“I don’t know. He has … some kind of relationship with the old man I’ve never understood.”
“People care about Sarge.”
She knew that. But this wasn’t about Sarge anymore. He had sparked her temper, but Jonah ignited it.
The elevator doors split. The main doors parted. Swinging the basket at her side, Tia made for her car.
Piper stayed quiet until they were well on their way home, then sighed. “I guess I won’t be staying.”
Tia’s hand fisted. “I’d hire you myself if I didn’t already have Amanda covering my days off.” The daughter of a friend from church rang up sales, swept, and dusted. She locked up behind her and showed no initiative. Sarge had a treasure in Piper that he didn’t deserve.
Piper sighed. “I know you need the rent.”
“I do. But you can get unemployment for a while. He had no grounds to fire you. You’ve been a model employee.”
Piper shrugged. “Maybe I’ll find something else.”
Jobs in Redford were like lottery tickets. If you hit it just right, you might win, as she had with Sarge—or so they’d thought. Tia remembered going door to door at sixteen, filling out applications, knowing her reputation as a troublemaker preceded her. Finally, her mother had given her a few hours at the shop, where she could both control and ridicule her efforts.
Tia didn’t like the merchandise, ceramic figurines and T-shirts with generic mountain town slogans, but she’d sold them. She’d sold them so well her mother accused her of lascivious behavior—she’d had to look that one up—but it was the first indication that Stella thought she had anything someone might want.
Maybe Piper didn’t have those strikes against her, but finding a new job would be tough. With its proximity to the ski slopes, kids were less likely to leave Redford than many small towns, and shopkeepers helped keep it that way by hiring locals.
Piper had made her own job when she talked Sarge into it. And she was the best investment he’d ever made. Tia clenched the wheel, furious again. He’d fired her for getting him emergency help? He deserved to lose everything.
“Tia?”
She turned.
“It’s not worth it.”
“What?”
“Blaming Sarge. Wanting him to pay. My family’s made it an art, and I don’t think they’re happy.”
Tia huffed. “Mistreating people doesn’t brighten things either.”
Piper sighed. “No. But you can’t help what other people think.”
“You’re not upset that Sarge fired you? That he’s hollered at you this whole time? That he doesn’t appreciate all you’ve done?”
“Of course I’m upset. But”—she shrugged—“that’s how it goes.”
“It’s not how it should go.”
Eight
We cannot be separated in interest or divided in purpose.
We stand together until the end.
—THOMAS WOODROW WILSON
Jonah stood in the hall long enough to contain his anger. Tia didn’t want to see the truth. Neither did Sarge. Each clung to their positions, and the world could fall apart around them. Frustrated, Jonah settled back down beside Sarge. The old man looked as though he’d expended all his energy, but he wasn’t through.
“That fire-haired she-devil has a nasty temper.”
Tia’s temper was a force. But they had set her off.
“Gave her mother a terrible time.”
“That went both ways, Sarge.”
“What?”
“With Stella.”
Sarge scowled. “Who asked her here anyway?”
“Don’t look at me. But Sarge, she has a point.”
“What point?”
“You can’t fire Piper.”
Sarge narrowed his rheumy eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”
“If you want to convince people you can be on your own, you have to make good decisions. Canning the person who’s keeping you in business is not sound strategy.”
Sarge chewed his lips, looking recalcitrant.
“You followed your instincts in hiring her,” Jonah prodded.
“She gabbed her way in.”
“But you saw the merit or you wouldn’t have gone there.” Just as Sarge had with him.
“She’s trying to take over.”
“She’s on your side.” He ripped open a package of fudge and put a square in the old man’s hand. It tore him up to see the tremor in the pale palm. “What does every good commander do, Sarge? Delegate.”
Sarge shoved the fudge into his mouth and sucked it into mush, then nodded. “All right. Tell her she still has a job.”
“I think you should tell her.” Jonah held out his phone. “You can reach Tia’s cell. They’re probably still in the car.”
