by Pamela Tracy
Then, he kissed her.
* * *
Donovan left the blueprints with Emily. She’d helped with building plans before. Good thing he might be here for five years. Tinytown would soon be anything but tiny. Heading back to the Lost Dutchman, he grabbed a boxed lunch and said goodbye to Jacob, who was on his way to the hospital. Then he settled on the porch of his cabin in his favorite rocking chair, called Randall Tucker but got his voice mail and then spent the rest of the day putting together a cost analysis for the first phase of Tinytown.
Jacob came home a little while later.
No matter what Emily wanted, he’d start with the easy buildings first.
Elise drove up, parked right in front of the entrance to the ranch, ran around the car and helped Karl inside. Donovan would have helped, but the woman was fast. She had him inside before Donovan could even make it to the bottom of his cabin’s stairs.
He went back to planning. By building one new section or building each year, children could be playing and looking forward to the new additions next time.
Cooper drove up, parked by the barn and walked to the house. A moment later, Jilly arrived carrying a casserole dish. It made Donovan smile. That’s what church people did when someone got out of the hospital. They brought food. Of course, most people didn’t recuperate at a dude ranch with its own dining room.
He went back to planning, but the next vehicle got his full attention.
The squad car pulling in and parking by the barn pulled Donovan from his work. Police officer Sam Miller got out and walked toward the main house.
Quickly, Donovan texted Emily. Cop just came. Whole family here. What’s happening?
Really? Sam’s there?
How she knew it was Sam, he didn’t know.
Sam’s here in uniform.
Why?
Not sure. I was hoping you’d tell me.
I just closed. B right there.
He glanced at his watch. It was after four. He’d worked steadily for over three hours. After pushing himself up, he walked to the main house. It was quiet. Cook wasn’t in the dining room’s kitchen. A note on the door said it would reopen for dinner on Friday. The front desk was empty. It, too, had a sign directing him to ring a bell.
He rang. A minute later, Jacob came to the front and said, “I should have called you. Come on back. You’ll want to hear this, too. It’s about Billy.”
Jacob didn’t seem too worried. Donovan had no business interfering in what might be a private family matter—not that he believed for a moment that Jacob had done anything wrong—but Donovan had been involved since the moment he’d unearthed the yellowish-brown shards that had turned out to be Billy Wilcox.
Jacob led him into the living room. It was clearly a man’s room, and Donovan wouldn’t have changed one thing about it—not the lines, not the view, not the atmosphere. A couch was against one wall with two big leather recliners flanking it. A large plaque was on the wall stating As For Me and My House, We Shall Serve the Lord. Sam was in one of the chairs. Elise and Jilly were on the couch.
When did they all get here?
An oversize coffee table was in front of the couch. The television was huge, taking up half of one wall; the other half belonged to a fireplace. On the mantel were two wooden, obviously Native American, dolls. A grandfather clock as well as shelves of trophies and books occupied the third wall. The final wall had a Star Wars poster with Darth Vader looking down at a kid’s train table and boxes of Legos scattered around. Obviously Timmy’s domain.
“I texted Emily when I saw Sam get here,” Donovan said, taking the other chair since it didn’t look as though Jacob wanted to sit.
Jacob nodded. “Good thinking.”
“I’m here.” Emily all but skidded into the room. “What’s happening?”
“News about Billy,” Elise said before turning to Sam and saying, “Go on.”
“We had over a dozen calls about the photos of Billy Wilcox. Three turned out viable.”
“What happened to my son?” Karl asked.
Emily again sat on the armrest of the chair Donovan occupied. He reached over to pat her hand to let her know he cared, but instead she took his hand, curling her fingers between his, not letting go.
Sam leaned forward. “It’s both good and bad, Karl. I’m not going to lie. We had a call from a woman who lives in Kearny, Arizona.”
“I know the place,” Karl said.
The front door opened and a moment later someone rang the bell. Elise said, “I’ll get it.”
Sam waited a moment before going on. “Billy worked for her from the time he was twenty up until he was about twenty-two.”
“Doing what?”
Donovan admired that the others—all powerful personalities—let Karl do the asking.
“It was a small farm. Apparently he worked mostly for room and board. She says he never gave her any trouble, but he disappeared after about two years without saying goodbye.”
“You sure it was Billy?”
“She faxed us a photo. I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Here’s where it gets a little sketchy. The other call that we believe accurate was from Irving Taylor.”
“Never heard of him,” Karl said.
“I have.” Jacob looked out the big picture window at the panoramic view of cacti, desert and sand hills. “He has a ramshackle house, falling apart, just a few miles north of Ancient Trails Road.”
“The one that’s wood, stone and mud?” Cooper asked. “I didn’t realize anyone lived there.”
“Me, either,” Elise said returning. To her dad, she said, “I just rented out the cabin next to Donovan’s.”
“Good.”
“Irving won’t answer the door to most people,” Sam continued. “He probably hasn’t spoken to anyone, really, in decades. I went out there today.”
