Front Page Love

by Paige Lee Elliston

  Julie scrambled for a response. The best she could do was, “He could be just looking for a friend.”

  “Maybe so,” Danny said quickly, standing. “Look—it’s a long, hot ride back to the trailer. If we don’t take advantage of the pond once more, we’ll wish we had.”

  Julie thought it over. She was dry, but she was already sweltering. Danny was right—it was a long and dusty ride to her truck.

  “You talked me into it,” she said, laughing. She got to her feet. “Last one in is a hog’s uncle!” she yelled as she ran toward the water’s edge.

  At the trailer and after the horses were loaded, Danny offered to drive. Julie accepted. It wasn’t a long distance, but she was sleepy from the short night before and from the swimming. She rested against the passenger door and closed her eyes. She and Danny rode in companionable silence, the air-conditioning fighting off the late afternoon heat.

  Julie hadn’t given much thought to Danny’s comment about Ken Townsend—and as she semi-dozed, she didn’t care to wrestle with it. The episode with Chief Craig earlier in the day returned to her but without the stress of the confrontation. The hours passing had, in a sense, diminished the event. Big-frog-in-a-small-pond syndrome? she wondered. A cop perhaps too protective of his drinking buddy? Or was there more to the whole thing? Had showing up at the Bulldogger to interview Castle—and her fabrication about the videotape—upset something she knew nothing about? Nah. If there’s anything there, Nancy will find it. I ought to send a bill for my taillight lens to that jerk, though.

  Danny lowering the back gate of the trailer awakened Julie. Her eyes felt gritty, and she noticed now that her nose and cheeks were tingling with a light sunburn. She shook off her grogginess and joined Danny as he led Dakota back to his pasture.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” he greeted her.

  “Too much sun, I guess. Felt good to nap for a few minutes, though.”

  “Should I put on some coffee? Or would you like iced tea or a soda?”

  “No—no thanks. Let’s get to my place so I can unload Drifter and you can get your truck. Then I think I’ll try to continue right along with the nap I started.”

  Danny drove to Julie’s farm and backed the trailer into its spot next to the barn. Julie dropped the gate and let Drifter back out on his own. She led him into the fresh stall she’d prepared that morning. Then she walked with Danny to his truck.

  “Thanks for the horse-hauling and the fun afternoon,” Danny said. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  “I should be thanking you—for all the work you’ve done around here. And sure, I’d love to do it again. Maybe next time we could bring sandwiches and drinks and paperback books and make a day of it.”

  Danny opened the driver’s door of his truck and then turned back to Julie. A moment passed that made Julie feel self-conscious, and she wondered if Danny was experiencing the same thing. His right hand began to rise but stopped and returned to his side. He climbed behind the steering wheel. “That’d be fun. I’ll see you Wednesday about 7:00, then?”

  “Bring your appetite. I’m gonna feed you guys until you fall over.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Danny started his engine, waved to Julie, and started down the driveway. Julie watched until he turned onto the road, and then went into her house.

  It was only a couple of degrees cooler in the kitchen, but it felt good to be home. Her fatigue seemed to have drifted off, and a nap no longer seemed enticing. She sat at the kitchen table with a legal pad and a ballpoint, deciding what she needed for the feast Wednesday evening. The steaks are easy enough: two twenty-two ouncers and one twelve-ounce. A big soup bone for Sunny. Garlic bread. Romaine lettuce, olives, cukes, Spanish onion, croutons, tomatoes for the salad. Potatoes for baking. Should I make a dessert? Nah—Ben and Jerry’ll take care of that . . .

  She shoved the list across the table, knowing that even if she completed it, the page would most likely remain in her purse as she did her customarily “grab, run, and overspend” type of shopping. She sat back in her chair, very aware that a sort of uneasiness had enveloped her—a light nervousness that made her feel as if she’d left something important undone. When the telephone rang, Julie started as if a bomb had gone off. She pushed her chair back and walked to the phone, letting it ring twice more before she picked it up.

  “Julie Downs.”