Sarge lowered his thunderous brows. “It was your idea.”
“You’re the boss.”
“And I’m delegating.”
Jonah sat back. Wily old man. “Okay. I’ll let her know.” But he sure as heck wasn’t calling Tia’s cell. He stacked the baked goods onto Sarge’s rolling arm table and left him sucking fudge.
Tia dropped Piper downtown and went home. Why did the best intentions so often go so wrong? If no one bothered with anyone else, would they be worse off or better in the long run? Strife came through interaction. Maybe everyone should just live their own lives and never try to impact another and never let themselves care.
Shaking her head, she went into her house and looked around. She could live alone. A lot of the time she did, renting the guest room to vacationers who came and went as though she didn’t exist. Their independence suited her just fine. Maybe she encouraged it. Hard to tell.
Then came Piper. Not a boarder, but a roommate and friend. Would she miss her? She closed the door and climbed the stairs. Yes, she would miss her, and it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. Piper had done so much good.
Tia went into her room and looked bleakly around. It was a single woman’s room. No husband’s or boyfriend’s photo on the bedstand. No children’s clutter. The current stack of books to read, candles that seemed oddly pathetic. No keepsakes from a vacation, no sweetheart’s roses pressed or dried. It was no mystery why. She was toxic.
She went to the window and looked through the organza to the houses across the street and the others spreading down the slope. She loved the lights in their windows and on their porches, like a cascade of candles. Looking at them now, she felt isolated, as though the single light from her bedroom was lost among them, insignificant.
Then she saw Jonah pull up to the curb. A groan came from deep within her. Hadn’t he done enough? His walk to her door had purpose, but he hesitated before knocking. She stepped away from the window. Hesitation gone, he had knocked twice before she reached the door, enough to rekindle her indignation for Piper and his insulting stabs.
She pulled open the door and huffed, “What.”
“Sarge wants to keep Piper on.”
She leaned on the door. “So?”
That caught him short. “So … I thought she’d be glad to know.”
“Glad?” Like it was some favor? From the goodness of his heart? Jonah rubbed his face. “Is she here?”
“No.”
“Do you know where—”
“She’s out with friends. Since she doesn’t have to work in the morning.” She managed not to gloat.
“Well, can you give her the message?”
“If Sarge wants to rehire her, he can do it himself.”
“Not stuck in the hospital.”
“There’s no telephone?” She folded her arms. “Anyway, I advised her to pursue other options.”
“What, you’re her mother now?”
Her mouth fell slack. “Thank you very much, Jonah. You hadn’t quite reached your insult quota.” She swung the door, but he caught it.
“I didn’t mean you could be. Just you’re acting like it.” They exerted equal pressure for a few seconds, then she stopped pushing and looked away.
; His voice softened. “I’m sorry about before. I was worked up from talking to Sarge’s daughters.”
She refused to meet his eyes. “Tell Sarge to call Piper when he’s ready to discuss terms.”
“Terms? Come on, Tia.”
“Piper deserves better.”
“She won’t find a better setup. Sarge might not return in any real way. She’ll have the opportunities she’s wanted.”
“Hah. He’ll go to his grave with that bakery in his fist.”
“I hope that’s a long way off.” His voice had an edge.
With a pang, she realized what she’d said. Eyes shut, she released her breath. “Sorry.”
“Just tell her—”
“You tell her, Jonah. You be that curmudgeon’s mouthpiece. I won’t.” She stepped back and shut the door. Stiffly she climbed the stairs, found her bed, and curled up in a ball. Jonah had compared her to the mean old man who’d driven away everyone who mattered. “Thank you so much,” she bit out.
Piper felt a quiver when Chief Westfall entered the Summit Saloon. She’d just been canned in front of him by his good friend Sarge. Now she might have to start over somewhere else, and that hurt, but she didn’t want him to see how much. He came to stand behind the stool next to hers—the one Mike Bunyan had vacated for a trip to the john.
