by Sandra Brown
Trapper could practically feel the sparks when his eyes clashed with his father’s. Neither would have backed down or broken the hard stare had it not been for Kerra’s intervention.
“Major Trapper?”
He looked down at her, then shocked both Trapper and her by smiling. “Hello, Kerra.”
She actually fell back a step. “You know me?”
“Of course. Channel six. I enjoy your reporting.”
“I’m flattered.” She reached across the threshold and shook hands with him. “Trapper was kind enough to escort me here. May we come in?”
Trapper didn’t call her on the fib. With only a slight hesitation, and a glance at Trapper, The Major backed away to allow them inside.
Kerra went ahead of Trapper. Under his breath, he said to her, “You didn’t need me to get you across his threshold, after all. Seems he’s a fan.”
The Major motioned them toward the sofa. Kerra sat. Trapper perched on the end of the upholstered arm. The Major asked if they wanted something to drink.
Trapper said, “No thanks.”
At the same time, Kerra replied, “Maybe later.”
The Major settled into his recliner. Wearing a frown of slight disapproval, he took in Trapper from head to toe, then asked, “How are you, John?”
“Good. You?”
“Can’t complain.”
After that, they had nothing to say to each other, and even that amount of compulsory politeness had been for Kerra’s benefit. Trapper would have left right then, except for his vital need to know how the next few minutes panned out.
The Major was regarding Kerra with a halfhearted scowl. “Are you the persistent young lady who’s been calling me these past months?”
“You’ve been just as persistent hanging up on me.”
“Had I known it was you—”
“You wouldn’t have hung up?”
“I would have,” he said, “but I’d have been more courteous.”
She laughed softly. “Well, no matter, I got the message that you didn’t wish to speak to me. My only recourse was to seek out Trapper and request an audience with you.”
The Major looked at Trapper. “Didn’t you explain to her that I don’t do interviews anymore?”
“About a dozen times.”
“Then why’d you bring her?” He looked at Kerra and softened his expression. “Even though I’m delighted to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Breaking up the mutual admiration–fest, Trapper said, “I tried talking her out of it. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Maybe she will from you. Tell her no, I’ll see her on her way, and go have one of Del Rancho’s chicken fried steak sandwiches. That might make it worth the trouble of having to drive up here.”
With annoyance, The Major shifted his attention away from Trapper and back to Kerra. “I don’t give interviews anymore.”
She held steady. “This would be an extraordinary interview.”
“They all say that.”
She smiled. “But in this case, it’s true.”
“How so?”
She bent down, extracted a printout of the photograph from her bag, then got up and carried it over to The Major. “It would be a reunion.”
“Reunion?” He took the photo from her but didn’t look at it. He was looking up at Kerra waiting for an explanation.
She leaned down and pointed to the girl in the picture. “Look closely at her face.”
Several minutes later Trapper left through the front door. Neither noticed his departure.
Trapper drove to the drive-in restaurant that had been there for as long as he could remember. It had withstood the invasion of fast-food chains and still offered curb service. He ate in the truck and listened to country on the radio.
The sandwich wasn’t famous for nothing. The battered, tenderized round steak was as big as a hubcap and extended beyond the edges of the bun. It was delicious, but every bite Trapper took went down with a lump of worry over what was happening back at The Major’s place, what kind of persuasion Kerra was applying, and how easily, or not, The Major would yield.
When he finished his meal, he drove toward the interstate to start his trip back to Fort Worth, but when he reached a crossroads, literally, he stopped and took out his phone. The number was in his contacts.
The call was answered by a female voice made husky by too many years of Marlboros. “Sheriff’s office.”
Trapper asked to speak to the head man himself but was told that Sheriff Addison had already left for the day. “Do you want his voice mail?”
“No thanks.”
Trapper clicked off and sat staring through the windshield at the rural landscape, now tinted with the lavender of dusk. A small herd of beef cattle dotted the pasture to his right. On his left, dead winter grass bent to the strong north wind.
Mentally he listed all the reasons why he should drive on and take the next entrance ramp onto eastbound I-20. He could be home in time to crack a beer just before the Mavs tipped off.
Ultimately, swearing at himself for being a damn fool, he took his foot off the brake and made a left turn onto a rural road.
A few minutes later he topped a hill, and the Addisons’ house came into view. There was a light on in every room, and the house was surrounded by parked cars and pickup trucks. Trapper immediately changed his mind about calling on The Major’s longtime best friend.
He was in the process of making a three-point turn when an adolescent girl broke away from a group of kids kicking around a soccer ball in the front yard. She jogged toward him, waving her skinny arms as she directed him to pull the SUV into the dry ditch. Trapper did as directed and lowered the driver’s window.
She landed against the door, breathless. “I’m supposed to tell latecomers to park along the road.”
She had crazy red hair, redder cheeks, and a mouthful of braces. Trapper fell in love. “Latecomers to what?”
“The Bible study. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
Trapper turned off the motor and climbed down. “What do you think?”
She looked him up and down, then grinned and said, “IDTS.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think so.”
