by Kim O'Brien
“Rock, stop it,” Laney warned as the district attorney wrestled for the bag.
“Just give me the chips, Laney,” Rock demanded.
He gave one long, hard pull. The bag ripped, sending corn chips, bullets, and a Colt .45 to the ground. The pistol clattered to the floor, and a single shot exploded through the cafeteria.
Rock fell facedown to the floor. When he turned, Laney saw a large red stain spreading across the front of his white button-down shirt. At the same time, water began to pour out of a hole in the ceiling.
Laney quickly lunged for the fallen gun as the boy struggled in Ty’s grasp. Holding the gun in trembling hands, she looked down at Rock. “He’s bleeding!” she cried.
“He’s not hit,” Ty assured her. “He landed on a bottle of ketchup.”
Other students crowded around, drawn by the gunshot and the water pouring out of the ceiling. “It’s okay,” Ty told everyone. “There’s been an accident, but please return to your seats.”
Ty kept one arm on the boy, who kept his gaze trained on the ground. He had no fight in him, and Ty doubted he ever had. The boy probably had been teased beyond his endurance, and bringing the gun to school had been a way to show his manhood. In that moment, Ty resolved to find a way to help kids like him deal with the bullying and hazing that went on in every school.
For a moment, his gaze met Laney’s. He saw compassion for the boy in her eyes and, as he held her gaze, something else. His heart beat faster, and he barely felt the water dripping over him as the rest of the sprinklers in the room turned on. Her eyes held all the promise of a candle burning in the window on the darkest of nights. It was a gaze welcoming home a man who had been gone for a long time. It was a look that could have lit up the emptiest, coldest house. Even his own. The look told him more eloquently than any words could express. For the first time in years, perhaps ever, he was home.
Twenty-three
Laney stood holding the gun as the sprinkler system rained down on them. Across the distance between them, she anchored herself in Ty Steele’s gaze. She saw a strong man who cared for others more than himself, who had been willing to risk his professional reputation, even his life, to avoid a school shooting. Her heart opened up to him.
“Please keep back,” Ty ordered the crowd of students who pressed around them, more curious than afraid now that he clearly had the situation under control.
Did the students realize things might have ended a lot differently if not for Ty? Her hands shook, and she tightened her grip on the gun. Later she would let herself react to the scene; for now she would be strong for Ty.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard a familiar drawl.
“Get someone to turn off the main water switch,” her father ordered. “Where’s Principal Henley? And someone get the fire department out here. Step aside, kids,” her father said. “Show’s over.”
“Dad!” Laney called.
He pushed through the row of students. “Laney, are you okay?” He looked at the pistol in her hand, and she saw the color drain from his face. “What are you doing with a gun?” He reached for the weapon. “Just give it to me slowly.”
“It’s okay, Dad.” Laney handed the pistol to him. “Ty has it all under control.”
Her father shook his head. “Then why is there a hole in the ceiling with the sprinkler system going full blast?”
“I can explain,” Laney said. “You see—”
“The gun went off accidentally,” Rock interrupted, “when I tried to take it away from Laney.”
Water dripped down the district attorney’s face. One of his contacts had fallen from his eye, giving him two different-colored irises. His normally immaculate clothing hung dripping wet, and he had a large ketchup stain on his shirt.
“What happened to you?” her dad asked.
“I hit the ground when the gun went off,” Rock explained.
The older man cut him off with a slash of his hand. Turning to his daughter, he said, “You fired the gun?”
“Not exactly,” Laney tried to explain.
“Laney, tell me you didn’t shoot down the sprinkler system,” her father said.
Laney saw the anger in her father’s eyes. Under his intense scrutiny, something in her began to shrink. No matter what she said, he would see her as the source of the problem, not the solution.
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. Her mouth formed a straight, tight line. If her father wanted to believe the worst about her, so be it.