She raised her Laughing Lab.
“Are you old enough to drink?”
She flashed her sunniest smile. “Want to see my ID?”
Lucas swept past on the other side of the bar. “I carded her.”
She took out her wallet, flipping her license down. The picture wasn’t bad. And yes, she could legally drink, barely, though she didn’t like to barhop. This wouldn’t have been her first choice, but Mike had motioned her in from the sidewalk. “What would you like?”
The chief shook his head. “Nothing, thanks. I don’t drink.”
“How do you stay hydrated?”
His eyes creased. She liked how they smiled before his mouth.
“I just came to give you a message from Sarge.”
She patted the stool. “You may as well sit.”
He hesitated, then straddled the stool. Lucas popped the cap on an O’Doul’s and set it before him. “Thanks.” He took a swig.
“What’s my message?”
“Sarge wants you to keep the job.”
“He does?” Surprise and confusion mingled with joy and relief.
“He’s angry and hurting, but most of all he’s scared. He’s losing control and doesn’t know how to be without it.”
“Tia told me about his wife and son.”
Jonah frowned. “Best if you don’t mention it.”
She met the chief’s dark blue eyes. “How did it happen?”
He stared a moment into the mouth of his beer bottle. “Marty was just learning to drive. He started to pass someone on the highway and got clipped. It put the car into a spin, and they went through the guardrail. Sarge thinks if he’d been out there, he might have stopped it, but Ellen wouldn’t let him teach the kid, said he was too impatient. Given Marty’s timid nature, she was probably right, and that’s what really eats him up.”
“Poor Sarge.” She meant it.
“Yeah.” Jonah stared down at the bar.
Mike came back from the bathroom ready to contest the stool until he realized it was the chief in his spot. He wiped his mouth and tried to look half as wasted as he was.
Jonah slid Mike a glance. “Not driving, are you?”
“No sir.”
She’d never heard Mike call anyone sir.
“Who’s your DD?” Jonah’s voice was low yet somehow penetrating.
“Uh, MacDonald.” Mike pointed to a kid shooting pool in the back of the room.
“Go make sure of that.”
“Okay.” Mike walked away.
The chief turned back. “Don’t get in a car with him.” He stood up, tossed a five on the bar, and went out the way he’d come, alone.
Jonah went home but not inside. He lowered himself onto the Adirondack chair and stared out into the night. He’d been nine when Marty crashed, was riding shotgun in his dad’s truck when the call came over the radio. He might not remember it so clearly if the police chief hadn’t ordered him down the slope to see what happened to fools that weren’t careful.
He’d been retching under a tree when Sarge arrived. Their eyes met only briefly, a look that said Marty had been the sweet-natured son Sarge didn’t deserve, and no one deserved a father like Stan Westfall.
Jonah reached into his pocket and pulled out a harmonica. He raised his feet to the rail and crossed his ankles.
Sarge had given him jobs so the bread wouldn’t seem like charity; sweeping, counting inventory, stocking shelves. He always pointed out if the work was shoddy. And if it wasn’t, he’d said, “Well done, soldier. Carry on.”
Even now the words brought a hitch to his chest.
He didn’t know what Sarge had seen in him, maybe a replacement for the son he’d lost. But he knew what he’d seen in Sarge, and there was no way the man would be stuffed into a care facility. He brought the harmonica to his mouth and started playing, a soft, poignant melody.
He had not insulted Tia, comparing her to Sarge. They were both incredibly strong, incredibly stubborn, incredibly important to him. He wanted both to move past the hurts that held them captive. Didn’t help that he’d played a part in Tia’s.
At the sound of rustling, Jonah lowered the harmonica and peered into the darkness. At the fringe of the tree line, a shadow moved. He unsnapped his holster, pulled his sidearm onto his lap, and rested his hand atop. Unless it was human, whatever was there could see him a lot better than he could see it. Smell him too.