He laughed. “Smart guess.”
“You’re John Trapper, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“Everybody knows. You’re the black sheep.”
So, the townsfolk of Lodal talked among themselves about The Major’s wayward son. He wondered if they used coded language in front of the children. But the children now had a coded language all their own.
“I’m Tracy,” the girl said.
“Pleased to meet you, Tracy.”
“You have. When I was about six. It was Thanksgiving. You, The Major, and your mom were here visiting. I got my foot stuck in the commode. You worked it free.”
“That was you?”
“Yep,” she said with pride.
“I never knew why you put your foot in the commode.”
She raised her bony shoulders in a shrug. “I never knew why, either.”
Trapper couldn’t help but laugh again. “The sheriff at home?”
She glanced toward the house, then came back around and leaned in to speak low. “The front rooms are overflowing with deacons and church ladies learning about Job. But the sheriff’s in the kitchen drinking beer.”
It wasn’t beer, it was Jack Daniel’s. Glenn Addison was pouring a shot into a cup of black coffee when Trapper, who hadn’t bothered to knock, came through the mudroom into the kitchen.
Astonished to see him, Glenn nearly knocked over his chair as he stood up, rounded the table, and clasped Trapper in a bear hug. “Son of a bitch,” he said, thumping him on the back. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, not for a lesson on Job. Hank leading the Bible study?”
“Don’t you know it.” Glenn shook his head with bewilderment. “Where’d I go wrong?”
“Not a bad thing, having a preacher in the family.”
“No, it’s a good thing. Just wish it wasn’t my family.”
Trapper motioned toward the spiked cup of coffee. “I don’t think that’s going to fool anybody.”
“Like I give a flying you-know-what. This is my house, and I’m the law around here, so I’ll have me some sour mash, thank you. Pour yourself one.”
“No thanks. I’ve gotta drive back to Fort Worth.”
Glenn and The Major had been boyhood friends, had gone through twelve grades virtually inseparable, then had roomed together for four years at A & M. Out of college, The Major joined the army. Glenn returned to their hometown, ran for sheriff and won. He’d held the office ever since, usually running for reelection unopposed.
“The faithful have outdone the dessert buffet at Golden Corral,” he said, indicating the array of Tupperware containers on the countertop. “Help yourself. Those brownies are good. Linda made them.”
“How’s she?” Trapper asked of the sheriff’s wife.
“Goes to the gym now. Zumba classes. Tries to get me there.”
“No luck?”
“Wouldn’t be caught dead.” The older man eyed him up and down. “You could use a shave. And a haircut. Boot shine wouldn’t hurt. Have those blue jeans ever met an iron?”
“No, and they never will.”
“You got a girl yet?”
“Had one Saturday night.”
The sheriff frowned with disapproval. “You need a wife, kids.”
“Like I need leprosy.”
“The Major would like some grandkids.”
He tossed the statement out there like a gauntlet. Trapper let it lie for a beat or two, then said, “Not by me.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
Trapper shrugged with feigned indifference. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not making babies.”
“You didn’t come to town bearing an olive branch, then.”
“No. I bore something a little more…troublesome.”
Glenn’s gray eyebrows wrinkled. “To who?”
“To you, Sheriff Addison.”
Glenn picked up the whiskey bottle and held it tilted above his cup. “Am I gonna need another hit of this?”
“’Fraid so.”
The sheriff poured a generous portion into his coffee cup and took a swig. “What’s going on?”
“You ever heard of Kerra Bailey?”
“The girl on TV?”
“How is it everybody has heard of her but me?” Trapper muttered. But he knew why. Except for ESPN, he avoided most television programming. He avoided news in particular, half afraid of what might be on it one of these nights.
“So what about her?” Glenn asked.
“She wants to interview The Major.”
Glenn listened with mounting interest as Trapper described to him Kerra’s unheralded visit to his office. “I was hung over as hell. She sobered me up real quick by asking would I help her get through to The Major. I had a good laugh, then told her no. Hell, no.”
“But here you are.”
He skipped telling Glenn about their dinner date but told him they’d met again that morning. “She told me she wasn’t going to stop until she had a face-to-face with him. I wished her a good life and washed my hands of it.”
Glenn burped whiskey fumes. “I say again, but here you are.”
“I was afraid she’d do something stupid, in which case, the blame would probably come back to me. Hoping to head that off, I got here before she did and walked her to his door. Far as I’m concerned, I’ve done my part. I’m clear. The lady is now on her own.”
“Well, good luck to her,” Glenn said. “Since he retired, he’s turned down every request. Big names, even.”
“Kerra Bailey might break him. He greeted her as a fan.”
“He was a fan of Oprah, too. He turned her down.”
Trapper wasn’t going to tell Glenn what made Kerra exceptional. That was her secret to reveal. But he’d seen the immediate effect that learning her identity had had on The Major. He’d looked at her in wonder. She’d extended him the long overdue thank-you for saving her life. They’d clasped hands and had been absorbed in cozy conversation when Trapper left unnoticed.
