Last Second Chance (A Thomas Family Novel Book 2)

by Kristi Cramer

  Squeaky Clean Copyright © 2014-2017 Kristi Cramer.

  All rights reserved.

  www.kristicramerbooks.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be resold, reproduced, or distributed in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Kim’s Fiction Editing Services

  Cover Designed by Christian Bentulan

  Last

  Second

  Chance

  A Thomas Family Novel

  by

  Kristi Cramer

  Last Second Chance

  Disclaimer

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A word about the Nokota® Horse Conservancy

  Acknowledgements

  If You Enjoyed This Book...

  Watch for the other Thomas Family Novels

  Find and follow Kristi online

  All titles by Kristi Cramer

  Disclaimer

  Syracuse, Kansas, is a real town. However, the people and places in this book—and all of the planned Thomas Family Novels—are totally fictitious. I have taken liberties with everything from the history to the agriculture to the businesses and bus stop downtown. I’m sure the real Syracuse has history and drama of its own, and while the tale I spin in these pages could happen there, Last Second Chance is pure fiction. So enjoy. If you happen to pass through Syracuse, have a look around, stop for a meal, and help support a fine American town. Just don’t expect it to resemble my fictional version.

  Dedication

  In memory of Anne Draus, my cousin and editor of my first two books. You were a key factor in helping me realize my lifelong dream of publishing. You are eternally appreciated, forever loved, and sorely missed.

  Chapter One

  Tim Reardon sat on the edge of the worn-out mattress and stared at the phone sitting on the battered table, screwing up the courage to make the call. He honestly thought taking a short step out the fourth-story window of this seedy motel room would be less painful.

  Glancing out the window, Tim studied the neon “T” of the motel sign visible outside. It blocked the daylight filtering into the dingy room, but a body could still squeeze out if he had a mind to. A little color on the sidewalk wouldn’t surprise anyone in this Denver neighborhood.

  A man and woman screamed at each other in the adjacent room, the rhythmic thumping suggesting activities other than a fight. Traffic hummed and honked outside. A TV blared in the room on the other side.

  Tim thought about how easy it would be to take the quick way out. His hour was nearly up. It was almost checkout time anyway.

  “Hell with it,” he said at last, and leaned forward to lift the handset. The scrap of paper with her number scrawled on it sat on the desk, but he had already committed it to memory.

  The phone beeped in his ear as he dialed the number, then the line rang. Three rings, then it connected and a woman’s voice answered. “Hamilton County Sheriff’s office. Deputy Thomas speaking.”

  Tim’s response stuck in his throat. He made a scratchy cough, trying to clear it, but only managed to sound like someone who needed a doctor.

  “Who’s this?” the woman asked, concern coloring her tone.

  “Hey, sis,” Tim said at last.

  The silence on the other end did not surprise him. What did surprise him was that she hadn’t hung up.

  He waited five heartbeats before he spoke again. “Long time, huh, Mitzi?”

  It was another eight heartbeats before she spoke. “Tom?”

  Tim’s eyes closed, fresh pain washing over him at the mention of his twin brother’s name. “This is Tim. Tom’s dead.” He might have delivered that news with a little more...consideration, but he figured it would have been lost on his sister.

  Ten more heartbeats. “When?”

  “Six months ago.” Tim cleared his throat again, withholding the judgments he held about it. Such a waste. To take a shiv to the throat for being a smartass about short time.... At least that was the official story. “I guess Mom didn’t bother to forward the notice to you.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s not much she bothers with anymore.” The hardness in Mitzi’s tone was understandable. “You’re out?”

  “Five months now.”

  His little sister fell silent again. He could imagine the questions running through her mind, like whether or not he held his five years in prison against her.

  Tim didn’t know how to broach the question he had called to ask, so he let the silence hold for several more heartbeats. In the background, he heard the sound of another phone ringing and the general hubbub of an office going about its day.

  “How’s parole?” she asked at last. “They giving you a fair shake?”

  “I can’t imagine fair and parole ever going together in the same sentence,” he said with a humorless chuckle. “But I’m coping. More or less.”

  “What does that mean?” Mitzi asked, her hint of concern touching him more than he could express.

  “I can’t seem to do anything right.” He sighed, but once he started talking, he couldn’t stop. “Mom and Dad won’t have anything to do with me. It was like pulling teeth to get Dad to tell me you moved to Kansas. I had to look up your number. I’ve been out beating the pavement eight hours a day looking for honest work, but no one will hire me. Most nights, I sleep in doorways. I managed to panhandle enough cash for a room for an hour so I could call you.” He didn’t add that he was going to have to slip out before they could try to collect the cost of this phone call. “My parole officer thinks I should have a job by now, but every application I fill out, every manager I talk to, every door I knock on always comes down to ‘And what have you been doing for the last five years?’”

  Mitzi was silent again. He felt his heartbeat stutter as he worked his mouth a couple times, trying to ask the pertinent question.

