That Woman in Wyoming

by Sherry Lewis

  “Because I told you not to say anything about me being here to anybody.”

  “I know. But why? What are you hiding from? Or should I ask who?”

  Travis stopped pacing and took a long look at her. A dozen different emotions flickered through his eyes and she could see him trying to decide what to say. “What makes you think I’m hiding?”

  “Because of the way you’re reacting. Just look at you. Who cares if you’re here? Who’s looking for you?”

  “Nobody.” The word snapped out of his mouth. He made a visible effort to pull himself together. “Nobody. I just thought I could trust you, that’s all.”

  “I wish I could believe you,” Reagan said. “But you’re acting as if it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Yeah?” Travis’s eyes narrowed and he gestured angrily. “Well, excuse me. I hate to think how you’d act if the shoe was on the other foot. If I made you a promise and then broke it, you’d never let me forget it.” His voice rose with every word until his voice had become harsh, loud and angry.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she shouted back. “If I brought up all the promises you’ve broken over the years, we’d never talk about anything else.”

  “Do we ever?” Travis shoved the lawn chair out of his way. “Thanks a lot, sis. Thanks for the reminder of how things really are. I’d almost forgotten that no matter what I do, I’m always going to be wrong.” He stormed past her toward the house.

  “Dammit, Travis—” Reagan turned to follow him, but when she saw the girls standing just outside the back door, she broke off guiltily.

  She didn’t want them to get caught in the middle of an argument, especially since she had no idea what was really bothering Travis. She bit back what she’d been about to say and took a calming breath. “Are you girls ready?”

  Danielle nodded without speaking. She could obviously tell this wasn’t the time to push.

  Jamie watched Travis shove his way into the house before answering. “I guess so,” she said as the door banged shut behind him. “If you’re going to make me go.”

  “Don’t start, Jamie.”

  “Why don’t you believe him?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Reagan straightened the chair Travis had shoved onto its side. “Make sure you have all your things and meet me in the car.” She needed a few minutes alone to calm down before she drove anywhere.

  MAX GATHERED HIS determination as he followed the front walk toward Reagan’s house. Last night Reagan had told him dinner would be a bit late—she had to pick up the girls from practice and dance class—but he’d purposely arrived early so he could have a few minutes alone with Travis. Without Reagan and the girls there, he could take Travis into custody. He didn’t even need to step inside. Five minutes, and it could all be over. It was what he should do….

  So, what was stopping him?

  Every second he postponed the inevitable only ensured that the eventual outcome would be more painful. Every lie he told Reagan only made it more certain that she’d detest him when she learned the truth.

  And yet here he was, approaching a possibly armed fugitive without a sidearm of his own. Had he lost his mind? He had half a mind to go back to the car and arm himself, but before he could make that decision, Travis threw open the front door and ran out onto the porch followed by a cloud of smoke.

  Gasping, coughing, Travis bent over and grasped his knees while smoke billowed out into the gathering twilight and the scent of burned food filled the air.

  Max jumped onto the porch, made sure Travis was breathing, and demanded. “Is anyone else inside?”

  Travis shook his head, but when he tried to speak another fit of coughing cut him off.

  “Where’s the fire?”

  Travis gestured with both hands toward the chef’s apron he wore and managed to choke out a few words. “Kitchen. Oven.”

  Max plunged into the house, relieved to find the smoke far less dense than it had first seemed. He found the fire extinguisher he’d noticed hanging inside Reagan’s laundry room, pulled the pin and inched toward the kitchen.

  Smoke poured from the open door, but Max couldn’t see flames. He switched off the oven and opened the patio door and watched the smoke change direction, then made his way to the kitchen window. When he had several windows open, the smoke began to dissipate and he looked up to find Travis watching him.

  “Thanks, man.” Travis dabbed at his eyes with the corner of his apron. “I was pretty out of it for a minute there.”

  Max took in the disaster area that had once been Reagan’s kitchen, now lost beneath a jumble of empty packages, boxes, bowls and utensils on the counter, food spilled on the floor and something that looked like tomato paste dotting the ceiling.

  He suppressed a shudder. “What happened?”

  “I forgot to thaw out the hamburger, so I thought I’d do it in the oven.”

  Max wrinkled his nose against the biting smell of burned paper and charred meat. “Did you take it out of the wrapper?”

  “I couldn’t. It was stuck on.”

  “So you put it into the oven, paper and all?”

  “Well, yeah. But only for a few minutes while I had a beer.” Travis waved his apron to guide smoke toward the window. “I didn’t think this would happen.”

  Max peered at the oven setting and groaned aloud when he saw that Travis had set it to broil. “Do you know anything about cooking?”

  “Apparently not enough.”

  “How soon will Reagan be back?”

  Travis’s brows knit as he squinted through the smoke to look at the clock. “Half an hour. Maybe less.”

  “Then I suggest we get busy. I don’t want her coming home to this disaster.” He started opening drawers, looking for something he could use to clean the counters. “Why don’t you find a garbage bag and start gathering trash?”

  Travis nodded weakly. “Sure. Okay.”

  “Do you know where she keeps her broom and mop?”

