A Wyoming Christmas to Remember

Home > Other > A Wyoming Christmas to Remember > Page 10
A Wyoming Christmas to Remember Page 10

by Melissa Senate


  Wait a minute. Yes. That was it. That was where he’d heard the name Russtower—the surname on the second Holiday Happymakers envelope. A couple months ago, Reed, one of his detectives, had called in a break-in at the community center where he taught his multiples class early in the morning before the traditional workday to make it easier for fathers to attend, since they could bring their babies. Overnight, someone had stolen the props the teachers used for the various baby classes—bottles, burp cloths, diapers, even the curved pad for baby changing. Sawyer had been a couple of doors down and had come over to help with the investigation. He’d asked Maddie if MacLeod’s could let the center borrow some items until they were replaced, and of course the MacLeods donated a heap of new baby paraphernalia—all within fifteen minutes so that Reed’s class could go on as planned.

  Sawyer had stuck around the class, going over the list of registrants, which had included a petty thief named Vince Russtower. Russtower had shown up for class with a one-month-old baby and was struggling; Reed had spent a lot of time with him, repositioning his baby son in his arms, helping him angle the bottle. Reed was sure a few items in Russtower’s bag looked like a few of the stolen items, including a blue-and-white baby blanket, but he couldn’t be sure, and the case had gone cold.

  Sawyer put Shane back in his carrier beside his brother, picked both up and went inside his office. He settled them on the floor, both babies looking at the pastel spinning mobiles attached to the carriers. They seemed happy enough for now.

  He reached into the basket on his desk for the envelope from Holiday Happymakers. The one from Jake Russtower. He typed Russtower into the database. Bingo. Vince Russtower had been arrested twice this year for petty theft. He’d stolen a package of steak from the grocery store, and the manager and owner had decided to drop the charges. Then he’d stolen a chocolate heart from the Valentine’s Day aisle at the drugstore, and the manager had also declined to follow through with charges, so the case had been dropped. Sawyer had no doubt Vince had been the one to steal the baby items from the community center; it was the guy’s MO. A sad MO, at that. A package of steak. A chocolate heart for his wife. Baby bottles and a baby blanket. It was theft all the same, but the kind of theft that made Sawyer think about a person’s bank account and desperation.

  Sawyer pulled Jake’s request out of the envelope and read it again.

  I’m not getting anything for Christmas because my father only cares about his stupid new wife and always-crying new baby. I could use a bike so I don’t have to ask him for rides anywhere. Whatever. This is just fake Santa. I’m sure I won’t be getting anything.

  —Jake Russtower.

  Something in the kid’s tone had gotten under his skin, reminded him of himself at that age, he guessed. Sawyer usually volunteered at the community center once a month and knew they had a kids’ group there that met after school and on weekends. And now there was a new baby at home—and the new wife. He’d stop by the center tomorrow and see if Jake hung out there. There was strong outreach in the schools to make sure kids who seemed troubled or distracted were aware of the center, so there was a good chance Jake did go there. He’d check on him, make sure the kid was okay.

  He heard a key in the front door, and he took the carriers over to say hi to Maddie.

  “The bits of conversation I recalled with Jenna really happened,” she said, taking off her gloves and hat and putting them in a basket by the door. “My memory is definitely on its way back.”

  That had never been in any doubt, but he was glad she’d gotten that confirmed for herself.

  “I had your favorite at Dee’s. Mmm, those home fries were amazing.”

  He smiled. “I wouldn’t mind having some right now.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I got you a bacon and cheese omelet with a side of home fries to go,” she said, holding up a white bag.

  He was starving and grateful. “That was very thoughtful. Thank you.”

  “Kiddos give you any trouble?”

  “Well, they did scream their heads off for longer than usual, but I managed to get it under control. Look at them now—so curious and alert. You’d never know they’d almost punctured my eardrums a half hour ago.”

  Maddie laughed. “Well, how about I take these guys into the living room for story time while you eat your breakfast.”

