by Lori King
* * *
His good feeling lasted all of two hours before his whole world fell apart.
“Parkinson’s? Like, that shaking thing that Michael J. Fox has?” He heard himself speaking, but his voice sounded hollow to his ears. It was like he was having some sort of out-of-body experience. His mother and sister sat across the table from him with matching grim looks on their faces.
Elaine Bricker held her daughter Abby’s hand, clasping it tightly as though borrowing her strength to get through the terrible news. Colby stared at their clenched fists because he couldn’t bring himself to see the helpless look on his sister’s face or the defeated one his mother wore.
“Yes, that’s the same disease. It’s a degenerative disease, so it will continue to get worse. The tremors will eventually take over, and I’ll lose control of my muscles completely,” Elaine explained. He recognized the tone of her voice. It was the same one she’d used when she’d told them twenty years ago their father wouldn’t be coming home from Kuwait.
“But that could take years,” Abby protested, patting Elaine’s hand. “The doctors can’t be sure.”
“So, you’re dying? There’s no cure? What about treatments? Surely there are treatments for this. If some big-name actor has it, you can be sure there’s money supporting research. When I get back to San Francisco, I can call around—”
“Colby, stop,” his mother’s sharp command cut through his panicked babbling, and he finally met her eyes. She had large blue eyes ringed with long dark lashes. When he was young, he’d thought she looked like a Precious Moments Doll. His sister shared the same big blue eyes, but she’d gotten the dark hair of a true Italian, like he had from their father. “There’s no sense investing every penny we have into treatments that won’t stop this train. It’s going to roll down the tracks whether we like it or not.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t slow it down. Buy you a few more years,” Colby protested, looking to his sister for support.
Abby sighed and gave a small shrug. “You’re not saying anything I haven’t thought, Cheeto, and believe me, I’ve tried like hell to convince her, but I think she’s made up her mind.”
Not even the use of his childhood nickname eased the burning pain in Colby’s chest. Struggling to breathe, he shoved to his feet and hurried to the front door. He couldn’t sit inside anymore. He needed space to think.
Seeking out the oversized swing that had been hanging from the front porch most of his life, he dropped onto it and grimaced at the loud creak that echoed through the air. He was a whole lot larger than he used to be, and the swing was a whole lot older. Tears burned his eyelids as he forced air into his lungs through his nose and out of his mouth. The coping mechanism helped with the sense of claustrophobia, but it did nothing to ease the pain in his sternum. His mother was dying. Slowly perhaps, but she was dying. He couldn’t do anything to stop it.
How could God be so cruel? He’d lost one parent as a child, and it had impacted the rest of his life. Now he wasn’t just going to lose his mother, but he was going to have to watch her suffer and die slowly. What special kind of hell was this?
He didn’t hear Abby come outside, but the swing creaked when she sat beside him, and he jerked his head to look her way.
“Easy, it’s just me. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sure you have questions.” She’d assumed the tone of a medical professional, which he supposed was her personal coping mechanism. As an RN, she understood what was happening to their mother, but that didn’t mean she could stop it.
“How long has she known?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“We just found out a few weeks ago. She didn’t want to tell you over the phone, and she wanted to get a second opinion just to be sure.”
He nodded. “I take it the second opinion was the same as the first?”
Abby nodded, her dark hair bouncing around her shoulders. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”
“So how long does she have, realistically?”
“There’s no way to know. Some people have lived for decades with the disease, while others have only lasted months. It affects each person a little differently. All we can do is help her through it and keep her comfortable,” Abby explained, leaning her head on his shoulder.
They were barely a year apart, but until he’d left home for the Navy, they’d never been close. Instead of being tight, they’d been competitive. Both were good students, and both were fairly popular at school, but when they came home, they were competitors for their mother’s attention. As a single mom, Elaine had done her best to spread herself between them, but she’d worked two jobs to cover the bills, so that left very little.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, Cheeto, but we’re going to have to look into some assisted care facilities. I can’t take care of her by myself when she starts getting worse,” Abby said, her voice cracking with emotion.
“I’ll move back. Just say the word and I’ll pack my shit and be back here in a blink,” Colby said firmly. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep her at home as long as possible.”
Abby began to cry, and Colby hugged her while lost in his own thoughts and emotions. They clung to each other as they processed the reality of the situation. With a one-word diagnosis, their entire lives had changed.
1
Present day…
* * *
The King County Sheriff’s Department was no more than a double-wide trailer with an annex attached housing the locker rooms. It consisted of a front reception area with seating and a coffee counter, a records room full of filing cabinets, Sheriff Bowers’ office, a miniature break room, and an office that held two desks with computers for the deputies to enter their reports. Compared to the San Francisco PD where he’d come from, walking into this department was like stepping back in time, and it wasn’t just because he’d grown up in Montford.
He tried not to think about all the equipment, weight rooms, benefits, and people he’d left behind in California. It didn’t matter. Life had dragged him back to Montford because he was supposed to be there, so he’d make the best of it.
