Desert Places

by Erica Abbott

Lea picked her up again. She said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

  She and Jean canvassed the picnic area without success. Lea was all gentle kindness with Cheryl, but Jean could see her anger beginning to build in the flush of Lea’s face. How had the girl’s parents managed to let her get so far away?

  They widened the search radius. At length, Jean asked, “Do you want me to get another officer and see if they can help you look?”

  “Probably a good idea,” Lea acknowledged. A moment later she said sharply, “Wait a minute, Jean.”

  Across the street a man and woman stood arguing on the sidewalk, drawing the uncomfortable glances of those around them. Passersby were giving them a wide berth as their voices rose.

  “Don’t fuck with me!” the man yelled. “You act like I’m a moron or something! I know what you’re doing with him!”

  “You don’t know jack shit!” the woman screamed back at him.

  Lea turned to Jean and said tersely, “Take her.” She handed the girl into Jean’s arms.

  She crossed over to the angry couple and Jean felt a tiny shiver of anxiety. What was she worried about? Surely Lea could take care of herself. But despite the reassurance, she drew closer as if somehow to protect Lea’s back.

  She couldn’t hear the words, but after a moment Lea’s calm voice gave way to a sudden cry as the woman sprang away, rushing toward Jean with her arms widespread. Cheryl cried out, “Mommy!” and Jean handed the child over after glancing over to see Lea’s nod.

  “Oh, baby, where were you?” the woman cried.

  Jean barely muttered, “If you’d been paying even a little bit of attention, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

  The woman didn’t hear her, fortunately, consumed with comforting her daughter. Behind them the man was yelling at Lea now, gesturing wildly with his arms and looking more and more threatening. Jean suffered a moment of indecision—should she go for help?

  “It’s none of your fucking business!” the man yelled at Lea, and Jean made her choice. She moved around them circling toward the man’s back. What she expected to do if things went badly she had no idea, but at least she wasn’t leaving Lea alone.

  Lea said calmly, “You need to walk away for a few minutes, sir, and calm down. Now.”

  “Fuck you!” he screamed again and Jean wondered at Lea’s self-control. Lea was standing carefully just out of the man’s range, watching his hands. Jean was watching them too as he abruptly turned, shifting his weight and bringing his arm back to throw the punch.

  “Lea!” Jean yelled.

  But Lea was already moving out of the way, avoiding the blow almost gracefully and seizing the arm passing near her. With a motion too fast for Jean to follow, she had the man’s arm pinned behind his back. A moment later she put her leg into his knee from behind and dropped him to kneel on the pavement.

  Lea said firmly, “You’re under arrest. Do not resist or you’re going to get hurt.”

  He struggled briefly anyway. Lea tightened her grip and lifted his arm another inch. He winced in pain and cursed her loudly.

  Jean knew what to do now. She ran straight for the nearest uniform.

  “Sheriff Hawkins needs help.” It was all she had to say and right away half a dozen officers were running toward them.

  The next few minutes were all confusion and loud voices, tempered only by Lea’s cool orders as she took charge of everyone else. When a Tesóro police officer with multiple stripes on his sleeves arrived on the scene, Lea gracefully turned the prisoner and the situation over to him, coming to stand near Jean.

  “Sorry about this,” she said quietly to Jean. “This was not the way I wanted to spend the afternoon.”

  “Not your fault. You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. He’s drunk and in a whole lot of trouble. Cheryl’s mom is in some trouble too. Not a good situation for anyone.”

  “No,” Jean agreed. “But the important thing is that the little girl’s all right.”

  “Well, sort of,” Lea said unhappily. “If they decide to book Mom on child neglect charges, Cheryl will be with a relative tonight if she’s lucky or foster care if she’s not.”

  “Oh.” Jean remembered the consequences visited on children by their self-centered parents.

  “It may not come to that,” Lea said and Jean realized she was trying to reassure her. “The girl wasn’t hurt and her mother will probably just be issued a misdemeanor ticket. Mom will be able to take her home. Dad, of course, is in a lot more trouble.”

  “Attempted assault,” Jean muttered with satisfaction. “Public intoxication and child neglect. Resisting arrest too, I imagine.”

