Garrett

by Linda Lael Miller

  Julie peered through the windshield of Paige’s car, watching as the chief of police lifted a megaphone to his mouth.

  “Folks,” his voice boomed out, full of good-natured authority, “we just can’t have all these rigs clogging up the road now. There’s an ambulance on its way over from the clinic right this minute, and you don’t want to hold it up, do you?”

  Paige, a registered nurse with a lot of experience in emergency medicine, nosed her car right up to the front, tooting her horn.

  Chief Brogan looked furious, until he recognized Paige. Immediately after that, he gestured for her to proceed.

  Paige rolled down her window as they pulled up beside the frazzled lawman.

  “It’s that trailer Chudley rents whenever he can find a sucker,” Brent said, bending to look inside the car. His fine-featured brown face glistened with sweat. “Everybody’s out, but the girl and the little boys are pretty shaken up. For my money, all three of those kids are in shock.”

  Paige nodded and drove on, while Julie sat rigid on the seat, Brent’s words echoing in her mind.

  The girl—the little boys—all three of those kids are in shock.

  It finally penetrated. Rachel Strivens and her brothers—they were the kids Brent had been talking about. They lived, with their father, in a house trailer rented from Chudley Wilkes.

  “Oh, my God,” Julie said. “Rachel—she’s in one of my English classes—”

  The fire engine was parked broadside, its bulky hose bulging with water, helmeted volunteers all around.

  Paige got out of the car and ran forward, and Julie was right behind her.

  The flames were out, though smoke churned through the roof of the trailer, having burned part of it away. The structure had been reduced to a blackened ruin, with strips of charred metal curling from it like oddly placed antennae. Hometown firemen, ranchers and farmers and store owners and insurance agents, among others, were everywhere, wielding axes and shovels, and there seemed to be no air left for breathing.

  Julie’s eyes burned as though acid had splashed into them, and so did her lungs and her throat, and she was so frightened for Rachel and her brothers that her heart began to pound in painful thuds.

  She and Paige spotted the three children at the same moment, sitting huddled together on the ground under a tree on the far side of the property. Norvel Collier, a retired pharmacist who looked like he might need medical attention at any moment himself, kept thrusting an oxygen mask at them, and getting no takers.

  “Norvel,” Paige greeted the old man, with a businesslike nod.

  Norvel nodded back. “Hello, Paige,” he said, blinking at her, his eyes reddened from the smoke.

  “You’d best let me take over there,” Paige told him. “You go rustle up some more oxygen for me, why don’t you? And a few blankets, maybe?”

  Norvel didn’t protest. He nodded, and Julie helped him to his feet. She received a grateful, faltering smile for her effort.

  “Much obliged,” he said.

  “What can I do to help?” Julie asked Paige.

  Paige had already persuaded the smaller of the two boys to let her place the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. “Stay out of the way,” Paige answered, her tone brisk but not unkind.

  Rachel sat slumped, with one arm around each of her brothers, her clothes sooty and her hair singed. She locked gazes with Julie, but said nothing.

  Despite Paige’s instructions, Julie knelt to pull Rachel into a brief hug.

  “Everything will be all right,” she told the child. “I promise.”

  And then she got to her feet again, and stepped back out of the way.

  The ambulance was making its way through the traffic on the gravel road, its siren giving short, uncertain bleats, like a confused sheep separated from the flock and calling out to be found.

  “My kids!” a man’s voice yelled, full of anguish. “Where are my kids?”

  An instant later, Ron Strivens came into view, having torn his way through the crowd of firemen and able-bodied locals. He looked around wildly, spotted Rachel and the boys, and hurried toward his children.

  Dropping to his knees, but not touching any of them, Strivens focused on the oxygen mask covering his youngest son’s face. The glance he threw at Paige, who was overseeing the process and lightly stroking the boy’s hair in an effort to keep him calm, was nothing short of frantic.

  The man’s skin was gray with fear, his lips pressed into a tight blue line.

  “They’ll be fine,” Paige assured him, with the firm, in-control confidence Julie and Libby had always admired in their younger sister. Even before she’d gone through nursing school, graduating at the top of her class, Paige had been the type to keep her head in any kind of emergency.