  “Julie, it’s Maggie. Ian’s at the church until late tonight with the youth ministry, and I’m soooo lonely.” She sighed dramatically. “If only a friend would ask me over for a cup of coffee. But I guess that’s too much to hope for . . .”

  “Ya goof.” Julie laughed. “C’mon over. I’m just sitting around leaping out of my skin.”

  “Oh? Why? What’s the problem?”

  “No problem, I guess. I’m just a little nervous and jerky, is all. I’ll probably talk your ear off. See you in a few, OK? I’ll put coffee on.”

  “Just the thing when you’re a little edgy is that super-strong coffee you make,” Maggie noted sarcastically. “How about tea?”

  “Good point. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Julie hung up the receiver and smiled to herself. That’s what best friends are for.

  In the twenty or so minutes until her guest arrived, Julie took herself to task. She realized and finally admitted to herself that she did know what was bothering her—and it had nothing to do with Ross Craig or a story for the News-Express. It was the afternoon she’d spent with Danny and the simple fact that throughout the afternoon his words had confused her. Almost equally disconcerting, she had to admit, were the frequent thoughts of Ken Townsend that came to her unbidden.

  She moved about the kitchen, mumbling to herself at times, wondering how she was going to articulate all this to Maggie. Julie was rubbing aloe on her cheeks and nose in the bathroom when her friend pulled into the driveway. She hurried down the stairs as Maggie came in through the kitchen door. They smiled at one another.

  “Sunburn? Out riding in this heat?” Maggie asked.

  “Sit,” Julie instructed, turning the flame on under the pot and taking teacups from the cupboard. “And then listen, OK?”

  Maggie nodded.

  Julie related the events of the afternoon, including direct quotes from Danny as well as his feeling that Ken was “interested” in her, and ended with how Danny’s hand had begun to move to her as she stood at the open door of his truck and then halted so abruptly.

  Maggie sipped her tea for a few moments after Julie finished speaking. “What’s going on with you and Ken?” she asked. “Is there something there?”

  “No,” Julie answered too quickly. Then she admitted, “I don’t know.”

  “Mmm,” Maggie breathed noncommittally. “It doesn’t seem like Danny is responding to you, does it? Or at least not in the way you’d like him to.”

  Julie nodded. “Right. And before you ask—I’m not pushing the guy. I’m really not. I think he cares about me, but there’s something that stops him from doing anything about it. I can’t figure it out.”

  “You know,” Maggie said quietly, her eyes meeting Julie’s, “there’s a possibility that Danny simply isn’t ready for a romantic relationship. I’m sorry, Julie. But there’s that possibility.”

  Julie looked down at her now empty teacup. “Yeah,” she breathed.

  Maggie got up from her chair and walked to the stove, where she turned on the burner under the pot. “I saw a lot of Danny before I married Ian. And Danny was pretty serious about me.”

  The kettle began to hiss.

  “Is he over you, do you think? Really over you?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said emphatically. “We talked about it a year or so ago. I’m convinced that he’s not carrying a torch for me.” Maggie added boiling water to both their cups. “I wish I knew what to tell you other than that.”

  Julie sighed. “So do I.”

  Julie poked at the charcoal in her portable grill set up outside her kitchen. The embers were a nice
ly uniform gray-white over a bed of glowing red. “If Danny Pulver is one thing, it’s punctual,” she said to Ken.

  Ken, looking quite comfortable in one of the three folding lawn chairs Julie had picked up the day before in her shopping expedition, took a long drink from his tall glass of iced tea. “I came across a couple of my old car magazines that featured the Ford 427 Interceptor. I brought them along for him—he’s interested in the muscle cars, the dragsters, all that stuff.”

  Julie turned from the grill. “I didn’t know that about him until he mentioned it at Drago’s the night of the storm. Seems strange—a veterinary doctor who’s a . . . what was that term? A gearbox?”

  “Gearhead.” Ken laughed. “He knows what he’s talking about too. He had a hot Chev when he was in high school. Just like me, he put every penny he could scrounge up into that car. I was a Chrysler man at the time, but those Chevs were something.”