He parked his assigned vehicle in the small lot and logged his mileage by taking a pic with his phone. Not like he couldn’t pull out a pen and paper like he was supposed to, but this was way faster, and if he didn’t get around to posting it today he’d still have it tomorrow.
The front office smelled faintly of cinnamon and citrus, and the receptionist, Maci, greeted him with a pretty smile and a partial wave as she typed away on her keyboard. He liked Maci, but she was a bit scatter-brained for his taste. The image of a woman with a perfectly plump ass and rich golden hair filled his head, and his cock twitched. Ignoring the ill-timed reaction, he overcompensated with a loud, “Morning, Maci. Is the boss in there?”
She opened her mouth just as the phone rang, and he waved off her response in favor of finding out for himself. He and Brandon Bowers were the same age, and had gone to school together, but they’d walked very different paths into law enforcement. While Colby had joined the Navy out of high school, Bran had jumped headlong into a career with the Sheriff’s department with every intention of staying there for life. They’d both done well for themselves, and Colby was happy to be working for a friend.
“Morning, Sheriff.” He entered the open door without knocking and took a seat facing his boss.
“Colby. What’s the word?” Bran’s eyes were a bit glazed as he looked up, but he quickly refocused his attention on Colby.
“Quiet night. Nadia called in when she got to the bakery at four because some kids decided to use the side of her store to make a statement using spray paint about anarchy. McEntire called in twice about Bigfoot noises in his backyard. I’m pretty sure he’s got a possum or raccoon living in his barn, but he won’t let me check it out. Did you know he has cameras set up on his back fence now? They’re pointed into the tree line because he’s hoping to catch the Bigfoot on video.” He’d spent a good portion of the
wee morning hours traipsing about in the icy cold underbrush verifying that no large two legged creature was dwelling in Elliot’s woods. It was about the worst way to spend his time, but at least it passed the time. Most nights there was little to nothing to do on third shift.
“Yeah, he put those up last summer,” Bran answered. Colby watched as Bran shuffled the paperwork on his desk before awkwardly sliding a file into his desk drawer. It didn’t take much to figure out that the file was related to Bran’s current interest, Destiny Warren, but Colby didn’t mention it. If the guy wanted to keep his feelings for the woman on the down low who was he to judge? “Any trouble with the Suburban?”
Colby couldn’t hold back his snort of derision. The vehicles used by the department were in dire need of replacing. It was only a matter of time before one of them got stranded because of a dead truck, but in a small town with a small budget dedicated to law enforcement, they’d take whatever they could get. “Sounds like a dying water buffalo, but that’s nothing new. It got me around in the snow pretty good.”
“We have a council meeting tomorrow night, and I’m presenting the issue. We need to get it serviced before it craps out on us. We can’t afford to lose another vehicle.”
“Damn right, we only have four as it is, and there are five of us who each need one,” Colby agreed. “Anything else?” He shifted anxiously in his seat, drawing Bran’s attention. The other man’s eyes narrowed for a moment, surveying him before he answered.
“No, just make sure your notes are filed before you leave. I don’t need another lecture from Reverend Grimes about how the town council needs to be able to access our reports in a timely fashion when necessary.”
Colby quickly nodded, he couldn’t agree more. The town council was a burr in his side when it came to his hatred for paperwork. “Yes, sir. I’ll get it taken care of. I’m going to swing by the diner for breakfast before I head home; want anything?”
Bran cocked his head in surprise. “Again? Aren’t you getting sick of eating there all the time yet?”
Instantly Colby’s mind was filled with the image of the waitress at the diner, and his lips curled up in a grin, “Nah, it’s better than anything I could scrounge up on my own. Besides, it’s got the best view in town.”
Bran’s only response was an arched eyebrow and a questioning look.
Colby snorted. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how fine Beth’s looking these days.”
His boss’s mouth fell open, and Colby might have laughed if he wasn’t so wrapped up in his visions of a plump ass and pouty lips. “Beth? Elizabeth Newcomer?”
“Damn, skippy. She’s got the best ass I’ve seen in this town.”
“She’s also the Reverend’s daughter.”
Colby wanted to laugh, but he figured laughing at his boss was likely not the smartest move, so instead he pushed to his feet and shrugged off Bran’s concern.
“So? She’s not a little girl anymore, Sheriff. She’s a divorcee and a pretty, available one at that.” Colby headed for the office door. “Besides, I’m not doing anything but looking right now. Ain’t no harm in that.”
His memories of the Beth Grimes he knew in school were so far removed from the Elizabeth Newcomer he’d found working at Necee’s Diner, that he’d yet to get them to mesh in his mind. She’d gone from a quiet, bookish, preacher’s daughter, to a curvy sexpot with a smile that stole his breath. He had every intention of resuming their acquaintance very soon, he just had to figure out how to approach her without scaring her off.
* * *
“Your deputy is back, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s heart rate doubled, and her cheeks heated as Ray-Lynn winked at her from across the diner pass-through. “Is he in my section again?”
The older woman nodded. “Mm-hmm. I told you, he asks for you every time he’s in here.”