  “My PO—” He cleared his throat and started again. “My PO said if I could get a job out of state, he’d probably let me move.” He bit the bullet. “If someone were to vouch for me—”

  “Jesus, Tim.” Mitzi’s voice cut with an undeniable edge.

  “I know,” he sighed. “I know. But I’m scared, sis.” He took a deep breath. “Scared I’ll end up going back to the thing I know how to do, or....” He couldn’t finish that thought. “I’m nearly at the end of my rope. I’ve been straight and clean since you arrested me, Mitzi. Five, nearly six years. I haven’t hit the horn since I’ve been out. But the temptation is there every day to dial the phone, dig
up old contacts....” His voice trailed off in shame.

  More heartbeats. Too many to count, even though he had perfected counting them during the long, sleepless nights in the joint. “I’ve got no one else, sis.”

  He heard her sigh. “I don’t know, Tim. I’d have to talk it over with Blue.”

  “That’s all I’m asking,” he said quickly.

  “Who is your PO? I’ll give him a call, see what he has to say.”

  “Franco Vincenzi. He says he remembers you from before you moved to Kansas.”

  Mitzi gave a scoffing chuckle. “I bet he does. How can I reach you?”

  He shook his head. “The Mission, I guess. Leave a message for me there. You know, the one on Park Avenue West? I check in there for job hunting messages. They’re pretty good at sounding like a professional answering service, so as not to give away that you’re homeless.” He paused for a beat. “Mitzi, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re even talking to me. I want you to know that what you did…. I know it saved my life.”

  “It didn’t save Tom’s.” He thought he heard genuine sadness in her voice.

  “It gave him five years he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. I just want you to know that I’m lucky to have you as a sister.”

  “Thanks for saying so, Tim. I’ll be in touch.”

  Once the call disconnected, he carefully set the handset back in its cradle, breathing a sigh of relief. The call had gone better than he could have hoped, but he wasn’t in the clear yet. He could feel the ghosts of his past crowding the room as more than fey shadows.

  Tim stood and gazed around the room. He had brought nothing in, so there was nothing to take with him. Leaving the key card on the table by the phone, he took the stairs down and waited in the stairwell until the desk clerk was engrossed in his cell phone before he walked quickly and quietly out the front door. He expected to hear someone shouting after him, but he thought he had made it free and clear.

  Until he looked across the street.

  The woman emerging from the coffee shop was unmistakable, even though he hadn’t seen her in almost six years. He turned left and hurried around the first corner he came to. Casting a look over his shoulder as he rounded the corner, he saw the woman frowning after him, surprise and recognition lighting her face.

  He was not free of his past. Not by a long shot. Not when Angelisa Salgado had just caught sight of him.

  There was only one thing Angelisa wanted from him and only two ways he could give it to her if she caught up with him: go back to work for her, or pay her back with his blood.

  ⋘⋆⋙

  Janie Thomas pushed the syringe’s plunger in, injecting the distemper combo shot into the wriggling coonhound puppy. She then withdrew the needle and released the loose skin she had gathered behind the pup’s shoulders, smoothing it with a pat. Shot complete, she patted the puppy’s head, stroking its soft ears. The puppy’s owner, a very serious eight-year-old boy, scratched under the pup’s chin.

  “There. See? All done. You make a wonderful assistant, Derek. Now Pal has the shots he needs to be healthy for a few months, until it’s time for his booster.” Janie resisted the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair, not wanting to damage his self-image as a responsible adult.

  “Thank you, Doctor Thomas,” Derek said solemnly. Then he cracked a grin. “He can go for a walk with me tonight, can’t he?”

  “Yessir, he can. Be sure to keep him on a leash when you’re near the road.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy gave the pup a hug, then Janie helped set him down on the floor, where he proceeded to try to jump on his master. Calvin, the boy’s father, began a lecture about teaching Pal that jumping was not acceptable.

  Janie’s attention shifted to the door as it opened and Doctor Hansen poked his head in. “Janie?”

  “Hey, Doc. What’s up?”

  “The Lazy J is getting in a truckload of Angus tomorrow morning. I’ve got to be out at Mystic Meadows to supervise a breeding. Can you handle the preliminary check?”

  “No problem, Doc. Any excuse to see the family.”

  Doc Hansen smiled. “Thought you’d see it that way. Thanks a million.”

  Over the older veterinarian’s shoulder, Janie noticed an unwelcome face in the waiting room. She tried not to scowl as she turned back to Derek and his father. “I’ve got a sample of some puppy food to help Pal’s diarrhea. You can mix it with the ground beef and rice or pure pumpkin, like we talked about earlier, until his poor tummy settles down.”

  “Thank you, Janie,” Calvin said, resting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “We appreciate everything you’ve done to help. It’s been ages since we’ve had a pup in the family, but Derek has promised to be responsible for him.”