  “Mop?”

  “You know…the thing she uses to clean the floor?”

  “I don’t know where she keeps it.” Travis looked around, his eyes blank.

  “We’ll find it later. First, let’s get rid of some of this mess.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I think dinner’s going to be at the Chicken Inn tonight.” Max found a dishcloth and started toward the sink. The guy definitely needed someone to take him in hand and teach him a thing or two.

  Now, where had that thought come from? Max shut off the water quickly and gave himself a mental shake. Travis wasn’t a kid. He was a grown man, a fugitive from justice, not someone deserving of Max’s sympathy.

  He stole another glance at the young man who scowled in concentration while he gathered discarded packages and threw them away. He did look young, Max realized. And almost eager to follow Max’s directions. Maybe Reagan had a point. Maybe Travis had ended up in this fix because he’d been without proper guidance when he was younger.

  Maybe if their father hadn’t been so wrapped up in the grief of losing his wife, if he’d been available to instill some values in his son the way Max’s father had, Travis wouldn’t have drifted into trouble.

  Max followed behind Travis, scrubbing the counter as the younger man cleared it, and he tested his reaction over and over again. He’d never been one of those people who believed in blaming a bad childhood for stupid adult choices. Hell, everyone could find something in their life to blame for what they didn’t like. Max had heard every excuse under the sun, and he’d rolled his eyes in disgust at most of them.

  So why was he falling for this one? Was he getting soft? That thought sent a wave of fear through him. He couldn’t afford to lose his edge. Not if he wanted to stay successful at his job.

  He scrubbed harder, trying to work away the apprehension. He couldn’t let this happen to him, not over some two-time punk like Travis Carmichael.

  But it wasn’t about Travis. It had never been. Max w
as getting soft. He’d turned into a powder puff, and all because of a woman.

  TWO HOURS LATER, Max sat at one end of a long table and waited for the waitress to bring their check. Irritation ate at him like a rash, prickling every nerve, making it almost impossible to sit still. Of course, this wasn’t all Travis’s fault. If Max had arrested Travis earlier, he wouldn’t have been thawing paper under the broiler.

  Reagan was more agitated than Max had ever seen her, but she hadn’t reacted to the fire the way Max had expected her to. Any other woman who’d come home to find her kitchen filled with smoke and her house reeking would have come unglued. Reagan had sighed softly and listened to Travis’s rambling explanation. He was obviously a master at avoiding responsibility, and Reagan was far too used to letting him get away with it.

  Her quiet sadness whenever she looked at Travis only added to Max’s frustration. He wanted to shake some sense into her, to make her understand that Travis wasn’t likely to start accepting responsibility until she stopped taking it all on herself, but it wasn’t his place to say anything.

  Now, as the waitress approached the table, Max watched Travis carefully. He wasn’t a bit surprised when Travis stood quickly. “Hey,” he said to the girls, “come with me. I want to show you something.”

  Both girls looked to their mother for her okay. They’d been horrified by the sight that greeted them when they got home and had been more subdued all evening than Max had ever seen them. Smart girls. They knew when to push and when to become part of the woodwork.

  Though her cheeks flushed slightly, Reagan nodded her permission for them to leave. And Travis made another getaway. He expected someone else to pay for dinner, and someone else would. But, dammit, it wouldn’t be Reagan.

  Max held up a hand to signal the waitress before Reagan could take the small brown plastic tray. “Dinner’s on me tonight.”

  Reagan smiled but made no move to draw her hand back. “That’s sweet of you, but it’s not necessary.”

  “It’s not sweet,” Max said softly. Sweet was about the last thing he felt at the moment. “I just don’t see any reason for you to pay for dinner twice.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “It was Travis’s dinner. What makes you think I bought the groceries?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  Her gaze faltered almost imperceptibly.

  “I’ve seen too many guys like Travis in my life, Reagan. I know the score. It’s not your fault we had to eat out tonight.” Max moved from his seat to the one Jamie had vacated. “Travis should pay the bill, and you know it. But he doesn’t seem interested, and I’m sure as hell not going to let you pay for it.”

  “He can’t pay for it,” Reagan murmured. “He doesn’t have any money.”

  “He must have some or he wouldn’t have been able to get to Serenity in the first place.”

  Reagan’s eyes flashed. “Are you saying he lied to me?”

  “I’m saying it’s possible that he hasn’t told you the whole truth.”

  She shook her head emphatically. “Travis might have his problems, but he wouldn’t do that.”

  Her naïveté frustrated and saddened him. Sooner or later, she’d have to face the truth about her brother. And not just the truth Max had to tell her. The whole truth. Every disheartening piece of it.

  “He’s human,” Max said evenly. “Everyone leaves out pieces of the truth from time to time.”

  She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t.”

  “Never?” Max laughed in disbelief. “You’ve never left out a little bit of the truth, embellished a little or told an outright lie?”

  “Never. At least not since I was little.”

  “Well, then, I admire you. Most people don’t have your control.”

  “It doesn’t take control to be honest,” she said, reaching for the dinner check. “Telling the truth is the easiest thing in the world. You don’t have to worry about keeping your story straight or remembering to whom you’ve told what. Lying is always harder…and wrong.”