  “Yep. Overnight in jail, at least. I’m going to have to go down to Tesóro Police HQ and make a statement. And so will you, I’m afraid. Again, I’m really sorry about all this.”

  “I just wish we’d gotten to finish our burgers first,” Jean sighed.

  * * *

  The sun was setting by the time they left the downtown police building. The few clouds hanging over the mountains caught garish shades of orange and peach as the peaks seemed to reach up to pull the sun down behind them. The air had cooled and Jean was glad for her sweater.

  “Do you want dinner?” Lea asked. “I feel bad that you didn’t get all of your lunch.”

  “I could certainly afford to miss a meal or two,” Jean said ruefully.

  With a steady look, Lea said, “Not as far as I can see.”

  Was she flirting or just being nice? Jean wondered. But she had anticipated the dinner invitation and she had already decided that she needed to go home. Lea was just a little too appealing, kind and thoughtful and strong. And she was a client and Jean was not in the market for a relationship.

  “I’m a little tired. I think I’ll just go on home, but thanks,” she said.

  Lea might have been a little disappointed, but Jean couldn’t read her. Lea said, “Okay. I’ll walk you back.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Giving her the crooked half smile Lea said, “Yes, I know.”

  They walked all the way back to Jean’s building in silence, a comfortable quiet. Jean couldn’t keep from comparing her to Charlotte, who would talk nonstop in her manic moods and refused to interact in her depressed phases. There had been sparks at times, certainly, but there had never been a comfortable silence between them of any kind.

  When they arrived at Jean’s building, Lea said, “Guess I’ll have to give you a rain check for next year’s festival.”

  Jean said dryly, “I’ll put it on my calendar. With my busy social schedule, I get booked up so quickly.”

  “Well, I knew that,” Lea said. “That’s why I wanted to get my request in early. Have a good evening.”

  The sun had dipped below the jagged horizon of the hills in the west, turning the sky above them deep crimson and scarlet. Jean tried to feel relieved as she watched Lea walk back down the street toward her truck.

  But the effort was unsuccessful. She needed to get a handle on this attraction and soon. Lea Hawkins is not an option, Jean reminded herself once again.

  Chapter Six

  Jean was washing her hands in the ladies’ room at work when Carolyn Forsythe emerged from a stall and joined her at the sinks.

  “Commissioner,” Jean greeted her.

  “Ms. McAllister. Jean, isn’t it? I haven’t had a chance to tell you how pleased we are that you came to work at San Carlos County. Del thinks very highly of you.”

  Does he? Jean wondered cynically, but said only, “I’m very glad to be here, I truly am.”

  “Yes, we believe we’re the premier county in Colorado,” Carolyn continued, “and our staff is one of the reasons why. We know you came very highly recommended from, hmm, California, correct?”

  Carolyn was treating her less like a professional colleague and more like a well-recommended caterer, but Jean had been employed by local government long enough to know how to play the game.

 
“Yes, California,” she confirmed. “And I must say, both the weather and the traffic are wonderful here in comparison.”

  Carolyn beamed at her happily. “Yes, people think Colorado is so cold, but really, almost all of the snow is in the mountains. Most of the time it’s really nice and mild on the Front Range.”

  Jean dried her hands and applied some lotion. This ladies’ room served only the county offices, not the general public, so the commissioners’ staff made sure there was always air freshener and hand lotion available.

  “Are you a native of Colorado?” Jean asked. She’d been here long enough to know how many people living in the state had been born somewhere else.

  Carolyn looked almost embarrassed. “No, but I’ve lived here since Andy and I got married and his company transferred him, oh, it’s been almost thirty years ago. We raised our kids here, so it certainly feels like home.”

  “Of course it does,” Jean said, wondering how much more small talk she could manage. “Are your children still here?”

  “Cindy’s up at college in Greeley, Colorado State. Andy Junior is with the Peace Corps in South America, teaching English in Peru.” She sighed deeply and added, “We’re so proud of him.”

  Something in her tone made Jean doubt her words but she said, “You should be. What a fine thing for him to do.”