“She didn’t shoot down the sprinkler system,” Ty said, stepping forward. “Your daughter disarmed a disturbed student,” he explained. “And probably prevented a shooting. You’ll get a full report on your desk by tomorrow morning.”
Laney’s cheeks turned red. “Well, Angel should get most of the credit. We thought there were bullets in the bag. Neither of us guessed a gun was in there, too.”
Her father held up his hands. “I still don’t understand how the gun went off.”
Rock coughed and stepped forward. “In the process of my assisting her, the gun fell from the bag of chips.”
“He ripped the bag open because he didn’t believe there was a gun inside,” Ty explained. “It went off when it hit the ground.”
Her father’s gaze went from Laney to Ty. “Do you realize someone might have been killed?” He pulled at his moustache. “Laney, if something had happened to you—” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“Your daughter has a lot of courage and faith,” Ty added quietly.
“Laney?”
Something about the way he said her name made her turn to meet her father’s gaze. For a moment, she saw something there she couldn’t remember seeing in a very long time. Could it be he was actually proud of her?
“Nice job,” her father said. “You, too, Steele.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Laney stood a little straighter.
Her father worried the end of his moustache in a gesture that Laney recognized as extreme discomfort. She almost smiled. Apparently her father was as uncomfortable at giving praise as she was unaccustomed to receiving it.
“That doesn’t mean I ever”—her dad paused for emphasis—“ever want you to get involved in police business again.” His hand dropped to his gun belt. “From now on, you stick to selling hamsters,” he added gruffly.
“Yes, sir,” Laney said and looked away from him. “One last thing—I want my poem back.”
Her father shook his head. “You’ll have to get it from Thomas. He started to read your speech but got all choked up.” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling as the water finally stopped. “Glad somebody finally found the water valve.” He didn’t look at Laney. “I’d like to hear your speech sometime, though.”
“Chief, what do you want me to do?” a policeman asked.
Her father frowned at the deputy. “Call in a bomb squad,” he instructed. “We’re going to do a locker-to-locker check. I want every backpack looked into and every student searched for weapons.”
“Looks like someone heard you already,” Ty said. He pointed at a small, big-eared dog splashing its way through the room toward them. “Your firearms-sniffing dog is reporting for duty.” He grinned at Laney, who gave him the thumbs-up sign.
Laney watched Angel pause to scarf up a fallen hamburger floating on the water. Her father saw it, too. Although his Adam’s apple bobbed furiously, he said nothing.
“Sir,” another deputy said, “we’re ready to take the boy into custody.”
Her father cleared his throat, and the noise seemed to travel a great distance. “Okay,” he said. “Get Olveriz over here. He’ll go with you.”
As the deputy led the boy away, her father began to fiddle with his moustache. “Would someone tell me why anyone would bring a gun to school? What did he think he was going to accomplish?”
Laney didn’t like the flush that had appeared on her father’s cheeks. “Dad, maybe you should take it easy—your heart—”
“
It’s not my heart that’s the problem,” he said with his usual bluntness. He turned to Ty. “You were right. I should have listened to you.” He paused and extended his hand to Ty. “Congratulations. You’re going to make a great sheriff, Steele.”
Twenty-four
Laney walked with Ty to the outdoor courtyard. Her wet hair and clothing chilled her to the bone, and for once she welcomed the heat and humidity. Plus, what could have happened if she and Ty had not gotten there in time was beginning to register.
What kind of world drove children to such despair that they would resort to such an act?
“You okay?” Ty put his arms around her shoulders and drew her onto one of the curved cement benches.
“I’m fine.” Laney let Ty envelop her in an embrace. The rush of adrenaline flooding her had drained away, leaving her bone-tired. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, the curve of his muscle forming a perfect pillow for her face.
He lifted her chin to study her face. “You’re crying.” He sighed, the uneasy sound of a man not comfortable with a woman’s tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t cry,” Ty said. He wiped a tear with his thumb.
