Beau only grunted.
“You don’t really think…you don’t think Wynn had something to do with that robbery, do you?”
Maybe. Maybe not.
What Beau knew about Wynn Owens wouldn’t fill a thimble. And he didn’t trust anything he’d felt in her presence. That unexpected, powerful, visceral physical reaction was meaningless. Biology. It signified nothing.
Even if a traitorous part of him wanted to rejoice: he was alive again. Finally.
When he shouldn’t give a goddamn about his cock getting hard.
Fuck.
“I think anything is possible,” he said bluntly.
Harry rubbed a hand down his face. “Shit.”
Beau couldn’t have said it better himself.
Chapter 5
“He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Wynn grinned. “Isn’t he though?”
Sasha leaned down and canoodled with Beowulf the Runt. “He’s perfect. Who needs a man when you can have a dog?”
Wynn’s sentiments exactly.
“He’s no Dean Winchester,” Jenna said with a snort. She pointed at the TV, where brothers Dean and Sam were battling a crossroads demon in all of their Supernatural glory, and said, “I’d take Dean over a Doberman any day.”
“Dean’s too alpha.” Sasha shook her head. “He’d be all up in your business. Now Sam…he’s sensitive. He’d give you some space.”
“Sam.” Another snort. “Sam is just eye candy. Dean is the Dom.”
Wynn blinked at her sister. “Jenna.”
She only shrugged. “Seems pretty obvious to me.”
Beside her, her friend Penny Harkins giggled. They were having a Supernatural Sleep Over, which Wynn wouldn’t have normally allowed on a weeknight, but Penny’s dad was out of town, and she needed a place to stay. Since Earl and Griffin were still in Canada, there was plenty of room, and it was bingo night, so Ethel and Eloise were in town. Esme sat on the couch, watching the show avidly.
“I’m no expert,” she put in, “but I’m afraid I have to agree with Jenna. Dean is the show-stopper.”
Sasha rolled her eyes. “Too much work.”
Now it was Wynn who snorted. “Like you’d know.”
Sasha snorted back. “Like you’d know.”
Jenna snickered.
Wynn went into the kitchen; Beowulf and Sasha followed. Two large pizzas sat in the center of the kitchen table.
“You went all out.” Sasha flipped one of the boxes open. “You shouldn’t have.”
“It’s not every day my best friend passes the bar,” Wynn told her. “You deserve only the best.”
Sasha grinned and helped herself to a piece of pepperoni. “I expected PB&J.”
“Har,” Wynn told her. “I’m not that poor.”
“Don’t tell it to the bank.”
“Hmph,” was her unenthusiastic response. She looked at the lopsided pile of papers that sat on the counter. It wasn’t much of a business plan—what in hades did she know about business plans?—but the bank wouldn’t loan her a penny to expand the farm’s orchards without one, so even though she suspected it would all be for naught, she’d given it her best go—with Sasha’s help. Sasha was highly intelligent, financially savvy, and one of the only people in the world Wynn trusted without question.
A true friend, through the dark and the light; everything they never spoke of, but couldn’t forget.
“I think it’s freaking impossible,” she admitted. “And we’ve wasted our time.”
“Positive thinker.”
“I mean it. This place isn’t worth a hill of beans, and it’s the only collateral I’ve got. Even if they loan me the money, if I can’t pay it back, I’ll lose the farm.” Wynn shook her head. “It seems foolish and stupid to even try.”
“No risk, no reward.”
Well, that wasn’t helpful.
“I have to tell you something,” she confessed.
“What?”
“I met the new sheriff today.”
“There’s a new sheriff?”
“Apparently, so. Hatfield’s dead.” Something that filled her with both elation and fury, a paradox with which she was still struggling. “Killed in the line of duty.”
According to Google, the former Sheriff had been plugged by a .38 during a domestic dispute over in Angel Falls—a twofer, since the man who’d been busy beating the tar out of his wife had also taken a round to the chest and died on the way to the hospital.
Two assholes in one fell swoop. Sometimes life was good.
Sasha eyed her with concern. “I didn’t know that.”
Which wasn’t a surprise since Sasha lived over in Bentwood, which was outside of Superior County. But Wynn only smiled broadly. “Me neither.”
“A new sheriff,” Sasha murmured. “Does that mean we can close the chapter on the old one?”
It wasn’t an unreasonable request. But neither was it one Wynn could honor. She would never forget or forgive Jasper Hatfield.