“When would this hoped-for interview take place?” Glenn asked.
“This Sunday evening.”
“This this Sunday?” Glenn counted up the days, then flopped back against the slats of his chair. “The anniversary of the bombing.”
Trapper gave him a somber nod. “She went gaga over the house and setting, so I predict she may be planning to broadcast from there, not from a studio in Dallas. That’s why I stopped by tonight. If The Major consents to do it, your town, the whole damn county, will be overrun. This is a heads-up. Brace for the worst.”
Glenn groaned.
No doubt he realized the tactical implications of such an event taking place. And he still didn’t know the half of it. If Kerra had her way and she got to drop her bombshell on Sunday night, there would be an eruption of renewed interest in Lodal’s favorite son. Keeping the chaos under control would fall to Glenn Addison and his department.
That wasn’t at the heart of Trapper’s worry, though. His concerns were much more ominous than potential traffic jams.
Glenn looked at him glumly. “It may not happen. The Major may send her packing.”
“We can hope.” Trapper stood up. “I need to start back.”
“Before saying hello?” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the living area where a sonorous voice could be heard praying.
“Pass along my apologies to the family.”
Glenn leaned heavily on the edge of the table as he came unsteadily to his feet. “I appreciate the warning, Trapper.” He hesitated, then said, “Mind me asking what his reaction was to seeing you on his doorstep?”
“Civil but stilted.”
“If the girl hadn’t been there, it might have been colder.”
“If the girl hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been on his doorstep.”
“When did you and The Major last speak?”
“The week I left the bureau.”
“Tore him up, John, that you were kicked out.”
“I quit.”
“Before they could kick you out. He never said, but I think that’s why he went hermit on us.”
“Yeah. I tarnished his hero’s image. Dulled his halo something awful.”
“Don’t say things like that. The Major—”
“Go easy on that whiskey.”
“Trapper, he—”
“Great seeing you, Glenn.” He left.
It had become full dark while he was inside, but as he skirted the yard, he managed to get Tracy’s attention and signaled her to meet him at the SUV. When she reached him, she danced a little jig. “I just scored a goal.”
Trapper fist-bumped her. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Sure. I owe you for the toilet thing.”
“Go inside and whisper to Hank that he needs to check on his dad.”
“How come?”
“He’s getting shit-faced.”
She shot him a grin. “I can do that.”
“Be discreet. I don’t want anybody embarrassed.”
“Got it. You can count on me.”
“You know what, Tracy?”
“What?”
“I think I want to marry you.”
The metal on her teeth flashed when she smiled. “You’re as wicked as they say.” Then she fist-bumped him again before dashing off.
As Trapper drove away, he thought how badly he hated tattling on Glenn, the man he’d known since birth, who’d always treated him like a second son.
Because of their shared vocations in law enforcement, Glenn had more in common with Trapper than with Hank, who was idealistic and optimistic, always finding the good in people and situations, never probing gray areas because to people like Hank gray areas didn’t exist.
Trapper had no faith in goodness and light. People and institutions were fallible and undependable. Fate was a cruel bastard. If a situation turned out all right, Trapper figured he’d simply gotten lucky, but his tendency was to expect calamity. As he did now.
Chapter 5
You’re going to love it!” Kerra said. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m envisioning Southfork.”
“No, more low-slung. Ranchy. Not as formal. His living room has a cathedral ceiling, exposed beams, and a natural stone fireplace that I could stand up in. I want to shoot the interview in that room with him seated in his leather recliner.”
Too excited to sit still as she described The Major’s house to her producer, Gracie Lambert, Kerra paced the narrow space between the motel room bed and the bureau.
“Keep talking,” Gracie said. “I’m taking notes. What’s he like?”
“Exactly the way you’d expect. Strong but humble. Kind eyes. He’s been on camera so much, he won’t need any coaching for that, but he and I are having a couple of getting-acquainted sessions. Come Sunday night, we’ll be at ease with each other. The first chitchat is tomorrow morning. I offered to bring doughnuts.”
“Doughnuts, chitchat, when no one else has been able to get near him for years.”
Gracie didn’t do giddy, but she was close to getting there tonight. Kerra couldn’t help but feel a little giddy herself.
“I can’t believe you pulled it off,” Gracie enthused. “How did you manage?”
The reminder of Trapper brought Kerra down from her near-high. She would have succeeded without his help, she supposed. But it wouldn’t have been as…interesting. However, she saw no reason to tell Gracie about him. He was a story for another day. Or better yet, never.
In reply to the producer’s question, she said simply, “I kept on keeping on.”
“Or waved a magic wand.”
Identifying herself in the photograph had worked as a magic wand to break down The Major’s barriers. He had held himself together. There’d been no tears of joy or even a drawn-out hug. But his voice had become unsteady with emotion.
Gracie, however, would go off like a skyrocket when she was told, which is why Kerra had decided not to break it to her until the final few hours before the interview. The production crew would need some advance notice so they could set up their camera angles for maximum impact when it was televised, but they would learn her secret only shortly before a vast viewing audience did.