Close To The Fire

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “Morning, Miss Julie, Libby,” the Miller twins greeted them in unison from their seats under the driers, their grey hair rolled up in the same exact rows. Libby smiled. They’d been identical their whole lives and even got their hair done the same way every week so they’d continue the look, down to the last hair.

  “Hey, Miss Julie. You’re looking fit as a fiddle today.” Twylla Howard, the owner of the salon came up to greet the octogenarian, helping Libby secure the locks on the wheelchair and assist the frail woman from the seat.

  “Oh, you know how much I look forward to getting my hair done, Twylla. Have to keep those men at the home happy,” Aunt Julie said with a laugh in her voice and a twinkle in her eye. Libby handed her the three-footed walking cane and the trio slowly headed over to Twylla’s styling chair.

  Twylla winked at her. “I bet you have to beat them off with that cane.”

  Aunt Julie shook her head slightly as she climbed into the seat. “Oh, dear, no. At my age, if they have a heartbeat and can feed themselves, they’re a keeper!”

  Half the salon laughed at her joke.

  “Do you want something to drink while you’re getting all pretty?” Libby asked.

  Aunt Julie patted her hand. “No, dear. You just get yourself something or run your errands if you have any. Twylla will take good care of me.”

  “No errands today. I’ll just grab some water and wait here. Maybe we’ll go over to the tearoom and have lunch today?”

  “That will be lovely, dear, if you’re sure you’ll have time.” Julie patted her hand again.

  “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t.”

  She left her in Twylla’s capable hands, grabbed a bottle of water and took a seat in the small waiting area near the front door. It was also the spot the stylists parked people who had highlights put in their hair to wait the required amount of time. Which is exactly what Bobby Roberts, the sheriff’s newest deputy and more importantly his fiancée, was doing today.

  “I know. I look like a giant antenna monster with all these aluminum foil sheets in my hair,” Bobby said as Libby took the seat next to her.

  Libby laughed. “Maybe we could hook you up to the radio and get the Cleveland baseball game.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t mention that to Gage, or he’ll have me hooked up like this at the office just to get football games.”

  They shared another laugh and Libby snatched up the newest gossip magazine. “Aunt Julie thinks I bring her here out of the goodness of my heart. What she doesn’t know is this is the only time I get to indulge my need to live vicariously through the Hollywood stars and get my gossip fix.”

  Bobby held up the bridal magazine she was flipping through. “I’m under strict orders from my sisters to look through the pile of these they mailed me. I can’t seem to get it through their heads that I’m not having a big elaborate, formal wedding. Gage and I just want something simple.”

  “Have you set the date yet?” Libby flipped through some pictures of the Kardashians’ latest drama. She had enough over-the-top drama in her clients’ lives. She didn’t need it in her reading choices.

  “If Gage could have his way, we would’ve done it the week after he asked me. But I wanted to wait until both my sisters could be here. Chloe can make up her own schedule as long as there’s no big court case going on. Dylan is another story.”

  “Oh? Don’t doctors make up their own schedules, too?”

  “Once they’re out of residency. But Dylan’s an intern. She had to ask in advance to have any kind of vacation. Luckily, she got the time off at Christmas, but has to work every weekend for six weeks straight to get it.”

  “A Christmas wedding then?”

  A soft look came over Bobby’s face and tears filled her eyes. She dabbed at them. “Actually, December twenty-second. It was my parents’ wedding day. I wanted to honor their memories by making it our anniversary, too.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” She knew that Bobby’s parents had died when she was in college and she had to quit to take a teaching job to support and raise her younger sisters. Once they were out of college, she’d traded in her teaching career for one as a private investigator. Her first case landed her, quite literally, in Gage’s arms. The pair fell in love and she’d even risked her own life to help save his. Sometimes happy-ever-afters did come true.

  Just not for me and Deacon.

  She shoved that thought back into the dark cave where it belonged. Some things just couldn’t be undone.

