“For chrissakes, Janice,” one of the men spat out, “you can’t file charges against someone for suggesting you buy something.”
“Yeah,” another man added. “And walking in a driveway that hasn’t got a No Trespassing sign posted out front isn’t a crime.”
“People,” Niall said, taking a step forward. “Why don’t we—”
“My grandchildren play in that yard,” Janice snapped. “Do you have any idea how much slimy shit a dozen geese drop in a day?” She swung toward Niall. “Are you going to arrest the crook or not? Because I hope you know we’ve all noticed,” she rushed on instead of letting him respond, “that you’ve been police chief over three months now and haven’t so much as written a parking ticket.”
“And let’s not forget he refused to arrest Logan,” Christina Richie added, “even after Noreen had to flee for her life when the fool blew her stove to smithereens.”
“Are you all forgetting he saved Misty Vaughn’s life?” a male voice countered.
“And Sally Vaughn’s, too,” another man added.
“Have any of you noticed he isn’t hiring any female officers?” a young woman shouted over the raised voices of several men now trying to defend Logan and Niall. “And that the two guys he did hire aren’t locals? They’re not even Mainers.”
“They both seem capable enough,” one of the men managed to interject.
“We didn’t vote for a police force just to have a bunch of strangers move here and start telling us what to do,” the lady named Inez shouted right back at him.
There was a loud male snort. “Wally Coots applied for one of those positions. You want that idiot mama’s boy walking around with a loaded gun?”
“The new officer ticketed me this morning for reckless driving,” Noreen said, shooting Niall another angry glare, “even though my cart didn’t come anywhere near that family crossing the road.”
“Hell, Noreen, you don’t even have a driver’s license,” a man called out.
Ignoring him, Noreen went back to pointing at the wisely silent Silas French—or maybe that was abject terror rendering him speechless. “Are you going to arrest this crook and get our money back or not?”
“He can’t, because there ain’t been no crime committed.”
“No, the reason he won’t is because all you men stick together!”
“Only to keep you women from stealing our pants so you can wear them.”
“Or else because our new police chief is just as crooked!”
“Yeah, we don’t know anything about him, either.”
“Except that he’s not hiring any women officers!”
“That’s because he doesn’t want to hear a hen squawking in his ear all day!”
“Or let one of you walk around with a loaded gun!”
And just when had this become about him? Niall dropped his head on a sigh as the two sides continued firing salvos at one another in ever-increasing volume, even as he tried to estimate how many people he could fit in his holding cell. Well, how many women, as he sure as hell didn’t dare put the men in with them.
The ladies just weren’t backing down, instead appearing to grow even more aggressive. In fact, several men suddenly slid back their chairs and stood up when one idiot commented on Noreen’s poisonous cooking, to which she responded by grabbing a plate of half-eaten food off a nearby table and hurling it at him.
Well, son of a bitch. “Enough!” Niall roared when he saw two more women reaching for dishes, the added edge in his voice freezing everyone in place.
Knowing he was putting himself in danger of being lynched—with a pint-sized spitfire likely volunteering to slip the noose over his neck when she found out—Niall pulled his handcuffs out of his pocket. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kent, but I’m going to have to arrest you for inciting a riot, damaging property, and possibly even assault.”
“Those cuffs so much as touch her skin,” an impressively threatening voice said from the doorway, “and I’m calling the state police to come relieve you of your badge.”
Niall turned to see Birch shoving her way past onlookers until she bumped into a man who didn’t budge, her eyes widening as she silently mouthed the word Daddy. But she quickly stepped around him and continued elbowing her way right past Niall, not stopping until she reached Noreen. “Easy there, honey,” she said gently, wrapping an arm around the now pale woman. “He’s not really going to arrest you.”
“I’m afraid I am,” Niall said, his footsteps echoing through the silent room as he closed the distance between them. “And you as well, Miss Callahan, if ye interfere,” he added, barely restraining himself from reaching out and closing her mouth when her chin dropped. “Ye needn’t bother seeking help from your father,” he went on when she rose on her toes and looked toward the door. “His authority stopped at the border.” He then held up the handcuffs. “Your choice, Mrs. Kent; the handcuffs, or you can give me your word to come along peacefully.”
“Don’t do this, Niall,” Birch hissed under her breath.
“It’s done, lass,” he said just as softly, gesturing for Noreen to precede him out.
When the obviously shocked woman couldn’t seem to move, Birch drew herself up to her full height, tightened her hold on Noreen and, with an I’ll see you in hell glare and mutinous lift of her chin, started them forward—Shep leading the way through the parting crowd of equally shocked onlookers.
It might not be wooden stocks in the town park, Niall decided with a sigh as he followed, but it definitely was public. And, he hoped, just outrageous enough for two scared people to remember why they’d gotten married in the first place—as well as why they’d stayed married for forty-three years.
Now if only he could get Birch to see the brilliance in his plan.
• • •
Feeling more like a hulking brute than a peacemaker, Niall sat at his desk trying to do paperwork while also trying to ignore the murmured assurances interspersed with wrenching sobs coming from his holding cell. He glanced at his watch to see it was ten minutes past the last time he’d checked, and wondered how the hell long it took a man who seemed to love sticking his nose in people’s business to ride a powerful motorcycle four and a half miles.