  Nothing and no one had ever caused her to lose her composure.

  No one except Austin McKettrick, that is.

  “How did it start?” Strivens croaked, sparing a glance for what remained of the mobile home but mainly concerned, naturally, with the well-being of his family.

  Rachel started to answer, but before she got a word out, her little brother pulled the oxygen mask from his face long enough to say, “It wasn’t Rachel’s fault, Dad—”

  Gently, Paige shook her head and replaced the mask.

  The older of the two boys took up where the younger one had left off. “Rachel brought half a pizza home from the bowling alley when she got off work,” he explained eagerly, his face as filthy as his sister’s, his voice high and rapid. “She said we could have some, soon as she heated it up in the oven. But she wanted to change her clothes first, and that always means she’s going to take forever. Me and Colley didn’t want to wait, because we was real hungry, but the pilot light was out in the oven, so I lit it and—”

  Once again, Colley pulled off the mask. He shouted, “Boom!” before Paige got it back in place.

  Tears welled up in Rachel’s eyes, already red and irritated from the smoke. “The place went up so fast,” she told her father. “All I could think of was getting Max and Colley out of there—”

  “You did good,” Ron Strivens told her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

  By then, the paramedics had arrived.

  Paige spoke to them briefly and went to stand with her upper arm pressing against Julie’s. All their lives, the Remington sisters had communicated silent strength to each other in just that way.

  The EMTs crouched to examine Rachel and the boys, and it was decided that while all three children were probably going to be fine, it couldn’t hurt to take them on over to the clinic and let one of the doctors have a look to make sure.

  “Where are we going to live, now that the trailer’s gone?” Colley asked his father, who had hoisted the younger boy into his arms to carry him to the ambulance.

  A paramedic trotted behind, holding the oxygen tank.

  Julie didn’t hear Ron Strivens’s reply, but her gaze connected with Paige’s.

  It was a good question. Where was the family going to live?

  Julie knew well, of course, how hard it was to find housing in and around Blue River. Except for the town’s one apartment complex, which was always full to capacity, there simply weren’t any rentals.

  Paige merely spread her hands.

  Chudley Wilkes appeared in the junker-choked field, driving an ancient tractor with a high metal seat, Minnie riding on one running board, her heavy cloud of gray hair billowing in the sooty breeze. They made for a colorful sight, Chudley and Minnie on that tractor.

  About to head for Paige’s car, Julie stopped to watch their approach, as did her sister.

  Chudley’s grizzled old face was hidden in shadow, since he was wearing a billed cap, but his neck seemed to bulge above the collar of his grungy shirt, the veins engorged, the flesh a frightening mottle of purple and red.

  “Lord,” Paige breathed, “that old fool is going to have a stroke right here if he doesn’t calm down.” She went back to the car and returned quickly with
a blood-pressure cuff and a stethoscope.

  Chief Brogan, who was a hands-on sort of cop, walked over to meet Chudley, and because Paige followed him, so did Julie.

  “Chudley Wilkes,” Paige said, as soon as he’d shut off the tractor motor and it had clunked and clattered and popped to silence, “have you been taking your blood-pressure medicine?”

  “Never mind my blood pressure!” Chudley yelled in response. “I’m ruined! I’m bankrupted! Why, there ain’t nothin’ left of my trailer but the axles!”

  Shaking her head, Minnie got down off the running board to examine the wreckage. “You ain’t ruined, you damn fool,” she said. Then, addressing Chief Brogan and the rest of them, she added, “Pay him no mind. He’s just tightfisted, that’s all. Why, he could bail out a middlin’-sized country with the money he’s got stashed.”

  “Now, you hush up, Chudley Wilkes,” Paige ordered, taking Minnie’s place on the running board and wrapping the blood-pressure cuff around Chudley’s tattooed upper arm with dispatch. She listened through the stethoscope and watched the digital meter while the inflated band slowly deflated.

  “Just what I thought,” Paige clucked, turning to Brent. “You’d better get Chudley to the doctor right away, Chief. He’s in real danger of blowing a gasket.”

