Lassoing the Deputy

by Marie Ferrarella

  Full-grown women scurried like children gleefully engaged in a game of tag, taking their places behind furnishings and ducking around corners. Each one of them was to hide and at the appropriate moment jump out and shout “Surprise”—and hope that Miss Joan wouldn’t just turn around and walk out. While she loved to interact, Miss Joan decidedly did not like being the center of attention.

  Alma, lending Olivia a hand, signaled for the last of the noisy shower guests to silence themselves. If they talked, they wouldn’t be able to hear Tina’s key in her front door lock.

  She managed to convey all this by using a look she’d perfected years ago on her brothers. Silence followed, indicating mission accomplished. Alma smiled to herself.

  Miss Joan walked in first. She was in the middle of a lament. “You’d think with all that lightning and thunder, we’d at least get a couple of drops of—”

  She stopped talking and abruptly halted as cries of “Surprise!” descended on her from every conceivable angle in the room.

  Stunned, she could only stare at the women who were gathered in the family room.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Olivia walked up to her, positioning herself on one side as Tina flanked the other side. Mona, the sheriff’s sister, brought up the rear and Alma stood directly in front of her. They were prepared for anything. If Miss Joan was contemplating bolting, she’d find that her escape route was barred on all sides.

  “We’re throwing you a shower, Miss Joan,” Olivia told her.

  Miss Joan surprised them all by frowning. “You’d do a lot better if you’d spent your time trying to figure out a way to throw the county a shower.”

  “Well, given our abilities, this was more in our scope of doable goals,” Tina said with a laugh, hugging her.

  By definition, Miss Joan was not a hugger, although on occasion she was known to allow herself to be hugged. Because she was so partial to Tina, she stood still for the display of affection although she was clearly not all that comfortable about it.

  Miss Joan seemed more uncomfortable to her, Alma thought, than she would have assumed the situation warranted. She began to wonder if there really was something wrong, something the rest of them were missing.

  “Everyone brought an appetizer,” Mona told Miss Joan.

  “And presents. There’re presents,” Tina said with enthusiasm, indicating the table in the corner that was piled high with gaily wrapped items.

  Miss Joan slowly looked at the faces of the women around her. It was impossible to guess what was going through her mind—until she opened her mouth.

  She flushed slightly and shook her head. “You shouldn’t have done this,” she told them, and it seemed to Alma that there was more involved than just a measure of humbleness, surrounding a large dose of self-consciousness.

  When had anyone known Miss Joan to be self-conscious—or humble?

  Something was definitely off.

  “It was the least we could do,” Alma said, observing the woman carefully. “After all, you were always there for us.”

  “No,” Miss Joan said more firmly, “I mean you really shouldn’t have done this.”

  Tina apparently thought modesty was at play here. She put her arm around Miss Joan and gave her a bracing squeeze. “A girl only gets married for the first time once.”

  That was when Alma saw Miss Joan’s face seemingly crumble. Squaring her shoulders, the woman looked as if she was struggling mightily to keep back her tears.

  Her voice was tight, and distant, as she begged off. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t go through with this.” She looked directly at Alma and told her to take her fiancé a message. “Tell Harry that the wedding’s off.”

  And then Miss Joan fled, moving rather quickly for someone who was on her feet for most of the day.

  Miss Joan ran out the door. Ran as fast as she could go away from everyone and everything, leaving them to look at one another in mute dismay and absolute confusion.

  Alma was the first to recover. “Don’t anyone say anything to Harry just yet,” she ordered as she went after the older woman.

  By the time she got outside, there appeared to be no trace of Miss Joan. But she did run into Cash. Literally. Her body crashed into his.

  “What’s the hurry?” he asked, grabbing her by the shoulders to steady her.

  “Miss Joan just ran out of her own bridal shower. She told me to tell your grandfather that she was sorry, but the wedding was off.”

  “She what?” He looked at her, stunned. “Why? What happened?”

  Alma shrugged helplessly. “It was right after Tina said that a girl only gets married once for the first time. I think she might have gone to the diner—or maybe to her place.”

  “You stay here, I’ll check,” he told her.

  “But—”

  He placed his finger against her lips, silencing her. “Trust me,” he told her. “Let me handle this.”

  Something told her that he needed to. So, although it was against her nature, she forced herself to back off and allow him to handle it.

  Alma inclined her head and murmured, “All right, if you think you can talk Miss Joan back into going through with the wedding.”

  He nodded, not wanting to say anything more right now. He had a couple of ideas to work out in his head as he searched for the woman who was supposed to be marrying his grandfather in less than a week.

  Following Alma’s instincts, Cash went to the diner first. But although there were a few customers scattered throughout, Miss Joan was nowhere to be seen.

  He tried Miss Joan’s home next.

  Rather than knock, which would have alerted her and given Miss Joan time to bolt if she were so inclined, Cash let himself in—the doors in Forever were never locked during the day—and quietly went from room to room searching for Miss Joan.