“I can’t help it.” Laney sniffed loudly. “I’m not used to things going right. It’s a new experience for me.”
He laughed. “We did okay.”
Through her tears she smiled. “I say we got more than a little help from above.” She saw the agreement in his eyes. “God gets the credit.”
Ty nodded. “The credit is His.” His eyes twinkled. “I never thought I’d be saying that again.”
Laney nodded. “All because of that note I found in church.” Her expression turned radiant through the tears. “It brought us together. Neither one of us could have stopped the shooting without the other.”
Ty didn’t disagree with her. He squeezed her more tightly against him. When she turned, she saw his head bent, as if in prayer. Her hands joined his as she added her own prayer.
Laney closed her eyes, enjoying the closeness. She was aware, as she knew he had to be, that things forever had changed between them. He had trusted her when no one else would and risked everything that mattered to him in the process.
They sat that way for a long time. When Ty gently pushed the wet hair off her face, Laney opened her eyes and met his gaze. She knew there were things unsaid between them, things that hung in the air as soft and beautiful as the scent of a rose. She did not know when the right moment would come to speak the words aloud. For now it was enough simply to sit next to each other and know she was at the beginning of something more precious and miraculous than she ever could have imagined a relationship could be.
Ty squeezed her fingers lightly. “I have something I’d like to ask you.”
“A question?” Laney bit her lower lip as she took in the sudden set to his face. Her heart began to beat faster at his serious expression.
He smiled. “I want to know about the pastor’s assignment.”
Her brow wrinkled. “What about it? I know you weren’t the writer of the letter I found.”
Ty’s voice was low and gentle. “I want to know about your letter. What did you write?”
Laney swallowed. The image of herself crawling around the seats trying to find her lost note because she was too ashamed for anyone else to read it flashed through her mind. “You sure you want to hear this?”
Ty nodded.
“I’m a jinx,” Laney whispered. “Everything I touch turns into a disaster.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “You’ve seen for yourself it’s true.”
Ty laughed.
“This isn’t funny!” Laney cried out. “You’re lucky to be alive. The shot that hit the sprinkler system could as easily have hit you.”
Another round of laughter erupted from Ty. Laney covered her ears with her hands.
“Look at me, Laney,” Ty said softly. “I’m more alive than I’ve been in years. Everything you said about me the first day we met was true. I knew it then, and I know it now. You haven’t hurt me, Laney. You’ve healed me.”
Laney pressed her lips together and twisted her hands in her lap. “The credit is God’s. If you’re talking about me, you’re lucky to be alive.”
“Yes, I am lucky,” Ty agreed. “Although I didn’t feel that way until I met you.” He reached over and squeezed her hand tightly. “I have the feeling that as long as I have you next to me, that’s the way I’ll feel the rest of my life.”
“It’ll be a short life,” Laney predicted gloomily, “if I’m in it.”
Ty scowled. “You can go on believing that, or you can take a chance on me. On us.”
Laney shook her head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Sensing her hesitation, Ty continued, “I’m strong, Laney. Strong enough for whatever happens. The only thing I can’t handle is for you to walk away from me.”
Laney studied the shape of their fingers intertwined. She could almost see how their hands would age, becoming more fragile, yet gaining strength from the touch of the other.
She thought about the day in church when Pastor Bruce had asked them to throw away their fears and regrets. At the time, she realized, she’d held on to her doubts about herself. Looking into Ty’s eyes, she knew it was time to let go.
Laney leaned forward. “What are you asking?”
Ty swallowed. “For a chance to date you in a restaurant without your crawling away from me like GI Jane. To picnic with you at our pond. To write you poetry.”
The proof of his feelings gleamed softly in his eyes. Her own eyes answered him, filled with hope and promise. As Ty leaned forward to kiss her, Laney heard the thunder roll.
Thank You, Lord. You are truly awesome.