  Chudley grayed under his crimson flush and the grime that was probably as much a part of his skin as the pigment by this late date. He moved to fire up the tractor again.

  “Minnie,” he called to his wife, “get back on here, right now! We got to get me to the clinic!”

  Minnie started toward the tractor, but Brent stopped her. “I’ll drive you in the squad car,” he said.

  Chudley looked the chief over suspiciously, and Julie could just imagine what he was thinking. Never mind that Brent had been part of the community since he was a little boy—his dad had worked for Jim McKettrick out on the Silver Spur—never mind that he’d served bravely in the military and done a creditable job as the chief of police.

  He was a black man.

  And to some folks, that still mattered.

  Perceptive, Brent sighed. “Come on, Chudley,” he said.

  Chudley looked down at Minnie, who waited in silence. “You got your purse with you?” he demanded.

  “You see any purse in my hand, Chudley Wilkes? My purse is up there to the house, where I left it when you dragged me away from my Sunday afternoon TV movie to watch this here old trailer go up in smoke!”

  “Well, we’ve got to get it, then,” Chudley insisted, though he did allow Brent and one of the volunteer firemen to help him down off the high seat of that tractor. “I’ll be needin’ my Medicare card, and it’s in your wallet, Minnie, and your wallet is in your purse!”

  “You been into it for beer money, that’s how you know what’s in my wallet, you mangy old hoot owl!” Minnie retorted, bristling.

  Julie began to fear for Minnie’s blood pressure, as well as Chudley’s.

  “Let’s just head on over to the clinic,” Brent interjected reasonably. “Folks know you in Blue River, Chudley. You can give them your Medicare number later.”

  “That trailer had a good ten years left in it,” Chudley complained, though he allowed Brent to steer him toward the squad car. The fire was out by then, and the volunteers were stowing the hoses and putting away shovels and picks.

  The structure was a total loss, that was plain to see.

  “Nobody got hurt,” Brent told him. “That’s what’s important here.”

  Chudley shook his head as he stooped to plunk himself down in the passenger seat of the police car. Brent stood by patiently, holding open the door.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Chudley growled in response. “You didn’t lose a perfectly good trailer.”

  Once again, Brent sighed, loudly this time, and with a visible motion of his broad shoulders. “Now, Chudley, you know damn well,” Julie heard him tell the old man, “that trailer ought to have been condemned years ago.”

  Minnie had tarried there by the tractor, frowning as though she might be debating whether she wanted to accompany her husband to the clinic or not. When she made a move in that direction, though, Brent quickly opened the back door.

  She had long since resigned herself to life with Chudley Wilkes—everyone in Blue River knew that.

  Julie, watching the scene, started when she felt Paige’s elbow nudge her lightly in the side. “Ready to call it a day?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Julie said.

  Paige drove her back to the cottage, so Julie could fetch Harry and lock up. She wanted to see Calvin, hold him in her arms, ruffle his hair and kiss the top of his head.

  Of course, she’d have to disguise her affection as a tickle attack—as young as he was, Calvin was already reticent about getting hugs and kisses.

  “Thanks for letting Calvin visit over the weekend,” Julie told her sister, when Paige pulled up in front of the converted Victorian mansion where she rented an apartment. Conveniently, Paige’s place was right across the street from Julie’s cottage. “He always has such a good time with you.”

  Paige nodded, but there was something vague about her smile, and her eyes were watchful. “We didn’t talk about it while we were packing dishes,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear all about last night’s big date.”

  Julie blushed. Looked away. Made herself look back. “It was—a date,” she replied.

  “It was more than a date,” Paige insisted good-naturedly. “But we can talk about it tomorrow, after the school day is over, while we’re packing up your kitchen.”

  Julie shook her head. “The tryouts start at three-fifteen—for the musical, I mean. I’ll be busy at school until at least seven o’clock.”

  “What about Calvin?” Paige asked, pulling her purse and the blood pressure gizmo from the back seat of her car.

  “He’ll be with Libby and Tate,” Julie said, feeling unaccountably guilty.