  “Aren’t you testifying in Melissa Compton’s spousal abuse case?” Bobby asked after a few minutes.

  “That was yesterday.” Holding her place in the magazine at the fall television previews, she leaned in and lowered her voice so that her words wouldn’t carry past the two of them. As a deputy, Bobby knew the case, had even helped Doc Clint take the pictures of Melissa’s injuries. The last thing Libby wanted was for any details of the trial to get picked up by the gossip community that lived at the Dye Right. “The prosecution finished their case yesterday evening. The defense was today, and quite frankly I didn’t think I could stomach listening to Frank’s friends and family testify to what an upstanding citizen he is.”

  Bobby’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together in a thin line. “All anyone would have to do is look at those pictures and they’d know what kind of a son-of-a-bitch Frank Compton is.”

  “I know. But he’s the epitome of a slick salesman. All flash and smile to the public.” Just being in the man’s presence made Libby’s skin crawl. If she’d had to listen to glowing personal references in court, she’d been afraid she’d have been held in contempt for saying what she really thought of the man. That’s the reason she kept her weekly appointment with Aunt Julie today and told Melissa she’d be there tomorrow.

  “Well, I’m just glad Melissa is finally standing up to the monster.” Bobby flipped a few more pages in her magazine. “I just hope she stands firm and uses this new courage to find a life for herself. She’s such a sweet woman.”

  Libby nodded her agreement. “Thank goodness most of Frank’s family has moved out of the area. Once he goes to jail, she might be able to finally hold her head up in town without worrying what might get back to him.”

  A short, willowy woman with spiky hair dyed several shades of red and orange approached them. “Okay, Miz Bobby, it’s time to rinse you off and see what those highlights look like.”

  Bobby set aside the bridal magazine and stood. “Libby, this is Sylvie Gillis. She’s the new stylist Twylla hired. Sylvie, Libby is the county social worker.”

  “Glad to meet ya, Miz Libby. Love to talk more, but if I don’t get Miz Bobby under some water, she’ll more than likely come out looking like me and I don’t think the sheriff would like that much,” the little woman said with a laugh as she took the deputy by her elbow and led her across the room.

  Bobby gave her a wide-eyed look over her shoulder that said she prayed that wouldn’t happen, too, and mouthed the words help me. Libby swallowed the grin that played on her lips. One thing about Westen. Newcomers, even multicolored-haired elves like Sylvie, were usually welcomed.

  Which reminded her. She’d promised Todd Banyon she’d stop by and talk with his newest resident sometime this week. Once more she wondered what was in the young man’s past that had his records sealed. Could Todd be right for once? Was there a dangerous criminal now living at Colbert House?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A bunch of knuckleheads.

  The words of Coach Turner, his old high school football coach, drifted into Deke’s head as he watched this year’s kids trying out for the team. Most of them had basic skills—probably drummed into them from the time they played peewee ball. Problem was they also had some bad habits, including showboating and laziness. Because most of these guys had grown up together, the hierarchy of the team, at least in their minds, was pretty well set. If they’d had the same coach as last year, they might be right.

  Unfortunately for
them, they had a new coach—the Gunslinger. The corner of Deke’s mouth lifted in a half smirk. Yesterday the boys had been staring not only at the town’s sheriff and recent hero, but at a town legend—the man whose records for passing completion yards still hung in the state’s record books. This morning Gage had wiped the hero worship off their eyes with the conditioning drills he’d had them perform.

  Gage learned from his father that every person had to earn their way through life, whether it was making a baseball or football team, or getting a job, or gaining respect of the people around him. If Brett Howard was going to be this year’s starting quarterback, he was going to have to prove he could not only do the job, but lead the team. Same went for the star wide-receiver, Ethan Tanner. Long and lanky, with excellent hands, as long as the ball was thrown near him. Making an effort wasn’t a priority for Tanner unless someone was on his heels.