  When he finally found her a few minutes later, Miss Joan was not in her bedroom but in the tiny family room she hardly ever entered. She was sitting on a hassock, holding what appeared to be a framed photograph against her thin chest and rocking slowly to and fro.

  He approached the woman cautiously, taking care not to startle her. “Miss Joan?”

  She lifted her head slightly but didn’t immediately turn around to look at him. Eyes forward, she stared straight ahead at nothing.

  “Go away, Cash,” she ordered quietly. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Oh, but it does,” he contradicted. “You’re calling off the wedding. That’s going to wind up breaking my grandfather’s heart. My grandfather means a great deal to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt, so yes, I’d say that this does concern me.”

  Cash approached the older woman slowly, with measured steps. Half-afraid that she would bolt, he never took his eyes off Miss Joan until he was standing directly in front of her.

  “May I see?” he asked, holding out his hand for the photograph.

  One moment stretched out into two and then double that again. It looked as if Miss Joan was just going to ignore him. But as he started to ask for a second time to see the photograph, she sighed and surrendered it, frame and all.

  Cash glanced down at a faded black-and-white photograph of a handsome young man standing in front of a weathered two-story house. Beside him was a towheaded little boy. The man was holding the little boy’s hand. They both had wide, close to identical, smiles on their faces.

  “It was his birthday,” Miss Joan said quietly as she continued staring into space. “That picture was taken on Jason’s fourth birthday.” Her words were addressed to the air that was before her.

  “Good-looking little boy,” Cash noted. He looked up at Miss Joan. “Who is he?”

  “He was my son. The man with him was my husband.”

  He could hear the pain in her voice each time she uttered the word was. He thought of dropping the matter, but that wouldn’t solve anything, so he asked, “What happened to them?”

  “They died,” Miss Joan said with finality, me
ntally scrambling to gain some high ground, away from the event she was talking about. Away from the piercing pain that the memory always brought with it. “They died and I didn’t.”

  “How?” Cash pressed quietly. His voice was kind.

  Miss Joan took in another deep breath, shakier than the one before. Her voice trembled slightly as she answered his question.

  “In a tornado. We— I,” she corrected since she was the only one left, “lived in Kansas before I came here. The tornado was upon us without warning.” She closed her eyes, but she could still see it. Still see it even though it had happened more than four decades ago. “Robert pushed me into the storm cellar and ran to get Jason. I fell off the ladder and broke my leg. I couldn’t follow him,” she cried, frustration vibrating in every syllable she uttered.

  “I heard the wind, heard the house groaning, the beams snapping, but I couldn’t do anything. I screamed myself hoarse and eventually I blacked out. When I came to, I started calling again. Some neighbors heard me yelling the next morning and rescued me.” The horror of that reality filled her now as if it had just happened. “There was nothing left of my house. Nothing left of my life,” she said numbly.

  “Two days later they found Robert and Jason miles away, what was left of them,” she added quietly, then finally looked up at Cash. “I should have been with them. Died with them,” she insisted. “It took me a long time to forgive myself for living.” Clasping her hands together in her lap, Miss Joan stared down at them. “I just can’t open myself up to that kind of pain again, Cash.” She shook her head, as if to reinforce her words. “I can’t marry your grandfather.”

  “You’re afraid of being happy,” he concluded. “Afraid of what it would feel like to have that happiness ripped away from you.” He nodded, more sympathetic than the woman could possibly know. “I get that. But in denying yourself, you’re also denying my grandfather, who you know loves you a great deal.”

  A fond smile played on his lips. “You made that man feel young again.” And he would always be grateful to her for that. The last time he had seen his grandfather this happy, his grandmother had still been alive. “If he loses you, I’m not sure he’d be able to recover from that. He shouldn’t have to lose you,” he told her.

  “I don’t want to hurt him, Cash,” Miss Joan protested. “But losing Robert and Jason almost killed me. At my age, if I lost Harry—well, I don’t bounce back like I used to,” she said philosophically.

  “You, Miss Joan, can do anything you set your mind to,” he told her with no little admiration. “Besides, these tiny clusters of happiness we’re lucky enough to trip over, they’re what makes the rest of what we have to put up with bearable.”

  He knew in his heart that if she did call off the wedding, she would suffer for it as much as his grandfather would.

  “Now, I don’t know how much longer my grandfather has, or how much longer you have for that matter, but wouldn’t it be an awful shame, not to mention a terrible waste, if you allowed yourself—and my grandfather—to be robbed of spending that precious time together just because you’re afraid?”

  There was that word again, Miss Joan thought. Afraid. Yes, there were times when she was afraid, but she wouldn’t admit it out loud. Because as long as no one knew, then the fear couldn’t own you.

  A little bit of her spirit returned as the older woman tossed her head, a few strands of her strawberry-blond hair bouncing against her shoulder as they came loose.

  “I’m not afraid,” she informed Cash crisply. “I have never been afraid. And I’m not about to start being afraid at my age.”

  He smiled at her. “Atta girl, Miss Joan.”

  She gave no indication that his words cheered her on. “All right,” she announced coolly, “tell your grandfather the wedding’s back on.”