Ever.
“The new sheriff is Beau Greystone,” she said bluntly.
Sasha froze. Her cheeks went bright red with angry color. For a long moment, she said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Wynn added hurriedly. “The band-aid method seemed best.”
Sasha said nothing. Then, “It’s been a decade.” She shook her head. “It shouldn’t matter.”
But it did. For whatever reason, it still very much did.
The summer after graduation, Sasha had fallen madly, passionately in love with Beau’s cousin Tristan; their affair had been searing and intense and all-consuming. Wynn hadn’t understood love could be like that until she’d witnessed it. But at the end of that summer, something had happened—something that separated them instantly and permanently—something Sasha had never spoken of.
Not even once.
Too bad for words, Wynn thought. She’d known moments like that. So she didn’t push.
But Sasha’s experience with Tristan had closed a door that remained unopened. She was a stunning woman: raven-haired, blue-eyed, with lovely, delicate features and the kind of smile that stopped people in their tracks. She was a spectacular human being, giving, loving, compassionate, and empathetic; she deserved to find happiness with someone else. Instead, she’d just…quit.
It made Wynn angry and sad.
If that’s true love, I’d rather have cheesecake.
“I always liked Beau,” Sasha said finally. “He was rough around the edges, but he was honest, and when you needed him, he was there. What’s he like now?”
Remembering that piercing, intelligent green gaze, and the sheer, annoying force of his presence, Wynn said, “Intense.”
“You’re blushing.”
She scowled. “So?”
An unexpected laugh broke from Sasha. “You liked him.”
No. Well, maybe. A tiny bit. He was…compelling. And beautiful. But that was just hormones. She wasn’t dead. “He’s a curmudgeon.”
“Well, he was always a little brusque.”
“Like the night is a little black. Besides, he has a stinking badge.”
“Not every man in law enforcement is Jasper Hatfield.”
Wynn wasn’t willing to bet on that. “He limps.” And he’s in pain.
“He was an Army Ranger. He probably saw combat.”
“How do you know that?”
“Velma. I ran into her a few years back. She felt the need to fill me in on the numerous and glorious accomplishments of both of her nephews.”
“She had high hopes for you and Tristan.”
Sasha waved that away with a sigh. “What did he want?”
“Earl.” Which worried Wynn. There had been nothing friendly or neighborly in the new Sheriff’s visit. And Earl was more than capable of getting himself into some kind of ridiculous pickle. “He wouldn’t tell me why.”
“The Post Office sign again?”
“No.” Remembering the opaque surface of Beau Greystone’s eyes and the flat tone of his deep voice made the unease within her churn. “Whatever it is, it’s worse.”
And she was very afraid it might have something to do with what Jenna had discovered out in the pasture behind the house.
Because what were the odds?
“So you’ll see him again?” Sasha asked innocently.
Another thing Wynn didn’t want to think about. Because the idea of seeing the new Sheriff again should have filled her with angst, not anticipation.
Crap!
“Whatever he wants with Earl, it isn’t good,” she said, because of that, she was certain.
“Well, maybe some good can come of it.”
Wynn gave her a disbelieving look. “How’s that?”
“You need to deal with your cop hang-up. Exorcise that shit.”
“Oh, just put a cork in it.”
“Why not?”
“Stop talking.”
“Seriously—I think Beau’s the perfect badge for the job. If I remember correctly, when he was on it, he was on it. I mean, like—”
“For the love of Pete!”
“Okay. Your loss. Maybe I should give him a call?”
“Be my guest,” Wynn told her stiffly.
And Sasha laughed again. “Oh, it’s so on. Finally. I’ve been waiting for this day.”
“We’re done talking about this.”
For a long moment, Sasha was silent. Then, “Didn’t watching Fran teach you anything? She never stopped living. Not ever. Hell, she met old Jake Perkins out at his hunting cabin every chance she got. She took her pleasure where she found it, and let it be enough.”
“He wanted to marry her. She turned him down. Said she didn’t want to saddle him with her disease.”
“Then more fool her.” A flicker crossed Sasha’s face. “She should have taken all that she could.”
Wynn didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Instead, she looked around the kitchen, with its chipped linoleum and crooked cupboards and sighed.
Pain. Life was pain.
For everyone.
“Did you get a new tenant yet?” Sasha asked and finished off her pizza.