“He doesn’t have electricity or plumbing. It’s like going back in time a hundred years.”
“You’ve been there, Dad?” Emily asked.
“Church has helped him out once or twice.”
“I thought there was a law about plumbing?” Elise said.
“He contacted me,” Sam said, bringing the conversation back on topic. “He was listening to a police scanner, of all things, and heard Billy Wilcox’s name.”
Karl sat up.
“He says Billy showed up about thirty years ago, skin and bones. Irving said he fed the boy and pointed him toward town. He said the kid acted lost.”
The front door opened again. This time the bell didn’t sound. Donovan figured it must be Jesse or someone who worked at the Lost Dutchman.
“How could he remember that long ago?” Donovan said.
Jacob answered, “When you don’t get many visitors, you remember the ones you have.”
Karl shook his head. “Billy knew that area. He wouldn’t be lost.”
“But,” Emily reminded Karl, “the medical examiner said the bones showed signs of arthritis. There could be a wealth of struggles Billy dealt with.”
Cooper put in, “The inability to walk, fatigue, muscle aches.”
“His mother had arthritis,” Emily told Donovan.
“In ’83, when he would have been twenty-four, we didn’t have cell phones or such to call for help. Back then, Ancient Trails Road wasn’t a road. It was miles from a road. Naomi and I got turned around on our horses once. Rode for hours. I remember thanking God that we had water.”
“You’re not closing the case, are you?” Karl asked. “Because there is that knife, and it wasn’t Billy’s.”
“No,” Sam said. “We’ll keep the file open for a while longer. But, thanks to the third phone call, we know who the knife belonged to.”
“Who?”
Donovan couldn’t say who asked the question first or if everyone asked at the same time. Didn’t matter, because what mattered was who answered.
Patti de la Rosa stood in the doorway.
“It was mine.”
Chapter Sixteen
No one had to urge Patti to keep on talking.
“I didn’t put it together, didn’t remember until I saw Billy’s photograph on the television yesterday. I pulled out some of my scrapbooks this morning.”
“Remember what?” Karl was starting to get cranky.
“What I won in that rodeo,” Patti said to Jacob. “Do you remember?”
“No.”
“I’m not surprised. You only had eyes for Naomi. And Billy Wilcox only had eyes for her, too. Me, I loved Billy, but I couldn’t tell him. I was way too shy back then.”
Her knees started to sway. Donovan was out of his chair and over to her side just in time to catch her. Emily was there, too, helping him, moving her to the chair while Elise ran for water.
Karl didn’t look like he could move. “I’m not understanding all this,” he said.
“I won the barrel racing event that day,” Patti said. “I won all three runs. And, like all the other winners, I received a knife.”
“Like Dad’s.”
“Exactly like your father’s.”
“But the initials aren’t yours,” Emily protested.
“Yes, they are. My first name is Jane. It’s my middle name that is Patricia. Like I told you at the hospital, my mother was Jane, and we didn’t like getting confused.”
“And your maiden name was Hamm,” Donovan said. “You told us the Gramma Hamm story.”
“So, how did Billy get your knife?” Jacob wanted to know.
“I gave it to him. It was the next Monday at school. He said something about liking the way I rode. And, I gave it to him. I’d forgotten. How could I have forgotten?”
“So, probably not a murder weapon,” Jacob said.
“Probably not,” Officer Sam Miller said, standing. “I called the woman in Kearny back, and she remembered Billy having the knife. Most likely—” Sam went over to Karl and bent down, looking the old man in the eyes “—Billy was trying to get home and just too sick to make it all the way.”
“I’d have fetched him if he called.”
“We didn’t find any money, nothing,” Sam said.
“But you think he was trying to make it home?” Karl asked.
“I absolutely think that.”
Karl nodded.
“Come on, Karl,” Elise said. “This is way more excitement than you need on the day you get out of the hospital. I’m taking you to Eva’s room. Cooper, you want to help?”
He was already out of his seat and at her side. Looking at the way they smiled at each other did something to Emily’s insides. She wanted the same.
Her dad was walking both Sam and Patti to the door. Going over to stand by Donovan, Emily said, “Not the way I thought this would all pan out.”
“Me, either,” Donovan said, but Emily got the idea he wasn’t talking about Billy Wilcox.
He was talking about her.
About them.
* * *
Donovan met the family in the dining room for dinner. It was still closed, for grandfather purposes, but Cook had made a meat loaf for the family.
To Donovan’s surprise, Karl was there, dressed for church.
“Looks like you’re coming tonight, too,” Jacob observed.
“Yeah, well, Emily invited me.”
“She know the answer was yes?” Cook asked, handing Donovan a plate.
“No.”
“How long has it been since you’ve been to church?” Jacob queried.
“Too long.”
Jacob nodded. “You picked the right night. The congregation will be so focused on Patti, they might actually miss noticing you.”
“I doubt it,” Karl said.
