Country Strong--A Novel

by Linda Lael Miller

  That answer didn’t seem quite enough for Mary Jean, who probed into other reasons. Horse-training sessions were available in a lot of places, and Painted Pony Creek couldn’t have good memories for her, could it?

  Shallie gave up. “You’re right. One of the reasons I’m here is to see if I can learn more about my mother.”

  “I’m sorry if my question was inappropriate,” Mary Jean said as Len frowned.

  “No, it’s okay. Obviously this is on my mind a lot.”

  “Let us know if we can help, if there’s anything we can do,” Mary Jean told her.

  “Thanks,” Shallie said.

  After the serious part of the conversation, they shared the occasional joke or anecdote. Len was particularly fond of real-life “stupid criminal” stories, a number of which he was happy to share. Like the one about the idiot who’d locked his staff in a storage room while he made off with the company’s profits; he’d collected everyone’s cell phone—but hadn’t realized the room had a landline!

  As they all prepared to leave, the Lewises for their nephew’s place and Shallie for Russell’s, she told them she’d met Ted at the Classic Country Night recently and had liked him. Mary Jean and Len didn’t have kids themselves but were close to their nieces and nephews. Shallie invited them—on Cord’s behalf, confident he’d be fine with it—to join them on the porch at four thirty or five for a drink and more conversation. About smart animals...and stupid criminals. She hoped their current criminal, the creep who went around releasing animals, would prove to be as stupid as some of the idiots in their stories, idiots who’d gotten themselves arrested...

  * * *

  CORD LEANED BACK in his chair at the conference table in Eli’s office. Eli sat at the head. Amos Edwards and Oliver Boone, two of his deputies, were on either side of Cord, while Mitch and fellow horse rancher, Miles Carey, sat across from them. Several others had joined the group, and the expression on every face was grim.

  Eli briskly called the meeting to order, as he was wont to do. Cord had long figured Eli craved that sense of control, that way of encouraging (or more accurately, demanding) discipline. He summarized the situation, while Amos took notes on his laptop, then asked for any other information. A few people added their own evidence: the gate to Miles’s property was broken but his security system had sounded an alarm, and that was the end of that attempt, reminding Cord to recheck the effectiveness of his own alarm; Ellis Rogers mentioned empty beer cans on the road by his place.

  Cord couldn’t help remembering Eli’s suspicions about his nephew—and desperately hoped Eric wasn’t involved.

  “Okay,” Eli said. “We need to organize patrols. Deputy Edwards, can you take care of that?”

  Amos nodded.

  “We need to invest in more cameras and security equipment—all of you privately, if you haven’t already. Your property insurance should cover at least some of that. We’ll buy surveillance cameras on behalf of the department, too.”

  Everyone murmured agreement.

  Cord excused himself when a text came in at three thirty. Shallie, asking if it would be okay to have the Lewises over for a drink late afternoon. They were looking forward, she said, to seeing him.

  Of course, he texted back. Tell them I look forward to seeing them, too. I’ll be there in an hour or so.

  Cord had a good feel for the kind of people the Lewises were, and even when he’d left the ranch, he could tell that Shallie was getting on well with them.

  He returned his attention to the group just as Eli described his plan to put out a bulletin on all available media. After that, the meeting came to a close. “Anyone want to discuss this further?” Eli asked. “We’ll meet at Sully’s.”

  “Yeah, I’m in,” Cord said, “but only for about an hour. Have to get home to see a couple of new clients.” Mitch wasn’t joining them at Sully’s because he had errands to do, which was why they’d taken separate cars.

  * * *

  THE LEWISES HAD arrived early. They’d spent the last forty-five minutes with Shallie, enjoying the warm sunshine and a cold drink, the dogs happily slumped at their feet. The three of them continued their afternoon conversation while enjoying their wine and nuts mixed with dried cranberries.