“No.” The young man she’d mistaken the new Sheriff for had failed to show. “I’m still looking.”
“I’ll spread the word.”
“Thanks.”
The sound of a vehicle pulling into the long drive drifted in through the open windows, and they listened as it parked and the engine was cut. A squeak as the doors to the old Buick were pushed open; the crash of them slamming shut. Then, “Be careful, Ethel. I told you not to have that glass of beer.”
“It was bubbly. I liked it.”
“Well, you’re not having it again. You can hardly walk.”
“That’s because my shoes are too tight.”
“I told you not to buy them. You look ridiculous.”
“Mr. Harcourt liked them.”
“Mr. Harcourt is a charlatan.”
Wynn grinned. Eloise and Ethel had been tenants since she was fifteen. The sisters were in their late seventies; Eloise had spent most of her life watching over her twin, Ethel, who’d suffered brain damage as a child. Ethel was innocent and mischievous and—oftentimes—hilarious. But she wasn’t capable. Eloise was the one who carried the load, making certain Ethel was dressed and fed and not getting into trouble—something else at which Ethel was proficient. Eloise was stoic and unbending and never far from her Bible, but she loved her sister and did right by her. Which Wynn admired and respected, but it hadn’t escaped her, how Eloise sometimes looked out the window as if she dreamed of another life entirely.
Wynn had looked out that window, too. Because sometimes you did the best you could with what you were given—and you were grateful for it—but that didn’t stop you from dreaming.
Eloise and Ethel shuffled into the entryway, then down the hall between the kitchen and living room. Jenna had turned down the TV, and their argument regarding the length of Bernadette William’s skirt floated into the kitchen.
“It was too short for Bingo,” Eloise muttered.
“I thought it was pretty,” Ethel argued.
“The fabric was pretty—her bare behind wasn’t!”
Sasha snorted out a laugh.
“Maybe she was airing herself out,” Ethel replied. “Sometimes I like to—”
“Ethel, enough. It’s time for Jeopardy.”
“But I want to watch Wheel of Fortune.”
They ascended the stairs, still arguing.
“You should think about it,” Sasha said. “Beau, I mean. Seriously.”
Wynn shook her head and ignored the wild rush that arrowed through her. “That’s trouble I don’t need.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Well, the seed has been planted.” Sasha pushed to her feet. “Thanks for the pizza. Now I think I’ll go home and air myself out.”
Chapter 6
The dirt and gravel driveway that led to the Owens Boardinghouse was severely rutted and marked with deep, muddy potholes. As Beau steered his truck around the worst of them, he thought one more thing that needs work.
The house, while large and gabled and lined by a broad front porch, looked timeworn and haggard; the paint was peeling and faded from the sun. The old barn behind it drooped. A metal building sat off to one side, the steel rusting and dented, the door crooked on its frame. Behind the collection of buildings, the farm was lush with fruit trees, planting beds, and a healthy pasture filled with frisky black sheep. A dairy cow and two gray donkeys grazed with the sheep; in the middle of the pasture, a huge oak tree unfurled toward the sky, its limbs swaying in the growing wind.
The place was half promise, half disaster.
Wynn Owens, he thought, was swimming upstream. Whether she realized it—or admitted it—or not.
Which may or may not have been motive enough for bank robbery.
Goddamn it.
He pulled the truck to a halt next to an aging orange Volkswagen van and parked. Lightning flashed, illuminating the storm rolling across the valley. It also illuminated Wynn Owens, who stood on the roof of the house, her slender form outlined against the dark, churning mass of clouds.
Beau stared at her, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel until it groaned.
A bright yellow slicker swallowed her; in one hand, she held a hammer. Far below, standing next to an ancient extension ladder that had been propped against the side of the house, stood an old man.
One who wasn’t Earl Barry.
Wynn yelled something down at the man; he yelled back.
Goddamn it.
Fucking insanity. What was it with this woman?
Beau climbed out of his truck, anger licking through him.
He stalked toward the old man, his leg throbbing, his heart pounding with painful intensity.
“Evenin’,” the old man said and nodded. He was tall and lean and gaunt, his bones pressed against his skin as if they were trying to escape. A pair of thick, black-framed eyeglasses dominated his face, making his faded blue eyes huge. He, too, wore a yellow slicker and black mud boots. An old red knit cap covered his head.
“Sheriff Beau Greystone,” Beau said brusquely. “And you are?”