  “Damn, that kid runs like he’s out for a Sunday stroll,” Gage muttered beside him, then strode across the field, fire in his eyes. “Tanner, you think you could put a little more effort into that route? At the rate your running, the offensive line will have to take the defensive line out on a date and dinner before the QB can toss the ball your direction!”

  Shaking his head Deke had to admit Gage was taking a page from Coach Turner’s playbook. The old man had been devious in his attempts to weed out the slackers and undisciplined kids from the ones who had a passion for the game. Of course what he’d ended up with was a core team that made it to the State playoffs ten years straight before he retired. Gage had taken the drills and tweaked them. Instead of hundred-yard sprints—what they’d used to call gassers—he’d set up what he called sprint ladders. The kids ran ten yards up and back. Took a ten-second rest between sprints and then did a twenty-yard up and back sprint, working their way up to fifty yards up and back, then reducing the yards until they finished with the ten-yard sprints once more.

  Time to get his defense moving. He’d had them practicing hitting the tackling dummies to get used to the contact.

  “Defense, to me,” he yelled, getting the fifteen guys’ attention. Only half ran over. “Don’t make me wait, ladies!”

  That got the rest of them hustling.

  “Next time I call you, anyone not running here on the double will do five laps of the field after practice. Got me?”

  “Yes, sir!” they said with more enthusiasm than they’d shown running just now.

  “Let’s start with some back-pedal drills. I want you to keep your knees bent at a forty-five degree angle, heads up, back straight. Let your arms dangle at your sides. With your weight on the balls of your feet, push off with the front foot and back pedal ten yards, just like this,” he said, quickly showing the form he wanted them to use and exactly how he wanted them to perform it. He figured he’d get their respect quicker if they were asked to do something he could do easily. Fewer complaints that way. He pointed to the first five guys, including Mike Cohn, the only senior of his group. “You guys first. Show the rest of us how you can do it.”

  They ran through the drill twice each with him yelling to keep their chests over their feet, their feet close to the ground. “Pump those arms, Cohn. Make me believe you’ll catch that wide receiver!”

  “That one was better. One more time, then we’ll switch over to some fade cover drills.”

  As the squad dropped back into formation and started the last set of back-pedals, movement from the corner of the field caught his eye.

  Rachel Doone and some brown-haired kid he’d never seen before pulled a cart loaded with coolers onto the edge of the field nearest the locker room and parking lot exit. Her mom, Lorna, had been supplying afternoon refreshments to the team during two-a-days ever since he was a freshman.

  As he watched the pair open the coolers and the foldable table they’d stowed on the bottom of the cart, another memory flashed in his mind. The first time he’d noticed Bill’s sister, Libby, as something other than his kid sister. She’d worked at the Peaches ‘N Cream all summer, and she’d been the one to haul the food with Lorna then. Hair pulled up in a sporty ponytail, hanging down her back, exposing the long slender column of her neck. Shorts that showed off long legs that should’ve been outlawed. Bill had hit him in the head with the football to distract him.

  Libby. A dull ache centered in his chest.

  They’d both been so innocent and carefree back then. The worst problem making sure to win all their Class A division games. Then how he was going to ask his friend’s sister to Homecoming. Bill was a year ahead of him and would either tease him unmercifully or beat the snot out of him for liking his sister.

  Dammit. For the past ten years he’d been able to keep thoughts of Libby at bay. Ever since seeing her yesterday morning with that new newspaper man at the café, she’d been popping into his head almost at will.

  “Coach, how many more you want us to do?”

  He blinked, coming back to the present. Mike and the other defensive players stood around him, half of them bent over sucking in air, sweat soaking the fronts of their T-shirts. Gage was right. He did need to give back to the team that helped center his teenage years. Besides, focusing on teaching the kids not only about the game, but life lessons might just get him out of this maudlin mood and his mind off Libby.

  Leaning down, he snatched up a football. “Which one of you guys played defensive lineman last year?”