  Paige nodded. The impish light in her dark eyes had faded, though, and her expression was pensive. “This unexpected move—I know it’s stressful—” She stopped and made another start. “What I mean is, there’s a lot going on, what with Gordon turning up out of nowhere and your having to stage a musical at school now instead of in the spring, when you’d planned, and then Libby’s wedding—”

  Julie chuckled, rounded the back of the car and gave her sister a hug. “I’m really, truly all right, so don’t be a fussbudget.”

  Paige smiled, and her eyes glistened with moisture. “‘Fussbudget,’” she repeated. “I haven’t heard that word in years. Not since before Grammy died.”

  After their mother had abandoned the family, their paternal grandmother had done her best to fill in the emotional gaps, but Grammy’s health had already been failing, and she simply hadn’t had the energy to deal with young children for any length of time.

  Julie felt a pang of loss, remembering Grammy, a sweet, well-meaning woman, fragile as a bird. She’d kept her little house down the street from theirs impeccably tidy, Elisabeth Remington had, and baked cookies for them whenever she was feeling well enough.

  “Maybe I’m the one who should be asking if something is wrong,” Julie said, resting her hands on Paige’s shoulders. “What’s up, Paige?”

  Paige looked away, looked back. Bit her lower lip.

  “Tell me,” Julie said firmly.

  “I thought it was such a good idea to change jobs,” Paige confessed. “I’m so tired of commuting. The renovations on the house are coming along well—we could all move in there, Julie, you and Calvin and me—even though we’d have to rough it for a while—”

  Julie, taller than her sister, bent her knees to look more directly into Paige’s face. “Wait,” she said. “Hold it. Let’s get back to how you thought it was a good idea to work at the clinic here in town instead of driving fifty miles each way, but now—what? You don’t think that anymore?”

  “But now Austin McKettrick is back,” Paige s
aid. She tried for another smile, but it was spoiled by the bleak expression in her eyes.

  “Oh,” Julie said.

  “Yeah,” Paige agreed ruefully. “Oh.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew Austin was home.”

  Across the street, inside the cottage, Harry began to bark his come-and-get-me bark.

  “Word gets around,” Paige said.

  Julie nodded. “But it’s more than that, right?”

  Paige sighed. “I seem to have radar, as far as Austin’s concerned. If he gets within fifty miles of me, I can feel it.”

  “You still care about him, then?” Julie asked, miserable on her sister’s behalf.

  Austin was charming and he was handsome and he was sexy as hell. He was also a wild man, a renegade. He was all wrong for practical Paige, the nurse, the devoted aunt and sister, the career woman who secretly yearned for a home and a family.

  Oh, yes, Austin was all wrong for Paige.

  As wrong as Garrett was for her.

  Julie closed her eyes for a moment. Drew a deep breath.

  “No,” Paige said, “I don’t still care for Austin. It’s just that—well—I don’t particularly want to run into him in the supermarket and at the dry cleaner’s—”

  A corner of Julie’s mouth kicked up in a grin. “I doubt if Austin does much of the grocery shopping or hangs around the cleaner’s a lot, Paige.”

  Pain moved in Paige’s exquisitely beautiful face. “With Libby marrying Tate, and now you getting involved with Garrett—Austin and I are bound to be thrown together more often than either of us wants. Julie, what am I going to do?”

  Julie’s face heated, and a protest rose in her throat, but she was more concerned about her sister’s feelings than setting Paige straight by pointing out that she most definitely was not “involved” with Garrett.

  She was just—well—having sex with him.

  “It’s true that things could get awkward,” she said moderately, “now that Libby and Tate are getting married, but Austin doesn’t spend all that much time on the Silver Spur, let alone in Blue River, does he?”

  Paige took a half step back. Tugged the strap of her purse up over one shoulder and tucked the blood pressure gear under one elbow. She was already in retreat, Julie knew, though she was trying to be subtle about it. “You’re right,” she said, too quickly. “I don’t know why I’m so worried about bumping into Austin. The man wants to avoid me as much as I want to avoid him.”