  They were just discussing an article Mary Jean had read about consciousness in animals when they were interrupted. Carly appeared on the path to the porch and came stumbling up the steps, crying loudly. Between sobs, she managed to tell them she’d found a dog who’d been hit by a car on a little-used country road near Mitch and Tina’s trailer. Tina and her visiting niece, ten-year-old Ashley, were with the dog right now, watching her; Mitch was out and he had their car, so he couldn’t take them to the vet.

  Len Lewis immediately offered to drive over, pick up the dog, take them to the local clinic. Once he’d retrieved his car, Mary Jean got in the front seat, and Carly and Shallie climbed in the back, after they’d put the dogs in the house.

  Shallie called Cord on her cell; he said he’d get in touch with the vet, Dr. Barbara Ferguson, and call back. A minute later, he gave her the vet’s address and told her Barb was at her clinic waiting for them. He’d meet them there as well.

  They arrived at the accident scene and Len carefully lifted the dog, a female beagle with no collar or tags, placing her across their laps. Tina and Ashley gently hugged the little dog goodbye and went home. The poor animal was whimpering but mostly silent, obviously in great pain. Shallie wanted to cry at her agony. She and Carly stroked her head and long soft ears, careful not to touch her injuries. Neither cared about the blood seeping into their clothes in spite of the towel Tina had draped over them.

  “I hope she’ll be okay,” Carly said. “Please let her be okay.”

  Shallie leaned over to hug Carly. “I’m sure she will be. She was lucky you found her. And I hear this vet is good.”

  “I want her to live,” Carly said. “She deserves to.”

  “I know Dr. Ferguson will do everything she can and so will we.”

  Arriving at the clinic, they discovered Cord already there. Barb, a woman in her late forties with long graying hair, was instantly attentive, but the information Carly could provide was limited. Cord introduced everyone to everyone else, something Shallie had completely forgotten to do.

  With Cord’s help, Barb took the dog into an exam room; ten or so minutes later, they both emerged. The dog was young, Barb said, estimating about two years, not spayed and not microchipped. Her injuries were serious—blood loss, a broken pelvis, a broken paw. She was malnourished, too. She’d be in the clinic for at least a week.

  Cord made the down payment and told Barb’s assistant, William, that he’d cover the whole cost. Carly objected and insisted she’d contribute; Shallie said she’d like to help, too, and even the Lewises wanted to kick in.

  Barb told them she’d do the surgery tomorrow morning. Carly thanked her and said she planned to visit the next afternoon and maybe Wednesday, too. Barb lived nearby and tended to maintain fairly open hours.

  On the way home, they decided to stop at Bailey’s for dinner.

  During their meal, Cord told them a little more about the current crime wave—the release of farm and ranch animals—and described his own plans to deal with the situation. “We’re doing patrols. Amos at the sheriff’s office is working out the schedules and the routes. Plus, Mitch and I will do regular checks on the property, even though we already have a good security system.” It all made sense to Shallie, although she was distracted by Carly’s emotional state. The girl was fidgeting, glancing around. Naturally, she was upset about the cruelty to animals Cord had mentioned and about the injured beagle, but Shallie felt there was more to her anxiety.

  * * *

  EXHAUSTED THOUGH SHE WAS, Carly couldn’t get to sleep for hours, and checking her cell phone didn’t help. She got up when her alarm went off at nine. Tina had promised to d
rive her to visit the beagle that afternoon, but there were chores to do first.

  Carly acknowledged to herself that she was truly happy being with animals—something she’d only begun to experience in her former life, with Dooley. This wasn’t an interest she’d shared with Reba. Instead, it was something she had in common with Cord.

  She tried to shut down that thought, figuring there was nothing genetic about a love of animals...

  But J.P., too, was a proven animal-lover. Both potential fathers who understood her, understood something important about her.

  She wondered if she could adopt the little beagle. And yet, with her own situation so uncertain, she understood that it wasn’t practical. Or fair. Still, she loved the idea.