  “Yes,” Carolyn said, still sounding dubious. Apparently she wanted her son home pursuing his corporate—or perhaps political—career.

  Jean said, “Well, back to work. It was nice to see you.”

  Carolyn laid a hand on her arm. She said, “Wait. Has Del told you about the Harvest Moon Party?”

  “No,” Jean said, trying to suppress her surprise. Why on earth would her boss ask her about a party?

  “It’s sort of a social event for high-ranking county staff, elected officials and, of course, prominent people in both political parties. It’s, well, rather expected that the department heads and their deputies attend.” She gave Jean an interesting smile, partly imperious yet shy as well. “You really should attend. It’s Saturday night. There is always a theme of some kind.”

  “A costume party?” Jean tried not to sound dismayed.

  Carolyn laughed lightly. “Not really, but you do want to dress appropriately. It’s a western theme this year because Lou Hawkins is hosting it at his ranch. He’s Sheriff Hawkins’s father, you know. Very politically active family, the Hawkinses. Well, her parents, really. The sheriff doesn’t go in as much for politics, but of course anyone who holds elective office has to be involved to a certain extent…”

  Her voice trailed off and before she could gather energy for another topic, Jean said, “Sounds like fun. I’m sure Del just forgot to tell me about it.”

  Carolyn patted her arm in a friendly way. “I’m sure that’s true. He’s so very busy. We do keep him running.”

  “Yes. Did you hear about the former public works employee who was suing us, Fred Lambert?”

  Carolyn’s face fell. “Oh, yes, poor man. I know Hayward really resented him, but how sad! His poor wife, finding him like that. Del did tell us that would end the lawsuit, of course.”

  Did he? Jean wondered why Del was so determined to bury Lambert’s lawsuit so quickly. Maybe it was time to look at the file sitting in her office.

  “I’ll see you on Saturday night,” Carolyn called cheerfully as Jean left the restroom.

  * * *

  Where on earth was she going to find an outfit to go with a western theme? She could manage the cowboy boots. She and Charlotte occasionally rode early in their relationship though it had been years since she’d worn the boots for their intended purpose. But boots alone weren’t going to be enough. What else could she wear? Her jeans hardly seemed suitable.

  She was still pondering the problem when she passed by her paralegal’s desk. Struck by sudden inspiration she asked, “Rita, you’ve never been to the Harvest Moon Party, have you?”

  “Oh, no!” Rita exclaimed. “It’s only for elected officials and department heads and people like that. Why?”

  “Because Commissioner Forsythe pretty much just ordered me to attend and I have no idea what to wear.”

  Rita tapped her fingers lightly against her keyboard. “What’s the party theme this year?”

  “Western, Commissioner Forsythe said. It’s at the Hawkins’s ranch.”

  Rita smiled. “Well, that’s good news. At least the food and the music will be good. The word is that Linda Hawkins knows how to throw a party.”

  “Isn’t the party always a good one?” Jean asked.

  Rita laughed. “Goodness, no! The elected officials sort of rotate hosting duties and two years ago it was Netta Telford, the county clerk.” She lowered her voice. “She had it at the convention center downtown and everybody who went was complaining about the band playing ‘Macarena’ over and over. And they had a caterer who used Cheez Whiz on the canapés. Seriously.”

  Jean shuddered at the thought of Cheez Whiz and the paralegal chuckled again. Rita had always been so serious when they were working together that Jean welcomed her laughter. “Look,” Jean said impulsively, “I really don’t know where to go shopping yet. If I buy lunch, would you go shopping with me, to try to find something for me to wear? If you’re not busy,” she added hastily.

  Rita looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “I love shopping,” she admitted, “and the peanut butter sandwich I brought for lunch can certainly wait. Come get me when you’re ready. I have a couple of places in mind. There’s a great vintage clothing store a couple of blocks away that might be perfect.”

  The vintage store, Yesterday’s Glory, yielded the perfect blouse: a calico with a single ruffle down the placket and a western-style yoke. They couldn’t find a skirt, but Rita had a plan.