  He was about to tell her he’d prefer they all joined him in the kitchen, but she’d already picked up the carriers and headed to the living room. Which was interesting because, for a while there, he’d been counting the minutes until she got back so he wasn’t solely responsible for the twins. Sometimes they were easy; sometimes they were a heck of a lot of work, and four hands were better than two with two tiny rabble-rousers.

  As he went into the kitchen with his takeout and sat down to eat alone, he had to admit he missed Maddie and the babies. He poured himself a mug of coffee, struck by the notion that needing help with them and missing them were two very different things.

  Talk about getting under his skin. The newborns had burrowed under the way Maddie had when he was too young to know to keep her out. He’d actually once told the marriage counselor exactly that when she’d asked how he’d managed to get himself married when he’d vowed never to have a family. A wife was family, the counselor had pointed out. Unnecessarily, he might have added.

  Because Maddie has always been family, he’d explained. He’d loved her from his earliest memories. The counselor had tried to open up his mind to what that meant, but Sawyer hadn’t been having it. Then she’d tried to connect it to his push-pull with his brother, whom he’d also loved from his earliest memories, even if the relationship had rarely been easy, and he hadn’t been having that either. Twice, he’d walked out of the room. Maddie had been pissed as hell both times.

  So what does it all mean? he asked himself the way the counselor might have. The problem was that Sawyer didn’t want to know, didn’t want to think about it. That was Maddie’s true issue with him. The refusal to dig deep, to “do the work,” as she called it. At the time he’d thought, Lord, save me from Dr. Phil. But now all he could think was that if he’d “done the work,” if he’d dug, Maddie would never have gotten into that car accident. She wouldn’t have lost her memory.

  He sighed and sat down, his appetite gone, but he opened up the container and ate, since Maddie had been nice enough to bring it home for him. He popped a home fry into his mouth, listening to Maddie tell the boys a story about a striped purple rabbit named Bunnito with long, floppy green ears. Her story was so ridiculous that he found himself smiling, everything forgotten but her melodic voice and the silly antics of Bunnito. He ate his breakfast, enjoying every bite now, finishing up so that he could join them in the living room.

  He wanted to be with them. His wife and the newborns. He did miss them. Well, they were his abandoned nephews—of course they’d gotten under his skin. Of course he wanted to take care of them along with the wife he loved.

  He wondered if that bit of introspection counted as “doing the work.” He could hear Maddie in his mind saying: Are you freaking kidding me? You’re rationalizing. Abandoned—please. You love them. Just admit it—to yourself if not to me. Same as you’d love your own babies if you’d let yourself have them.

  Wow, did he know his wife well. Himself, not so much.

  * * *

  Sawyer had to go into the PD for several hours that afternoon to guide his rookie through a difficult case, and good old-fashioned police work had taken his mind off home. The precinct, the protocol, his staff—all of it so familiar that he’d relaxed the moment he’d arrived, unaware of how tight his shoulders had been until the muscles actually unbunched and knots came loose.

  That he was better as a cop than he’d ever be as a father was not news.

  “You’re like the dad I never had,” Justin Mobley said then, making Sawyer do a double take. Sawyer had been explaini
ng a tricky issue regarding search and seizure when Mobley clapped him on the shoulder and made the pronouncement.

  “What?” Sawyer managed on a cough.

  “I was raised by a single mom who was great, but whenever I’m mentored by an older gentleman, I feel like I have a dad in those moments.”

  “Mobley, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m thirty-two. Not fifty-two.”

  Mobley tilted his head and examined Sawyer’s face. “Are you? You seem older. You don’t look older. You just seem older.”

  “That’s because I’m the chief, Mobley. Wise beyond my years. Experience will do that to you.”

  “What’s Barelli’s excuse?” Officer Benitez joked, tossing a wad of paper at Reed.

  “Hilarious,” Reed said, tossing it back.

  Ah, Sawyer could stay here all day. And night. Sometimes he had, when the thought of going home had seemed...like an argument waiting for him. That had been wrong. He realized that now. He needed to be more like Maddie—to face things head-on, to blurt out the truth, to ask the questions. Not take cover like a perp. Hide. Hope not to get caught.