  Four hands shot up from the older players.

  “How many want to give it a try?”

  Four more of the younger ones.

  “Good. You guys are going to get some special coaching.” He waved at the sidelines where Cleetus Junkins, still dressed in his deputy sheriff uniform, stood with his arms crossed over his chest like some giant sideline protector. The big man’s face broke out in a grin as he jogged across the field.

  Cleetus loved two things—the town of Westen and playing football. The year they’d taken their second State championship, Cleetus had been a freshman while he and Gage had been seniors. It was like Cleetus was the missing piece to their threesome. Even back then, most people, including the coaches and the entire team, were misled by Cleetus’ natural good-naturedness and affability. The gentle giant. That’s what he was, until he donned a football uniform. Once he had on his pads and helmet, he made Mean Joe Green look like a lamb.

  As he neared the group, the boys broke out in grins, and hailed him with, “Hey, Cleetus!” and “How’s it going?”

  Deke waited for all the greetings to die down. “Deputy Junkins is a former defensive lineman for Westen High. In fact, he was on the state championship team for four years of the ten year run that is still a state record.”

  Lots of cheering and whistles came from the boys and Deke again waited for quiet.

  “He will be my assistant and the defensive line coach. I do not care how long you have known him, or how many times he’s joked around with your or your daddies off the field. On this field he will be known as Coach Junkins. You will show him the same respect as you do me or Coach Justice. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir!” the boys said in unison.

  “Good. Coach Junkins will take the linemen to the sidelines to run some drills with them. The rest of you follow me and we’ll practice coverage and tip drills. When Coach Justice calls us together, we’re going to see what you can do against the QBs and the wide receivers before we break for the night.”

  Working the team, he saw some potential in the new kids and good skills in his older players. He just hoped when they went up against the offense someone could pressure Ethan Tanner and light a fire under the receiver’s butt. Otherwise the team was going to have a rough first game.

  * * * * *

  It was Kyle’s first full day working for Lorna at the Peaches ‘N Cream Café and she had him helping make peanut butter sandwiches with Rachel, which was pretty cool. Then they’d loaded them into coolers with fresh apples and oranges, homemade oatmeal cookies and sports drinks. Lorna had him
accompany Rachel as she drove the café’s van out to the school and they’d dragged this all out to the field just so these guys could have a post-practice snack.

  Really? These guys get fed breakfast before practice and snacks after? Talks about prima donnas!

  How many times had he gone without a meal because someone bigger had decided to eat his, too? Or someone decided to use food as a punishment or reward system in their house?

  Once they had the food out, Rachel took a seat on the ground near the cart full of food and pulled out her cell phone and book, putting her ear buds in to listen to music while she read.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. She hadn’t invited him to sit by her. Doing so would probably make him look pathetic. And he couldn’t hang out by the food or someone might think he was taking some. Last thing he wanted to do was lose his job for stealing and risk Banyon kicking him out of Colbert House. So, he moved a few feet down the sidelines and stood watching the players go through their drills.

  Like most Americans, he knew a little about football. One of the foster dads he’d lived with as a kid one year was an avid fan and while he didn’t teach him much, he did get to watch lots of games while the guy cursed and carried on. Given all the temporary places he’d lived, no one ever took the time to get him involved with a little league team.

  Surprise, surprise. He’d been lucky to get food and a clean bed. Hell, sometimes he was just lucky to stay alive in the places. The all-American little league experience wasn’t for him.

  So standing here watching them didn’t make a lot of sense to him. Looked like they were in small groups, doing all kinds of exercises. When the heck did they start playing?

  When the one coach had the guys start throwing passes to other guys, he moved a little farther down the line to watch them a little closer. He recognized the guy called Brett from the café yesterday, taking his turn to toss the ball. Seemed to have a good arm. Two of the other guys, the redhead and the tall, lanky guy were snagging balls passed their way. No one seemed to be working too hard.