  “Did you race?” Julie asked.

  “Sure.” Ken grinned. “Quarter-mile drags—not NASCAR-type racing.”

  “Isn’t that kind of dangerous for a high school kid?”

  “There’s not much danger in drags—’cept the danger of blowing up a four- or five-thousand-dollar engine with several hundred hours of sweat and labor put into it.”

  “I’ve seen some of it on TV,” Julie said. “Looks like fun.”

  “It is. I once figured out,” he mused, “that each little trophy I won with my Hemi cost me about a hundred and fifty dollars in building my engine—and that’s not including anything for my labor.”

  “Not really cost effective?”

  “Not at all. But a heck of a lot of fun.”

  Julie looked at her watch and then back at the fire. “It’s twenty after 7:00. Since Danny hasn’t called, I’m sure he’s just running a little late. I don’t want to lose the peak of the fire, so I’m going to put the steaks on.”

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  “Eat some more chips and dip and drink some more iced tea, is all. Everything’s under control.”

  When Julie came back out carrying a large platter with the meat on it, Ken gaped and then laughed. “Wow! That’s the better part of a cow, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t think either of you guys was a light eater—and these aren’t the better part of a cow. They’re the best. At least the best steaks Louie’s Meat Market had to offer, and he has wonderful beef.”

  “You really didn’t have to do all this, Julie. Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad you did. But can’t I at least help out with a couple bucks toward the meat?”

  “Absolutely not! You didn’t have to help with the cleanup, but you did. Fair’s fair, Ken.” She checked her watch again, a bit concerned this time, and looked at the fire. The coals were the slightest bit beyond prime for broiling, showing more gray ash than a few minutes ago but still very hot.

  Julie made her decision. She set the platter on the table and with a long barbecue fork arranged the two massive steaks and the third smaller one on the surface of the grill, where they hissed cheerfully, sending up a cloud of blue smoke as fat hit the embers.

  “No choice, Ken—this is the last of my charcoal, and the fire’s backing down. Danny’ll be here in a minute.”

  Julie’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket. “Julie Downs,” she said, hoping that Danny wasn’t on the other end of the connection.

  “Julie,” Danny said, “this is the first second I’ve had to call in a couple of hours. Roger Hart’s Clydesdale mare is giving birth and having a very tough time of it.” Danny rarely sounded rushed or harried, but he did now. “I’m sorry about dinner—you and Ken go ahead, if you haven’t already. From the looks of things, I’m going to be here for a long time. She’s—”

  Julie heard a horse squeal in the background and a male voice shout, “Doc!”

  “Gotta go, Julie. Sorry.” And then Danny was gone.

  Julie folded her telephone and returned it to her pocket. “Well,” she said glumly to Ken, “three guesses as to who that was.”

  “Danny have an emergency?”

  “Yeah. A Clydesdale is foaling, and Danny says she’s in trouble. He can’t get away—couldn’t even talk for a minute. He wants us to go ahead without him.”

  Ken looked over at the flaming steaks. “We don’t have much choice, do we? Not unless we want to waste an awful lot of good beef. Can you take one of the big ones off and keep it for Danny?”

  Julie shook her head. “They’re almost half-cooked now. Have you ever tasted a steak that was reheated after being broiled? It’s like trying to eat a saddle. I guess Sunday will enjoy it, though. Collies aren’t picky when it comes to meat.”

  Ken moved from his chair to stand next to Julie. “I guess that comes with what Danny does, just like a doctor for humans. The patients don’t much care about special dinners when they need help.”

  Julie forced a smile that became more real when she met Ken’s eyes. “Well, all we can do is carry on, I guess. And how bad can a good meal and good company be?”

  “My thoughts exactly. We’ll include Danny next time.”