  “You’ll do fine. Pal will be a real fine dog if you two stick to your guns and train him right. I think you’re making a good start, getting him checked out and taking care of all his shots.”

  Ushering them out of the exam room, she ignored the man who stood up as she entered the waiting room. She took her time helping Derek pick out the dog food, then gave him a handful of Tender-Tummy treats to give the pup instead of the cheap cornmeal “bones” they’d started out with.

  The receptionist was out sick, giving Janie more time as she entered the visit into the computer and Calvin paid the bill. Then the pair walked out the door, the puppy bounding out onto the wraparound porch ahead of them.

  Then Janie was alone with the man standing casually in front of a display of grooming tools.

  When the door closed behind the last customers of the day, Cody Buford turned to her. The look on his face could have rivaled Pal’s, but his sad, puppy eyes no longer moved Janie to any emotion other than annoyance.

  “What?” she asked, going through the motions of closing out the cash register and tidying up so she could close the clinic.

  “I miss you,” Cody said, sweeping his Stetson off of his head in a grand gesture of contrition.

  Once upon a time, those words coming from his lips would have sent her heart racing. Now they just elicited a snort of disgust.

  “Seriously,” he insisted, taking a step toward her. She quickly lifted her chin, her expression designed to warn him not to come any closer.

  Three years her senior, Cody still cut a fine figure of a man. His wavy brown hair had a hint of gray at the temples, and his green eyes shone with entreaty. Age had improved his youthful good looks, but eighteen years of pain had dulled the effect his charm had on her.

  This was a conversation they had already entertained, and Janie was loathe to start it again. But she knew ignoring him wasn’t going to make him go away.

  “Seriously?” she repeated, hoping her sarcasm made her temper clear. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish here? You think you can shrug off your responsibilities, cut my heart out with a spur, disappear for the length of a bible, and then waltz back through my door like nothing happened? You’re delusional.”

  “I know something happened,” Cody protested. “I just—”

  “Kylie isn’t a thing. She’s your daughter!” Pain that had been buried for a decade came rushing to the surface, and it felt like it had all those years ago. Searing hot, knife-in-her-belly torture. Janie took a deep breath, trying to forge a shred of calm out of a heap of molten iron scraps. “She might be able to forgive you, but it took me five years to accept you really were a deadbeat loser. You think I’m anywhere close to forgiveness?”

  “I was a scared kid,” Cody tried.

  “And I wasn’t? You were gone for seventeen years! I couldn’t run.” She had to give him a thread of credit for his tenacity since he arrived in town nearly two months ago. But it was far too little, ages too late. If his reason for staying away hadn’t been so lame—who lets college and a city career in oil speculating keep them away from their kid?—she might have been moved to hear him out. But the catalyst for prompting him to get back in touch was what? Hearing about the family last year d
uring the big trial her brother testified in? Not good enough.

  “Just go, Cody. Get out of here. I’m done.”

  She should have felt bad when he hung his head and shuffled out the door, but she didn’t.

  Chapter Two

  Tim watched out the window as the bus pulled into the station. He hadn’t been able to sleep during the two hundred and fifty mile ride from Denver to Syracuse, Kansas. The trip had turned into a milk run, stopping at just about every town along the way, drawing out what should have been a four-hour trip into more like eight.

  He’d been riding an emotional roller coaster, too. From the highs of escaping the big city and the shadows of his past swarming around him, to the terrifying lows of leaving behind everything he had ever known. From the tender hope he nurtured for a fresh start, to the crushing fear of the unknown and of screwing up again.

  Only one other trip in his life had been worse—the bus ride to federal prison after his trial and conviction for drug trafficking.

  Searching the faces of the few folks waiting at the bus station, he didn’t see Mitzi. He hoped nothing had come up to keep her from meeting him.

  He hoped she hadn’t changed her mind.

  As the bus crawled up to the curb and jerked to a stop, two other passengers stood to gather their things. It seemed they had a dozen bags each. The only bag Tim carried was clear plastic—the one the prison had put his street clothes in when they released him. Its only contents were prison-issue: sweats, t-shirt, and a ratty toothbrush.

  He waited patiently behind the others for his turn to exit. If prison had taught him one thing, it was how to wait in line. Finally, they jumbled themselves off, and Tim shuffled off behind them. His fellow travelers stepped into waiting arms, hugs and kisses all around, and joyful greetings echoed off the front of the bus station and into the deserted streets of downtown Syracuse. It was only 9:00 P.M., but it appeared the town had rolled up the sidewalks.

  Tim stood uncertainly on the curb, looking again to see if he had missed his sister, but it wasn’t until the bus pulled away that he saw her standing across the street. Mitzi was in uniform, leaning against the fender of a patrol truck parked under a streetlight, her right hand resting comfortably on the grip of the pistol in its holster. Her left elbow was propped on the hood of the truck, and she looked every bit the picture of Johnny Law.