Their silent little procession hadn’t reached the Trading Post when Niall had heard Silas French’s newly purchased bike start up, and they’d just turned onto the lane when it had shot down the main road heading south. Niall had decided to forgive the man for disregarding the speed limit, since it was serving his purpose, figuring it would take Silas no more than five minutes to reach the Kent homestead. It should then take Silas only a minute to tell Logan his wife had just been arrested, maybe five or six minutes for Logan to find his checkbook—or his shotgun—and another twenty minutes for them to race back to town in Logan’s tired old pickup.
So where the hell were they? Because his brilliant plan might not work so . . . brilliantly if Birch succeeded in getting Noreen to stop crying before Logan arrived. Then again, maybe Silas was well south of Turtleback by now, having decided not to settle in this area.
Realizing the sobs were lessening in frequency and volume, Niall picked up the phone and dialed the Drunken Moose. “This is Chief MacKeage. Can I speak with Vanetta Thurber, please?” he asked when someone answered, making sure his voice carried through the bars of the holding cell, then grinning when both the murmuring and sobbing abruptly stopped. “Yes, Vanetta,” he continued when the restaurant owner picked up with a cheery hello. “Just two quick questions, since I know this is your busy time. First, has everything settled down there?”
“We’re back to our normal dinnertime chaos,” Vanetta assured him. “Well, except for the main topic of conversation being Noreen’s arrest instead of the beautiful weather we’re having. But it’s all in whispers,” she drawled, “because everyone’s afraid you’ll come back and arrest them. Man, Mac
Keage, I swear I felt the building shake when you roared.”
Niall closed his eyes on a silent groan. “It was either that or pull out my gun and fire at the ceiling,” he said, deciding to move on and raising his voice again. “Can ye give me the cost of the dishes Mrs. Kent broke?”
He was answered by silence, then a very unladylike curse. “I’m not pressing charges for a few broken plates.”
“Only sixteen dollars and fifty cents?” he said in surprise. “What about having to pay someone to clean up the mess? Would another . . . oh, thirty dollars cover it?”
This time several seconds ticked by, then, “What are you doing, MacKeage? And why are you talking so loudly?”
“That’s good then,” Niall said. “I’m sure Mrs. Kent will appreciate your not inflating the prices, as at those figures she’ll only be charged with a misdemeanor.”
An even longer silence, then a sudden laugh. “Sure, Chief, whatever you say. I’m just glad I’m standing in my shoes and not yours. Good luck,” she ended cheerily before the line went dead.
Niall set down the phone and wrote forty-six dollars and fifty cents on a pad of paper. He added seven hundred fifty dollars directly beneath it, drew a line, then wrote the grand total of seven hundred ninety-six dollars and fifty cents in big bold numbers. Ignoring the approaching footsteps and keeping his head bent to hide his grin, he then wrote the word BAIL at the top of the sheet.
“When we were trapped in Vaughn’s cellar,” Birch whispered as her shadow fell over his desk, “you said we would be working together for the good of my residents.”
“Do ye also recall my saying that I care about them as much as you do?” he asked without looking up.
“Then let me pay the damages and take Noreen home.”
Niall set down his pen, glanced over to see the holding cell door was closed and the curtain drawn, then leaned back in his chair and finally looked at Birch. “Her home is four and a half miles down the road,” he said softly, “with the man she’s been married to for more than forty-three years.”
“I’m well aware—” Birch stopped in midsentence and cocked her head—much the way her father did, Niall realized. “What are you up to?”
“About six-foot-three the last time I checked,” he said, not exactly sure why he was baiting her. Except . . . well, he didn’t like that she didn’t trust him; not just with this situation, but as a man. No, a lover. Dammit, she had seduced him; if the woman could trust him with her beautiful, delicate body, why in hell couldn’t she trust him now?
“Who’s looking after the woman and child you just rescued?” he asked, deciding to change the subject before he said something he truly would regret.
“Macie,” she growled in a whisper. “I sent Cassandra into the Bottoms Up when I caught her standing in the crowd and she told me what was going on. I had her and Macie take the woman and daughter to the shelter and stay with them until I got back—which I promised would be in a short while.”
Niall disguised the fact he was checking his watch again by folding his arms over his chest, and stifled a scowl when he realized French had been gone nearly an hour. “I find myself wondering how a crisis center that didn’t even exist a month ago is all but bursting at the seams all of a sudden. What did all these women do before?”
“They suffered in silence,” she snapped. Birch took a deep breath in an apparent attempt to rein in her temper. “It can go either way when a new shelter opens,” she said calmly, likely thinking to soften him up by answering his questions. “There can be a stampede of women hoping they’ll finally get help, or no one will show up because they don’t trust something they’ve never seen before.” She shrugged. “It seems to be fifty-fifty here; Noreen and Macie came on their own, but I’ve had to go after some—mostly younger girls like Misty and Cassandra—and explain what it is I do and point out that they’ll be safer with me than they are right now.”