  The meal was splendid. The beef—cooked rare—was tender, with the rich flavor of corn-fed meat. Julie’s salad was a major success—Ken refilled his bowl twice. The baked potatoes—the feast’s only concession to technology since they were heated in Julie’s microwave—were perfect. Julie heated the wrapped garlic bread on the edge of the grill, and when she peeled away the foil the heady aroma of toast and garlic was almost more appetizing than the scent of the steaks.

  “Coffee?” Julie asked.

  “Let me do it,” Ken insisted. “As soon as I can move.”

  “Everything was good, wasn’t it? I’m stuffed,” Julie agreed. “If you want to get the coffee, you have my blessing. I never want to get out of this chair.”

  They’d eaten at a small picnic table on the shaded side of Julie’s house, and now the table was covered with scraps of food, potato skins, and small crusts of garlic bread.

  “Not only that, but I’ll get rid of the trash,” Ken said, gathering the mess onto the platter that Julie had carried the meat on. “Back in a minute. I know where the coffee is from Saturday night. If I recall, you take it black, correct?”

  “Yes, black—and strong too.”

  When Ken came back with two steaming mugs of coffee he handed one to Julie and then arranged his lawn chair so that he was facing her. He settled himself in and sipped at his coffee. So did Julie. They were silent for several moments, enjoying the heartiness of the drink after the huge meal.

  “Ahh . . . how about them Mets?” Ken said.

  Julie grinned. “Are you trying to point out that even after feeding you, I need to make conversation to keep you from being bored?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, then—any man’s favorite subject is himself. Tell me about how your job is going and how you like Coldwater.”

  Ken gazed at Julie over the top of his coffee. “I like Coldwater fine, at least at this time in my life. I like the pace—the way people live and do things. It’s a whole lot different than what I knew in Billings.”

  “You’ve come to us at kind of a rough time, though.”

  “Yeah. The drought’s hard on the town and the farmers and ranchers.” He hesitated for a moment before going on. “But, as your article said, these are strong people. Gutsy people who’re survivors. I’ve come to believe that more and more strongly with each of the folks I meet. You know, when I was reading your article, I felt like I was sitting there on the porch talking with Mr. Harker.”

  Julie smiled. “Huller. His name is Cyrus Huller.”

  Ken shook his head. To Julie’s amazement, he was blushing.

  “Easy name to forget,” Julie said with a wave of her hand. “I’m happy that you remember the gist of the piece and that it conveyed what I intended it to. What about the job? Is that working out well?”

  “I think it is—in general. And the work is different. As a PI I could
focus pretty much on one or two cases I was working, give them all my time. Here I have the existing cases I inherited plus my patrols plus whatever arises, from motor-vehicle accidents to wandering cattle to barroom fights to finding lost kids.” He considered for a moment and then went on. “Actually, I like the police work better.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Well, I feel like I’m accomplishing something positive here, pretty much on a daily basis. There were good things about my PI work, like bringing a runaway teen home to his or her parents or catching someone defrauding an insurance company. But as a police officer I have more human—more personal—contact with people, to be genuinely helping them.”

  “I don’t think Magnum P.I. would agree with you, Ken.”

  He laughed. “I’ll tell you what: send me to Hawaii and give me a Ferrari to drive, and I’ll try private investigating again.”

  “You said ‘in general’ about your work, though. What do you mean by that?”

  Ken hesitated for a moment.

  “I’m sorry,” Julie said quickly. “I don’t mean to be nosy.”

  “No—no, it’s a valid question. I’m having sort of a personality conflict with a guy I work with. I’m pretty sure—in fact, I know—it’s not going to go away. We’re . . . well . . . different. Widely separated in our approach to law enforcement, I guess it’s fair to say.” After a half minute passed, Ken said, “Plus, I think the guy is a grade-A maggot.”

  Before Julie could stop herself, the words left her. “Ross Craig?”

  Ken was surprised, if his eyes and his body language were any indication. After a moment, he nodded solemnly. “It’s not a good topic right now.”

  Julie stood up from her chair. “I’ll refill our cups. Anything you want from inside?”

  Ken held out his mug. “When you get back, you have to tell me about your life and your work.”