  That wasn’t who he wanted to be.

  “Hey, Reed,” he said, turning in his swivel chair toward the detective. “Do newborns think? Or do they just feel? It’s not like they can follow a conversation.”

  Reed raised an eyebrow. “They know if they want something, even if they’re not sure what that is—food, a dry diaper, a cuddle, a burp, a bottle.”

  “But if I’m, say, thinking out loud to Max and Shane, I won’t be scarring them for life?”

  Reed smiled. “Not until they’re at least eighteen months.”

  “Good to know, thanks, Barelli.” He swiveled back around, wondering if eighteen months from now the twins would still be in the nursery, Cole nowhere to be found.

  He had to get his mind off his brother. He wrapped up the day at the police station, then stopped by the community center to see if Jake Russtower was part of the after-school group. He realized he had no idea what the kid looked like. Good police work, there, Wolfe. But then he saw Vince Russtower come through the door, wave at a kid, who jogged over, and Vince put the kid’s backpack over his own shoulder and they walked out, chatting. Huh. Not the family scene Sawyer had envisioned based on Jake’s anger-tinged Holiday Happymakers form, but looks could be deceiving. So could requests for bikes.

  He couldn’t get a handle on it, so he figured he’d do a little sussing out of the situation. He told the director he was thinking about volunteering with the kids’ group for an hour after work, and the guy was thrilled and said they could use all the support they could get. Sawyer said he’d start tomorrow.

  By the time he got home, it was past six. Maddie had let Moose out in the yard, but he owed the German shepherd a walk. Moose didn’t love the cold in his older age, but he did like walking on powdery snow, and last night had left a fine couple of inches on the ground. Forty-five minutes later, they returned home. Maddie was in the kitchen, saying she was heating up the last of the lasagna, if that sounded good to him. Lasagna always sounded good.

  Dinner was weird. He was being weird. And Maddie was reacting to it, tiptoeing around it at first and then doing what she did best: facing the issue head-on.

  “You’re being weird. Why? Because of last night?”

  He almost choked on his bite of gooey, delicious lasagna. “Last night?”

  “You know I overheard you say some pretty personal things, Sawyer. Things I didn’t know because I don’t remember anything.”

  He put his fork down. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past several days. Or trying to. I get to one conclusion and then, whammo, something else seems right. Or wrong.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Well, let’s just eat, then, and keep it light. We could both use a break from the big stuff.”

  He covered her hand with his in appreciation, then they ate and talked about funny things the twins and Moose had done that day. Sawyer insisted on kitchen cleanup and Maddie said she’d luxuriate in a long, hot bubble bath. Which had him thinking about her in the bath. Naked. Some nights over the past year, the heightened emotions between them still led to sex. Other nights, those emotions led to the couch. Alone. He missed sex with Maddie. So much he couldn’t take it sometimes.

  Once the babies were fed and changed and played with and read to and finally asleep in the nursery, they decided to watch a goofy buddy comedy. Sawyer made popcorn, and they sat on the sofa and watched the movie, Sawyer laughing so hard at a few points that Moose came over to check on him. The comedy had been what they’d both needed. Their moods lightened, they headed upstairs, mimicking lines from the movie, and Maddie was fast asleep by the time he came out of the bathroom. He stood there watching her sleep for a minute, then got in beside her, facing her back, and dared put his arm around her. She stirred but didn’t wake up, and he relaxed.

  The next thing he knew, Moose was letting out a low growl. Alerting. The room was dark now, moonlight spilling in through the curtains. Sawyer had clearly fallen asleep. He bolted up, grabbing his service weapon from the bedside table.

  Then he heard the noise. Someone was on the porch. At—he looked at his phone—2:18 a.m. Gun in hand, he got out of bed and hurried downstairs, moving to the side of the door and ready to announce himself as a police officer to whoever was out there.

  He heard a movement. Then footsteps—leaving. At something of a distance, a car peeling out.