Bears, cougars, and coyotes wouldn’t naturally approach unless crazed with hunger or rabid. He sensed the creature’s uncertainty, imagined its eyes roving over him, nose quivering as it took in his scent. Any moment it would slip away, shielded by the trees from a creature far less dangerous, yet threatening by nature of reason alone.
But the shadow crept closer. Jonah watched and waited. The lack of stealth surprised him. Moonlight reflected off a pair of eyes, low to the ground, then higher. He sensed the animal’s fear, saw streaks of black across its side and shoulder.
The animal left the trees, pressing through the scrub and pausing where his lawn began, its motion more canine than feline, definitely not a bear. Bigger than a raccoon. Drawing slow breaths, he waited. If the animal charged he’d shoot, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.
As it stepped onto the grass, he noticed the limp, the hang of its head. An injured coyote. Why on earth was it coming to him? His mournful harmonica some sort of clarion? Pace after pace, it drew near, then lowered itself and lay panting with soft whines. He could see blood clumping the fur of its shoulder, neck, and side.
He holstered the gun, pocketed the mouth organ, then took out and flicked on his flashlight. He sat forward, letting the animal register his movement. It raised its head, bared its teeth, and growled. The effort took energy the creature didn’t have, and it lowered its head. Slowly Jonah stood. The coyote whined.
He moved toward it, taking one step down and then another. The animal tensed when he reached the grass, and he waited, letting it sense him. It was a female. And she wasn’t a pure coyote. She looked part shepherd. A coydog.
He moved, slowly and quietly, expecting her to spring up and run. As he came within a couple of steps, she reached out a paw and dragged herself a few inches toward him. He looked into her eyes, saw the wild fear but also something close to resignation.
He squatted down and examined her wounds. No cutting or stitching. She looked to have been caught with a shotgun blast. By the matting in her coat, she’d lost a lot of blood. She licked weakly at the wounds stretching from shoulder to distended belly.
Jonah swallowed. She was a wild predator, but he took out his phone and dialed the vet. When she answered, he said, “Dr. Rainer? This is Chief Westfa
ll. I know it’s past hours, but I have an animal here that I can’t transport. Any chance you can come have a look?”
He described the injuries and gave her directions to his place without mentioning that it was a coyote. Half coyote. Panting, the animal rolled farther to her side. Jonah ran the light over her, looking for anything he may have missed. Her eyes had dulled. Her tongue hung slack. Her ribs rose and fell in shallow breaths.
“Hang in there,” he whispered. Slowly, he extended his hand, fingers curled to the palm, letting her get his scent. He brought it closer, rested it on her head. She tensed but couldn’t sustain it. He moved his fingers softly through the fur. Odds were good she’d be dead by morning, but she’d come to him. “Hold on now. Hold on.” He kept her as calm as he could until the grind of gravel announced Liz arriving.
She approached tentatively, her eyes widening when coyote registered. By then the animal’s head lay heavily in his cupped palm. She caught the new scent and eyed Liz warily, drawing her lips back and rumbling in her throat.
Jonah felt more than heard it. “I don’t think she has much fight, but I don’t have to tell you to be careful.”
“You want me to put her down?”
That would be the obvious choice, maybe the wise one. More wild than not, when she got strong again, she’d take off and be bolder than before. But he shook his head. She’d come to him for help, conquered her instinct and made herself vulnerable. “I thought we could treat the wounds, stop the bleeding and the pain.”
A smile touched Liz Rainer’s lips. “Is that what your head’s telling you?”
He took the jibe with a glance and shrugged.
Liz ran her eyes over the animal. “She’s carrying a litter.”
“I thought so.”
“Well, let’s see what we can do to make her comfortable.”
He sat back as the vet worked over her, pinching the fur to insert the needle to sedate her, removing thirteen pellets, then salving the wounds. He went inside and brought out a woolen blanket that he tucked under the animal’s head, then laid the remainder loosely over her.
Liz said, “She’s not a pure coyote, is she?”
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