  Tina spent the morning dealing with laundry, and Carly helped. “Thanks for taking care of my stuff, Tina. And Shallie’s.”

  “Shallie wanted to do her own, but I said I’d handle it. I had to insist. Like I keep telling her, she’s our guest. Our paying guest, at that.”

  Typical of Shallie and Tina.

  After lunch, they drove into town to visit the vet’s clinic and she felt so welcomed by Barb. “You deserve a lot of credit for this dog’s survival. Come on back and visit her.” Barb led them both to the recovery area. The poor little beagle was barely conscious, but the vet assured them she’d come through the surgery well. She also planned to spay her and administer the necessary vaccinations as soon as possible.

  Barb opened the cage so Carly could give her “little girl” a kiss on the forehead and ears, careful not to dislodge the IV. Then she and Tina wandered over to a local coffee shop, The Real Bean, where they ordered coffee, sat at a table for two and enjoyed the country soundtrack.

  All of a sudden, Carly noticed that the two couples from Country Classics Night had entered the café. One of the girls—the one who’d tried to talk to her at the drugstore—approached and apologized. She introduced herself as Lindsey Morgan; they talked about music but Lindsey was discreet enough not to mention “Charlotte’s” YouTube channel. The guy who seemed to be her boyfriend was fairly nice-looking, but obviously quite enthralled with himself.

  He walked over and joined them at their table, ignoring Tina. But he acted way too interested in Carly, which clearly didn’t please Lindsey. Or Carly for that matter. The boyfriend, if that was indeed his role, openly asked Carly for her phone number. She scowled at him and said she and Tina had to go. What a creep!

  The current song, Dolly Parton’s “Jolene,” ended and Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line” came on next. Suddenly, the guy grabbed Carly by the wrists, pulling her to a stand, saying, “Hey, I dance the line.” He awkwardly swayed her around and between tables, despite her resistance, and to Lindsey’s obvious embarrassment. Finally, Carly managed to yank herself free. “Don’t desecrate Johnny Cash, you idiot. And don’t humiliate your girlfriend.”

  Tina was already on her feet. “Smarten up, Eric! Do you want your mother—or your uncle—to hear about this?”

  He gave her the finger, and Carly felt even more outraged, but didn’t dignify his rudeness with a response of her own, merely sending Lindsey a sympathetic look. As they left, she asked Tina who this creep was. Eric Worth, she told her.

  “You mean Eric Worthless,” Carly muttered. “And who’s his uncle?”

  “That would be Eli Garrett—Sheriff Eli Garrett.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, Carly asked permission to observe Shallie, Cord and the Lewises, who were already involved in their horse session. This time they focused on Annie, on expanding her confidence and teaching her some simple commands—walk, stop and stand, allow her face to be stroked. She was equally responsive to all four people (no doubt, Shallie thought, enjoying her new life). Cord said he was satisfied with everyone’s progress, including Annie’s.

  Shallie could tell that Carly had enjoyed the experience; she, too, had connected with Len and Mary Jean, and they agreed that once their session had ended, they’d all get together again, either here or in Missoula.

  At four, Shallie—feeling her life was just as scheduled as it’d been when she was working—left to visit Russ at the Painted Pony Motel. She brought some snacks, which Tina had helpfully provided, simple things like cheese and crackers and some cut-up veggies with dip. She knew he’d have liquid refreshments aplenty.

  When she arrived, she was surprised to find him waiting in the office. Shallie made herself comfortable as he suggested—which was a challenge in that place. She would’ve preferred the floor to the ancient, hard-backed guest chair. He’d taken the only other one, a worn-out desk chair that still had a little padding. He’d placed the snacks and a bottle of bourbon, some brand she’d never come across, on the desk beside his laptop, which he’d moved there since her last visit, then poured her a partial glass, throwing in half-melted ice from a small dented bowl. He topped up his own drink.