  Holy hell, he knew that sound.

  Cole Wolfe’s beater car.

  Sawyer threw open the door just in time to see the red taillights whip around Main Street. A small shopping bag, with a logo from a baby emporium in nearby Brewer, was on the porch. He took it inside, putting the gun away in the safe in the hallway closet.

  So what is this? he wondered, opening the bag. Inside were two baby-sized cowboy hats, yellow straw with brown leather trim.

  You and me will be cowboys one day, galloping after outlaws! Cole used to say all the time when he was young, seven, eight, nine, pretending both hands were rifles and making ka-pow noises while running in circles. Sawyer had always told him that cowboys rode after cattle, not outlaws; that was what cops did, and Sawyer was planning on becoming a cop. Cole said not him, he was going to be an outlaw-chasing cowboy.

  Except now Cole likely felt like the outlaw.

  Sawyer looked at the tiny cowboy hats, his heart heavier than he could handle. He shoved the hats back into the bag and went inside, goose bumps on his arms from the cold. And the surprise. The shock.

  “What’s that?”

  Sawyer glanced up to find Maddie coming down the stairs, tying the sash of her robe around her waist.

  “Cole.” He explained about the noise. And handed her the bag.

  She looked inside and gasped. “Do you know what I just heard in my head? Cole saying he was going to be a cowboy one day. Is that a memory?”

  Sawyer nodded. “I was just thinking about that myself. I’m just not sure what he’s trying to say with this.”

  She pulled out a mini cowboy hat and turned it in her hand, then glanced at the logo on the shopping bag. “Well, he avoided MacLeod’s and went to Brewer to find these.”

  “He avoided us too. He could have rung the bell and come in. Instead, he chose to drop these off at two in the morning, then rush away. And not just some random gifts. Cowboy hats. That means something to him.”

  “Is he saying goodbye?” Maddie asked, and he saw tears shining in her eyes.

  Hell, now he felt tears stinging his own eyes. He shrugged, unable to speak.

  Maddie put down the bag and came over and wrapped her arms around him, and he held her tight, burying his face against the side of her neck.

  Don’t let go, don’t let go, he silently whispered. To her.

  She didn’t let go. They
stood there in the dark hallway, Moose now lying down by the door, his chin on his paw.

  “Sawyer,” she whispered, “are you worried he’s not coming back or that he is coming back?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what has me so off-kilter. Of course I want him to come back. He’s their father. You think I want them to grow up knowing their father left him with us and took off, but oh, he did buy you guys little cowboy hats.” He let out a harsh laugh and shook his head. “My father was a crappy dad, but he was there. He didn’t take off on me.” He froze for a second as a sensation like sludge or quicksand flung itself around inside his chest.

  My father never took off on me. He was always there. Not literally every day or night. But never gone for more than a couple of days. I don’t recall ever worrying he’d just disappear on me.

  Because I knew he loved me deep down? That he did care?

  Maybe.

  He thought about Vince Russtower picking up Jake from the community center. Carrying his son’s backpack as they left. There might have been some tension in the home, but what he saw—and granted, it was only once—it said a lot. Russtower was there. That Holiday Happymakers form had lodged in his stomach with the force of a heavyweight’s fist, and it eased up some now that he thought about it in this new light.

  “Let’s go to bed, Sawyer.” She took his hand and led him upstairs, and he silently followed her.

  She got into bed and so did he, and when she turned onto her side to face him, he did the same. She reached out a hand to touch his face and then kissed him. Gently at first and then not so gently. And then she took off his T-shirt and ran her hands all over his chest, kissing his neck and his pecs, the cool, soft hands everywhere.

  By the time she got to his sweats, he was beyond thought and only felt.

  Chapter Nine

  A crying baby woke Maddie at four forty-five, which was almost a reasonable time to wake up. Sawyer was fast asleep beside her, and for a moment she just watched him sleep, marveling at how good-looking he was. The straight, strong profile. The thick dark hair. The five-o’clock shadow.

 

‹ Prev