Emily came in at that moment, wearing a white shirt, tucked and nipped in all the right places, over a blue jean skirt and white sandals. Her hair was long and loose with some kind of band holding it back.
Donovan stood so quickly that the table moved.
“Easy, boy,” Jacob cautioned.
Emily got her own plate and came to join them, completely at ease at the table full of men.
He should have attended church on Sunday morning, Donovan considered, because then he would have enjoyed this smile more than once.
Dinner ended too soon as they were already running late. Pleased that she didn’t question who she’d be riding with, Donovan led the way to his truck, opened the passenger door and helped her in. Across the way, Jacob was doing the same, only he was helping Karl. Cook climbed in the back. Only Harold Mull stayed behind, to mind the animals and in case of an emergency. Donovan had been informed that usually emergencies weren’t a consideration and everyone went, but with Eva in the hospital...
“I’m surprised Karl’s attending church. He got out of the hospital today, and then he found out that his son died trying to get to him.”
“He’s not missed a day of church in the last year.” Emily tugged on her seat belt. “It’s his favorite thing.”
Donovan wondered how long it would take him to convince her to sit in the middle, next to him, instead of by the window.
“You think my father has a female following,” Emily added. “You should see the women flock about Karl. They take care of him. Tonight, he’ll know he’s not alone. Of course, he knows the Lord. Karl knows he’s not alone.”
Donovan shook his head. “I was sure that skeleton was a murder victim. What are the odds, that knife being right there?”
“I guess we humans are geared to think the worst.”
“You certainly used to think the worst of me,” he teased.
“Used to? Maybe I still do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right. Any man that starts out thinking he can win my affections by building me a Hopi village—”
“And then gets talked into a whole hotel—”
“—can’t be all bad,” she finished.
Donovan followed Jacob from the ranch, his truck bumping on the dirt road before finding traction. “I’ve got something to tell you,” he said once they were on smoother pavement.
“About Tinytown?”
“No.”
“About the Baer house?”
“No.”
She started to guess again, but he held up his hand. “Randall Tucker’s made me a job offer. He assures me it won’t be Karl’s or the Baer place. He’s wanting to put in a retirement community, and he doesn’t want it to be cookie-cutter. It’s a five-year project. I’d be in charge. I’d be here.”
“Tract housing?”
“Yes, and no. He’s allowing multi-acre lots, and he wants diversity. So consider it a planned development but so much more.”
“I don’t like it.”
Donovan wished he could tell her something that would make the scenario perfect, but this was his job. She had to understand. “It’s coming whether I’m in charge or not.”
“Can’t you just build tree houses and—”
“I’d be moving from one state to the other, and when the economy tanks, I’m no longer worthy. Plus, the tree houses I build are for the wealthy. Tucker’s already dangled the ‘affordable’ card in front of me.”
And in the hours since he’d talked to his parents and spoken with Tucker, all Donovan could think about—besides Emily—was that maybe he could get his parents to move here. Retire. No more snow.
“Randall purchased the Majestic and didn’t even try to build something modern but equivalent.
He built an ordinary apartment building.”
The way she emphasized the word ordinary let him know how deeply she still felt.
“I think he regrets his choice. Did you know he’s purchased a house here in Apache Creek?”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. He’s going to make this his home base.”
“He actually approached Karl,” she said indignantly, “and his property wasn’t for sale.”
“Not an unheard-of or unexpected move in real estate.”
“We’re not Phoenix,” she protested, but he could tell she was halfhearted.
“Better the enemy you know than the enemy you don’t.” Donovan couldn’t believe he was using the exact same words on her that he’d wanted to use on Tucker. Of course, Donovan’s nemesis was Nolan Tate. His ex-fiancée’s dad. In this case, Emily might consider Donovan the enemy more than Tucker.
After a moment, Emily allowed, “Dad says Apache Creek’s had a good run, and that change is bound to come.”
“Five years,” Donovan said. “I’ll be here five years. I called him this afternoon and took the job. I’m thinking that maybe after our first date this Friday night, there will be another?”
She nodded. “And then another.”
He watched her relax and promised himself he wouldn’t do anything that might cause her to exit his truck and not climb in again. Ever.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the Apache Creek Church, he saw only one carload of people he didn’t recognize.
“Those are the Cagnalias,” Emily said. “The boy walking beside his mother is Garrett’s best friend.”
Parking, Donovan managed to wave at John Westerfield and his family. “Guess I’ll be able to hire him back.”
Emily nodded and said, “There’s always a positive.”
“Who’s the minister?”
“Mike Hamm. He’s a little older than Eva—”
Donovan held up a hand. “You can give me the whole history later. Right now, I’m satisfied that I know his great-grandmother’s history.”
Church started with an assembly. He came to find out there were a few other people he didn’t know in Apache Creek. He shook a dozen hands and tried to remember names. After the devotional, Emily dragged him to the singles class, and he found himself between her and Sam Miller.