“I don’t know why. It’s not like we’re best friends. We barely know each other,” Elizabeth muttered, hurrying to finish dotting the child’s plate of pancakes with whipped cream. She carefully added a half dozen blueberries and then put the plate on her already stacked tray of food. Once she’d balanced the whole tray on her shoulder, she made her way across the diner to her customers and pasted a wide smile on her face as she served them. “Here you go, Robin, just the way you like them. Blueberries instead of chocolate chips, and three small cakes instead of one large one.”
The eight-year-old grinned at her like she’d hung the moon. “Thanks, Miss ‘Lizabeth.” His missing front teeth were no trouble for him as he dug into his breakfast, and she made a mental note to grab a pitcher of water for refills on her way back.
“Thank you, Elizabeth, it looks wonderful as always.” Robin’s mother, Casey, was an old friend, and at one time Elizabeth had even been Robin’s Sunday school teacher.
“Are you guys on your way to church?” she asked politely, as she passed each person’s plate to them.
“Glenn is serving as an usher today, so we have to be there a bit early,” Casey explained, indicating her quiet husband who was already tearing into his omelet. “Are you going to be off in time to join us this week?”
“No, I have to work, but I’m sure the sermon will be nice,” she responded. Her words carefully chosen, she didn’t want to be guilted into taking time off to attend a service any time in the near future. She’d been making her best tips from the Sunday morning crowd.
“Maybe you can make it next Sunday. You know the monthly congregational luncheon is going to be on the lawn if the weather stays warm for us. It’s been so nice having a break from Old Man Winter. Glenn even managed to get the roof over the porch repaired yesterday. It’s been leaking since the night of the flood,” Casey chattered.
“How nice.” Elizabeth made her excuses and left them to eat their breakfast in peace, stacking the large tray back where it belonged before she poured a cup of coffee and finally looked over to the booth where Deputy Colby Bricker sat, looking over a menu. He was a beast of a man with biceps as big around as her waist. Standing next to him made her feel tiny and delicate, which was truly a feat considering her wide hips and bubble butt.
Pasting a smile on her face, she walked to his table with every intention of making a quick getaway. “Deputy, I see you’re back for more of Necee’s cooking.”
Colby’s head lifted and he smiled widely, showing perfectly straight white teeth and the deep dimple high on his left cheek. “Morning, Bethie.”
“It’s Elizabeth—” she corrected, setting the coffee in front of him with a sharp huff.
“You’ll always be Bethie to me. You don’t grow up with someone being called one thing and then change it overnight. Besides, you don’t look like an Elizabeth,” he observed, lifting one large arm onto the back of the booth seat so he was turned to face her.
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh? What exactly does an Elizabeth look like?”
“Polished, cold, and untouchable.” The way he spoke the last word sent a tingle down her back that centered right between her legs and she could feel her cheeks grow red. The glint of amusement in his coffee-brown eyes made her fidget in place, and she tried not to notice the attractive way his neatly trimmed beard and mustache framed his perfectly kissable lips.
“And I’m none of those things?” she questioned, in a creaky voice.
Colby cocked his head, his eyes going from the top of her blonde hair, all the way down her curvy frame to her unappealing grandma shoes with non-slip rubber soles. “I wouldn’t say that. I see polish, in the sense that even an unpolished diamond is breathtaking, and if the cold inside you will ease the heat inside of me, I’d say you could be the most touched woman in the state.”
Elizabeth was anything but cold at that moment. In fact, she was sure the pitcher full of ice water in her hand was going to be boiling if she looked at it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t come up with anything intelligent to say in response, so she just blushed harder, and left him hanging.
Her leg
s were trembling as she refilled water glasses all over the restaurant before she could hide in the back and take a moment to catch her breath. She couldn’t believe Colby Bricker was making a play for her. He’d been one of the popular guys in high school. Always linked to one of the cheerleaders, or the class president, or some other girl with a solid future ahead of her and usually a slightly less strict moral compass. He’d had no time for a reverend’s daughter back then, but they weren’t teenagers anymore. In fact, he was leaps and bounds from the jock he’d been in high school. Now he wore the dark gray deputy’s uniform as if it were a second layer of skin.
If the badge on his chest and the handcuffs on his belt weren’t enough, the gun at his hip was enough to make her weak-kneed and giggly. It was ridiculous, just like his calling her Bethie. She was a grown woman. She deserved the respect of being called Elizabeth by the adults around her.
As her hackles rose, her desire fizzled, and she was able to refocus on her job. Deputy Bricker might flirt, but she’d be damned if he was going to seduce his way into her panties. No way, no how. She’d been heartbroken one time too many by men who said all the right things. A man was the last thing she needed in her life.
This time, when she approached his table, she already had her pen and notepad ready. “What can I get for you, deputy?”
“Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Bethie, I was—”
Her irritation spiked, and she snapped, “Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth, then. I want to apologize. I didn’t mean to run you off.” He looked sincere, but the niggling voice in her head wouldn’t shut up. Sincerity was a skill that could be learned, just like lying.