  Max pulled the plastic tray away from her. “You’ve never told a lie to protect someone you cared about?”

  “From what?”

  “From the truth.”

  “I’ve never been in a situation where someone needed to be protected from the truth, and I can’t imagine one, either.” She stood quickly and held out her hand as if she expected him to hand the bill over to her. “Travis knows how I feel about the truth.”

  “I’m sure he does. But does he share your opinion?”

  Her eyes darkened to a deep emerald green as they darted around the room to see who was listening. Her cheeks flushed and her lips parted slightly. Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to compose herself. “What’s wrong with you tonight? You’re acting as if Travis’s accident in the kitchen was not only deliberate, but the end of the world.”

  “It’s not that.” Max pulled a few rumpled bills from his pocket and tossed them onto the table for the tip. “I know what happened in the kitchen was an accident, but I do think you should be more upset with him for being careless. He was negligent, Reagan. The oven didn’t spontaneously combust. And I think he should at least have offered to pay for dinner.”

  Reagan stared at him without speaking, but the frustrations of the past week got the best of him.

  “You think I’m making too much out of what happened,” he said. “But I think you’re making too little. He did something stupid and careless. You’re damned lucky you had a house to come home to.”

  Reagan’s eyes narrowed, but not enough to hide the sparks of anger. “It was a mistake,” she said through clenched teeth. “Haven’t you ever made one?”

  Max wished he’d waited until they were outside to start this conversation. “Yes, of course I have. But—”

  “Then cut him some slack.” She pivoted away and started toward the cashier’s station near the front door.

  Swearing under his breath, Max followed. Before he could catch her, she pushed through the heavy glass doors into the night, leaving him to pay the bill. By the time he got away from the chatty hostess and pocketed his change, Reagan, Travis and the girls had disappeared.

  Hoping against hope that they were waiting by the cars, Max hurried to the corner and looked at the spot where she’d parked. But the spot next to his car was empty.

  He’d blown it.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Max sat wearily on the foot of his motel bed and dragged the phone onto his lap. He dialed Reagan’s number twice, but hung up both times before the connection went through. He had no idea what he’d say to her.

  She’d expect an apology, and maybe he owed her one—if not for what he’d said, then for the way he’d said it. But he’d already let the situation get too far out of hand, and he couldn’t keep compounding the problem.

  Mopping his face with his hand, he let out a heavy sigh and tapped the receiver gently against his forehead while he thought. Finally, when the dull ache of hard plastic against his skin began to sink through his misery, he punched in the numbers for his phone card and followed it with his parents’ number.

  Not surprisingly, his mother answered almost immediately. She always kept the phone beside her TV chair in case one of the grandkids called. He could hear the television playing softly in the background and imagined his mother with her glasses perched on the end of her nose, working on one of her counted cross-stitch patterns while she watched.

  “Hi, Mom. Am I interrupting your favorite show?”

  She laughed delightedly and the background noise disappeared, courtesy the mute button. “You must be a mind reader. I just tried to call you. Did you see our number on your caller ID?”

  “I’m not home, Mom.” Max closed his eyes and let his mother’s voice work away some of his tension. Over the years, her Southern drawl had been blurred by the number of places she’d lived, but the soft natural cadence of the low country remained the same. “I’m still out on a case.”

  “The
same one?”

  “The same one. It’s taking a little longer than usual.”

  “I’d say so. Is everything all right?”

  The sound of the extension being lifted made Max hold off on his reply. “You there, Dad?”

  “I’m here. Sounds like you’re in some sort of trouble.”

  “Not really. I was just telling Mom this case is taking longer than I expected.”

  “What’s the holdup?”

  Max smiled and leaned against the headboard. Tom Gardner had never learned to beat around the bush. “It’s complicated.”

  “So…? Spell it out.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it,” his mother suggested.

  His father snorted a laugh. “Nonsense, Alice. Of course he wants to talk about it. He wouldn’t have called otherwise.”

  Max laughed aloud this time. “You know me too well, Dad. Sometimes even better than I know myself.”

  “Well?”

  “I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a mess,” Max admitted. “I’m not sure how to get myself out of it. No…That’s not entirely true. I know how to get out of it, I’m just not sure I want to….”

  “Maybe you’d better explain that,” his mother prodded gently.

  “This’ll probably make you happy,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. “It’s about a woman.”

  “You’ve met someone?” His mother’s tone changed abruptly. She sounded elated.

  “I have. But—”

  “Is it serious?”

  “What I want to know,” his father interrupted, his voice heavy with disapproval, “is what this woman has to do with the case you’re on.”

  “That’s the hard part,” Max admitted. “Her brother’s the guy I’m after.”

  “You’ve gotten involved with a suspect’s sister?” his father demanded. “What were you thinking?”

  “It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t know who she was at first.”

  “You haven’t been there that long, Max. How could you possibly be serious about this woman?”

  “Don’t be so hard on him, Tom,” Max’s mother scolded. And to Max she added, “She’s not a criminal, is she?”