  Cash’s eyes crinkled as he said, “I never told him that it wasn’t.”

  “Good,” she pronounced. “We don’t want to confuse him.”

  “No,” he agreed, “we don’t. Besides,” he added, doing his best to sound serious, “I’m looking forward to calling you Grandma.”

  Her eyes narrowed then until they became hazel slits. “You do, boy, and it’s the last thing you’ll ever say. To anyone.”

  He laughed at her threat, satisfied that the irrepressible woman was back in form. With a nod he told her, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  “See that you do,” she instructed. “Now if you’ll get out of my way, I have a shower to go back to.”

  “I’d be honored if you’d let me escort you there,” he said, offering her his elbow.

  She slipped her hand through it and then looked at him knowingly. “Don’t trust me not to change my mind again?” she asked.

  “The thought never crossed my mind, Miss Joan,” he replied, keeping his expression somber. “I just wanted to be in the company of a fascinating woman for a few extra minutes.”

  “Liar.”

  “Nothing that could ever be proven in a court of law,” he assured her with a wink.

  She shook her head, amused. “You’re just like your grandfather.”

  “I take that as a very high compliment, Miss Joan,” he said.

  “And well you should, boy,” Miss Joan replied.

  Chapter Ten

  It wasn’t until Miss Joan had gone inside and he’d stepped away from the front door of Tina Davenport’s home that Cash realized someone was behind him.

  Turning around, he saw Alma standing not too far away from him. He had the distinct impression that she hadn’t just popped up there within the last minute or two.

  Her first words to him confirmed it.

  “Nicely done,” Alma said, joining him.

  Cash moved farther away from Tina’s house. He’d initially been on his way to his grandfather’s, but he decided to linger just a few minutes longer in town. “You followed me?” he guessed, surprised that she’d do something like that.

  Alma didn’t bother to lie. There was no point. “Guilty as charged.”

  He made the only assumption he could. “I take it you didn’t trust me to get the job done?”

  Alma slowly shook her head, an engaging smile playing on her lips. “On the contrary, I remembered you could be very persuasive when you wanted to be. I just wanted to see how you’d do it.”

  “So, you approve?” he asked as he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her reply. Had she heard everything? Including Miss Joan sharing her personal tragedy with him?

  By watching him break down Miss Joan’s defenses and defeating her fears—by the very fact that he had gotten the woman to share with him something she hadn’t told anyone else in town—Alma had been stirred to a near melting point. Listening to him, she’d found, had played on her empathy, not to mention her feelings of pride in the man Cash was, as well as awakening a host of other feelings.

  To explain her reaction to what he’d done for Miss Joan seemed next to impossible. But to show him, well, she definitely could do that, and she knew for a fact that there were times when actions spoke louder than words.

  So, as he watched her, Alma moved in closer to him, took his face between her hands and, standing on her very tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his.

  The moment she did, it was as if some sort of inner explosion of massive proportions occurred. An inner explosion that immediately and completely encompassed both of them.

  But after that moment of absolutely pure pleasure, it was Cash who pulled away, mindful of the gathering taking place just a few yards away.

  He didn’t want Alma to become the subject of any gossip on his account.

  As he took a breath, he could feel his heart racing madly. “You keep doing that and I might not be able to walk away next time.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, trying to discern what was on his mind. She couldn’t, so she went with instincts instead. “Who said anything about walking away?”

  Damn it, if he remained around her, talking like this, he w
as liable to kiss her again. And not to stop there.

  “Don’t you have a shower to attend?” he asked, nodding toward the house.

  She glanced over her shoulder for just a second. “Miss Joan’ll keep them all busy. They won’t even notice I’m not there.” She shrugged dismissively. “I can always say an emergency called me away.”

  “Like what? A squirrel falling out of a tree?”

  “You can never be too careful with those falling squirrels,” she deadpanned, looking very solemn. “It might bite if it lands on your shoulder.”

  Amused, he played along, even though he knew he shouldn’t, for her sake. “Wouldn’t want that.”

  “Nope,” she agreed, turning up her face to his, a silent invitation. “You certainly wouldn’t.”

  Unable to resist any longer, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her again.

  This time, she cleaved to him because she knew deep down that he was the part of her that had been missing all this time. Alma continued to press against him as she felt her body heating to a degree that could have melted a pat of butter within three feet of her.

  Again Cash drew away, although this time it took him a great deal more effort than it had just a moment ago. But he couldn’t allow her to do this to herself.

  He wasn’t any good for her.

  “Oh, damn it, Alma, you don’t want this.” He was damaged inside, too damaged to deserve someone like her. “I’m not the person you remember.”

  Her pulse was racing and everything inside her felt truly alive again. She wasn’t going to allow Cash to run himself down like this.

  “Yes, you are,” she told him quietly, firmly. “You are exactly as I remember you.”

  She was convinced now that while Cash had initially been mesmerized by what a city like Los Angeles had to offer, mesmerized by the fast pace and the sophistication he’d encountered, that something else had broken him to this degree.

  Which, in turn, meant that he wasn’t completely responsible for having stayed away so long.