  “Just go with a denim skirt, long enough to get to the top of your boots,” she said as they ate their burritos. “And not too dark blue, you want it to go with the blue in the shirt.”

  In genuine admiration, Jean said, “You have a knack for this. Maybe you should drop by my condo every morning and pick out my outfits.”

  “You look fine,” Rita said seriously. “Very professional.”

  “Hmm. Is that your way of saying I look boring?”

  Rita ducked her head, pushing her fork through the refried beans. “No, it’s just…I know you haven’t worked in Colorado before and we’re kinda more, you know, casual here.”

  Gently amused, Jean said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Perhaps I could leave the suits at home on days when I don’t have a meeting.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you what to do—” Rita began to protest, but Jean cut her off. “No, I didn’t take it that way at all,” she said kindly. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, I do.”

  Rita sighed, apparently relieved. “It’s a nice place, Painted Horse Ranch.”

  “I know,” Jean responded. “I’ve been there.” At Rita’s curious look, Jean explained her visit on the day she went out to do the deposition preparation.

  “Oh,” Rita said. After a long pause, she said, “So you met Loren, I guess.”

  Was there a faint blush on her cheeks? Jean suppressed her smile and answered, “Yes. He was very charming. A handsome man. It’s very sad about what happened to him.”

  Rita looked genuinely distressed. “It was so terrible for him. I’m—I’m glad he’s doing better.”

  ”You know him, then?”

  Rita nodded. “We went to high school together, Joya High. He was a couple of years ahead of me. I’m sure he doesn’t remember me.”

  Maybe so, Jean thought, maybe not. But remembering Loren’s flirting with her, she was willing to bet he might very much want to know Rita now. She’d just have to come up with some way to renew their acquaintance. Maybe Lea would have an idea.

  She’d managed not to think much about Lea being at the party, but now she realized she was looking forward to seeing her again. Jean sighed. She was going to need a strat
egy for dealing with her emotions. The problem was made more difficult since she couldn’t tell what Lea might be feeling.

  Friendship, she reminded herself, that was what she was aiming for here. The sheriff and her family obviously had a lot of influence in county affairs and it was certainly in her best long-term employment interest to maintain a good relationship with Lea Hawkins.

  This tactic would work beautifully as soon as she could get a grip on what was, she admitted, her growing personal interest in Lea. Jean recognized it for what it was: she had just been alone too long. Even before it ended with Charlotte, she’d been without a lover for a long while. She would be able to overcome this. It would be all right. It was just temporary.

  She just wished she could stop feeling so cold all the time.

  * * *

  As Jean walked up to the barn at Painted Horse Ranch, she remembered the greeting she’d gotten from the dogs on her last visit. She wondered where Wyatt and Doc had been sequestered for the duration of the party. The yard in front of the house was full of cars and trucks and SUVs, carefully parked away from Linda Hawkins’s desert garden, protected by ropes strung along poles around the borders. The path to the barn had been well lit by strings of white lights draped along the fence rails of the corral. The air was filled with the woody sweet scents of piñon and mesquite.

  The barn doors were fully open, bright light pouring like a silver waterfall across the sandy ground. The light didn’t quite reach the porch, which lay in deep shadows. The lights were off in the house too.

  Music rippled out of the barn, guitars and a fiddle. Someone was singing an old Johnny Cash tune in a reasonable baritone and Jean felt herself drawn into the light, the music and the voices.

  She smoothed her denim skirt, which was the perfect color blue, and stepped into the barn. She didn’t know where the horses had been stabled, but the barn was clean as an operating room, scrubbed and pristine. There were curtains hung in front of mock windows, each tied back with red kerchiefs. The massive food table was covered with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth and laid with dozens of dishes. Jean cruised closer and did a survey: tamales and what looked to be Linda’s near-lethal chili, piles of tortillas and chips and salsa and queso, a huge neat pile of smoked beef brisket alongside soft white sandwich buns, all supplemented with the required vegetable and fruit trays. The drinks were at another table, bottles and cans iced down in huge galvanized tubs. At one end of the barn, the Hawkins had built a small stage for the musicians. The quartet of two guitars, drummer and singer had segued into a Garth Brooks song.