  Shallie glanced around the room, almost shocked at how spare and tidy it was now, compared to how it had looked when she’d arrived. What she remembered from the old days was a mess of papers and files, a guest book that always seemed to go missing, various shabby magazines, an overstuffed rubbish pail. Russ had clearly made an effort to do some cleaning and sorting.

  She reached for a slice of cheese and took a small sip of her watered-down bourbon. He took a big gulp of his—likely not watered down and clearly not his first of the day.

  Shallie felt self-conscious and, judging by his awkward expression, Russ did, too. The one subject they had in common was their shared past, so she started by asking him about Della and Norm, whose deaths had been so close together, and how he’d dealt with it. He shrugged, but didn’t answer. Then he grinned. “Do you remember the time he got drunk and assigned the same room to three different customers? You woulda been around ten.”

  “Actually, yes,” she said with a laugh. “What I remember most is how furious Della was. She had to talk all of them—one was a couple, right?—into not leaving. She not only gave two of them new rooms but gave everyone a discount.”

  She and Russ exchanged a playful smile at the memory.

  From there they went on to recall several other humiliating incidents. Like the time the curtains in Room 5 fell down. And the plumbing disaster in Room 4—with water from a flooded toilet seeping under the door into the hallway.

  Then, without any warning, Russ told her, “You’ve probably already figured this out, but I’m pretty unhappy. I have no idea what to do with my life. Never really did. The property’s worth practically nothing. I get the occasional guest, don’t have any employees. I don’t have a college degree or real job experience. Haven’t been anywhere. I’ve got hardly any friends.”

  Shallie felt a surge of compassion for him and, perhaps oddly, respect. His circumstances were troubling but his honesty was hopeful. She resolved that if she could help him, she would. She’d have to encourage him to come up with some plans, though, and be willing to change his life.

  She mentioned Bethanne. He said they hadn’t been in touch for some years. According to him, she’d been doing well, which Shallie already knew, with a husband, a business somewhere in Texas, but he suspected she’d taken “the long slide.” They agreed they should try to make contact again, hoping she was still alive...

  After that, she said something about Reba, about missing her, and he confided that he’d “had a huge crush on her back in the day.”

  Yeah, you and everyone else.

  She brought him up to date; he hadn’t heard about Reba’s death—or about Carly, never mind the situation regarding the girl’s unknown father and the three contenders for that position.

  “Shit, I feel bad about Reba. And it’s gotta be hard on the kid.”

  “It’s very hard.”

  “Hey, maybe I should take bets around town. Who’s this girl’s dad? Personally, I’m betting on... Eli.”
>
  “None of our business,” she said sharply.

  At last, she broached the subject of Christine Fletcher, and he told her what he could recollect, but there was nothing she didn’t already know, most of it from her childhood—except for the Chicago phone call, which she’d heard about in their previous conversation.

  Shallie asked if he thought Christine had come from Chicago, based on that call.

  “Never heard,” he replied. “But I guess it makes sense. I never actually found out anything about her from Norm and Della.” It wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t refer to them as Mom and Dad. “And nothing about her husband,” he added. “Or partner as they now seem to say. Who knows if they were even married?”

  “You mean...my father?”

  “Well, yeah.” He raised the bourbon bottle, but she shook her head.

  “He certainly didn’t try to get in touch with me,” she told him.

  “My guess,” Russ said slowly, “is that he’s dead. I wonder if we can find out.”

  “I’m not sure why I never tried. Well...we don’t even know his name. And, for me, it’s always been about Christine.”

  “You’ve got this detective working for you now. Eddie, right? Bet he could find out in about five seconds.”

  “We’ll know soon enough. I hope.”

  “Guess we will. This guy’s going to come up with all the pieces and then put them together.” An obvious comment, perhaps, but a fitting one. Christine was a puzzle.

  “Now, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asked, almost sure she already knew the answer.

  As expected, he said, “Not much.” Taking a noisy gulp of his cheap bourbon, he said he watched a variety of shows on Netflix, one of his indulgences. He also got books from the small local library, mostly digital.