Twenty-five
Two weeks after Ty won the uncontested race for sheriff of Sutton County, an elderly woman walked into Animal Ark. The woman had pure white hair and a small pair of glasses that sat so low on her nose they seemed to be glued in place.
Removing her arm from the depths of a fish tank, Laney studied the woman. She seemed familiar. As she searched her mind for the right connection, the woman wandered over to the gerbil cages.
To Laney’s amazement, the woman sighed loudly and moved so close to the glass tank her spectacles actually clinked against the tank. “Oh,” the woman said, pointing. “That gerbil looks just like my Mandy.”
As usual the sight of someone in distress went directly to Laney’s heart. Putting her hand on the older woman’s shoulder, Laney asked kindly, “You’ve lost a beloved pet?”
The woman nodded. Her white head bobbed, but her glasses remained in their gravity-defying position. She blew her nose into the handkerchief, folded it neatly, and repeated the action.
“I’ll pour us a cup of iced tea,” Laney said.
Drawing her toward the back room, Laney clasped the older woman’s hand gently. The woman’s bones showed clearly through her skin, so Laney took care not to squeeze too hard.
She turned to the older woman. “I’m Laney Varner.”
“Diana Gibson.”
Laney led Mrs. Gibson to the back of the store and cleared a bag of rabbit pellets off the desk seat. Taking a bottle of iced tea off the shelf, she poured some into a paper cup.
As they sipped their tea, Mrs. Gibson talked. She told Laney all about the various animals she’d had and loved. It was obvious the woman was lonely.
The cup of tea long finished, Mrs. Gibson continued talking. By now she’d moved into relatively recent history and begun to recount an incident ten years ago when her husband had given her a rather unusual anniversary present—a Mongolian gerbil.
“You know,” Mrs. Gibson confided, “you always hear of people getting attached to their dogs and cats. Obviously they’ve never had a gerbil. I named her Mandy after the Barry Manilow song. When the grandchildren came, she never bit them.”
Suddenly Mrs. Gibson’s eyes began to swell with tears. “That’s how the accident happened, you know. About a
year ago, one of my grandkids was playing with her. We were letting her run laps around the inside of the washing machine. I’m afraid the wrong button was pushed.”
Laney patted Mrs. Gibson’s arm and muttered soft words of encouragement. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“It was all my fault,” Mrs. Gibson said sadly. “I was careless with my love.”
The words echoed in Laney’s ears. Her mouth fell open in astonishment. “I was careless with my love,” she repeated. The words matched perfectly in her brain, but she refused to believe the implications.
“It’s been a nightmare living with the guilt,” Mrs. Gibson added, shaking her head and blinking furiously. “Once in church, I even—”
“Wrote a poem,” Laney finished.
“How did you know?”
“I found your poem,” Laney said. “I picked it off the floor because I thought it was mine.” Her eyebrows pushed together in sympathy. “I thought the poem was beautiful, and I tried to find who wrote it. I wanted to help.”
Laney opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out the crumpled piece of yellow paper, glad her brother had returned it to her. Now she understood why the woman had seemed so familiar to her. She must have seen her in church.
“I’d like to tell you about what happened because of your note,” Laney said. “God used it to work a miracle.”
As Laney told her about the love she’d found with Ty, a smile lifted the corners of Mrs. Gibson’s mouth. She laughed when she learned of the fruitless school search and the Eat and Go incident. When Laney finished with the troubled boy at the school, she sighed. “I can’t tell you how much it means to hear of so much good that came from such an accident.”
Smiling, Laney handed her the note she’d found in church so long ago. The elderly woman folded it carefully and placed it in her purse.
Laney knew there was only one thing left to do. She led the woman back into the store and to the front of the gerbil cages. “Please,” she said, “let me give you the gerbil that looks like your Mandy.”
Mrs. Gibson’s hand reached inside the cage, hesitant at first and then more confidently among the scurrying rodents. She gently stroked one of the gerbils’ heads, and when she looked up, her smile was radiant.