“Are you expecting things to slow down, then? Ye have what—eight beds?”
She nodded, her voice losing more of its tightness while remaining low. “There will be times when we’re full because of children coming with their mothers, but for the population of this area I expect to have four or five residents on any given night. Hopefully even less than that, once I start having counseling sessions and hosting one-day workshops with various state agencies to show women they have several options. Speaking of full beds, can you have Officer Sheppard patrol the camp road in case the woman’s husband comes looking for her?” She glanced toward the holding cell. “And maybe have him patrol all night?” she added, some of her anger returning.
“It’s already done, Birch. Both Jake and Shep are there now.”
Apparently not wanting him to see her surprise, Birch looked toward the closed station door. “Do you know where my father is?”
“Seeing how you were rather busy, I imagine he decided to stay and have dinner at the Drunken Moose.”
“Since he never called to tell me he was coming, do you know why he’s here?” Her eyes narrowed. “And since you obviously knew who he was earlier, can you tell me why he introduced himself to you before coming to see me?”
“I’m afraid that’s something you’re going to have to ask—”
They both looked toward the door at the sound of a vehicle speeding down the lane and skidding to a stop out front. Niall ripped the top page off his notepad and stood up, then walked over to stand in front of the holding cell as two truck doors opened and slammed shut. Uneven footsteps pounded up the stairs and Logan burst into the station looking . . . well, madder than a rooster caught in a rainstorm, Niall decided smugly.
“Where is she!” Logan shouted, causing one stunned spitfire to scurry out of the way when the man advanced on Niall without slowing down. “Where in hell is my wife!”
“Logan? Oh, Logan, I’m in here!” Noreen cried as the bedsprings squeaked and the curtains parted, her blotchy, tear-swollen face appearing in the window as she gripped the bars. “I’ve been arrested.”
“The hell you are. You’re coming home with me right now!”
“There’s a small matter of damages that have to be paid first,” Niall said quietly, moving to block the door when Logan tried to go around him.
The man shot him a glare even as he reached into his back pocket. “I’ll pay for whatever goddamned dishes she broke. Just tell me how much.”
“I’m afraid there’s also a fine that has to be satisfied before she can leave.”
Logan stilled with his wallet half open. “A fine for what?”
“Inciting a riot.” Niall held up the piece of paper for Logan to see the total, which caused the man to pale to the roots of his gray hair on a strangled gasp.
Another gasp sounded off to the side. “You can’t just arbitrarily make up a fine,” Birch said. “Only a judge has that kind of authority.”
“We do things differently here in America, Miss Callahan,” Niall blatantly lied, giving her a pointed look and hoping to God she was perceptive enough to get with the program. “Chiefs of police in towns situated this far from their county courthouses are allowed to set our own fines to expedite matters.”
Logan pointed at the piece of paper. “But that’s highway robbery!” His eyes narrowed. “And what proof you got it was Noreen who started the riot, anyway?”
“I have at least thirty witnesses.”
Logan shot an uncertain glance over his shoulder at the wisely quiet Silas French standing in the doorway, turned and scowled at Niall for several seconds, then leaned to the side to see Noreen—the man’s chest deflating and his eyes suddenly softening. “Just look at you, Norrie,” he said gruffly. “You been crying so hard you’ve gone and made yourself sick. You stop that now, you hear. I’m not gonna leave you in there a minute longer than it takes me to go to the bank and get the money.”
“Th-the bank’s already cl
osed, Logan,” Noreen said, tears streaming down her cheeks again. “And it’s Friday. I’m gonna be here all weekend,” she ended in a wail.
“I can—” Birch started, only to snap her mouth shut when Niall shot her a glare.
“Then I’ll run back and get our checkbook,” Logan promised, his eyes hardening again as he looked up at Niall. “If I write you a goddamn check, will you let me take her home tonight?”
“Or, since I’d rather not get a reputation for being unreasonable,” Niall said, “I’m willing to let you pay only the damages if you give me your word that you’ll use the bail money to buy a new cookstove instead.”
Two gasps sounded again—this time one from Birch and one from the holding cell—and Logan frowned so hard his face had to hurt.
“It just so happens,” Niall continued, “that the appliance store in Millinocket had a flyer in this week’s paper, and I noticed they sell several models of cookstoves that run anywhere from seven to eight hundred dollars.” He shrugged. “Your choice,” he said quietly. “Come back after the bank opens on Monday and bail out your wife, or take her home right now by giving me your word to buy a stove.”
Logan looked down at the wallet in his hand for several heartbeats again, then stepped to the side and lifted his gaze to Noreen. “Ah . . . after I mailed the check for the beekeeping equipment, I drove down to Millinocket and went to that appliance store,” he admitted gruffly. “And I saw a really fancy stove I thought you might like that’s got a glass top so you don’t have to keep scrubbing those pans under the coil burners. It even has a second oven in the drawer on the bottom, and instead of knobs the whole back panel is smooth with little squares you just touch, so it’s easy to clean, too.”
The Highlander Next Door Page 21