His forehead crinkled. “Well, it’s not an alien. We can definitely rule that out.”
She thought for a moment. “The Clarks live at the end of the road. They have three burros; maybe someone painted one of the young ones with glow paint. And I saw Amy Clark in the grocery store with her grandson last week. He looks to be about twelve. She said he and his brother were staying with them until their dad gets back from Afghanistan.”
He nodded. “I’ll check into it.”
“If it is the boys, you will go easy on them, won’t you?” she pleaded. “Give them a good talking to, but don’t let everyone make a big deal about this.” A smile tugged her mouth. “After all, I remember a certain boy I used to know who spray-painted a couple of names on an old metal bridge.”
He stepped closer and pulled the rope from her fingers. “I won’t do more than give them a good talking to. Promise. And maybe they could pay for Maddie’s window.”
“I’m sure she would appreciate that,” said Libby. “A punishment to fit the crime.”
Reaching down, he tickled her nose with the frayed rope. “You did good on this alien case,” he answered. “I may just have to deputize you.”
Spider legs of electricity shot through her face, his hand brushing against her hair. She edged away, as warmth flooded her cheeks.
Strong fingers encircled her elbows and pulled her back to him. “Libby, do you remember all of what I was going to spray paint on that bridge?”
A classical tune filled the air and he released her, fumbling with the cell phone in his pocket. “I’d better get this,” he said, popping it open. “Sheriff here...”
Libby turned away, bracing herself against the sink for a moment as her body tingled. Turning on the faucet, she reached for a water glass, giving herself an excuse for keeping her face turned from his for so long.
Maybe a cool drink would drown the hurricane of emotions roaring in her stomach.
****
Jackson braked the truck at the top of Rose Hill, shifting into park. “We ought to be able to notice any lights in the sky from here.”
Libby reached for the thermos. “Coffee?” she asked, holding it up.
“Let’s wait awhile.”
Libby squinted at the small white pellets that occasionally struck the windshield. Sleet. The cold the weathermen mentioned must be sweeping in early. She hoped anything major would wait until after the parade tomorrow.
A coyote howled in the distance, and she shivered. The loneliness in his cry was too close to her own solitary existence.
Jackson had never been much of a conversationalist, but this was ridiculous. The night would seem an eternity at this pace. Staring out the window wasn’t much entertainment for either of them with no sign of flying objects in the sky other than sleet.
She imagined his one-syllable answers must be the community newspaper journalist’s nightmare. Maybe he was more animated with that pretty blonde television reporter from the local station—she pondered this as a splinter of jealousy pierced her. What did it matter if he was? Jackson had every right to flirt with whomever he wanted.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice.
“No wait,” he continued, digging a coin from his pocket. “Quarter.” He flipped the coin onto the dash and flashed a grin in the sliver of moonlight that shone from behind the clouds.
She listened to it spin and finally settle into place, pausing before she answered. “I guess I was just thinking about our conversation last night. You know...about why you’ve never married.”
“Oh. That.”
“And?”
“And what? There’s not much to tell.”
“I’ll take a wild guess that some woman broke your heart.”
“I guess I probably broke hers first. So we finished even.” His voice was soft, gravelly.
She sighed. “You know, you’re good at that. Breaking hearts, I mean.” She cast a meaningful glance his direction, one eyebrow raised.
He snorted. “It’s always nice to be told you’ve got some sort of talent.”
She cringed at the raw ache in his voice. Her fingers touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories for you.”
His hand covered hers for a moment. “They’re not bad, Libby. In fact, they’re the best ones I’ve got.” He swallowed hard. “I’m just sorry things didn’t turn out different. Sometimes you don’t realize how much one decision can affect your whole life.”
“I understand that,” she answered, with a soft laugh. She understood more than he probably guessed. “Does she know how you feel?”
His palm was warm and callused; his thumb gently massaged her fingers. Warm pulsing waves floated through her hand.
His answer was barely a whisper. “I don’t think so.”
Tears prickled in her eyes. She blinked, resisting the impulse to pull her hand away. Love was too hard. At least for now.
Forcing cheer into her voice, she spoke again. “Your life is good, Jackson. You’ve got a great job, good friends—”
“True.” He let go of her hand. “But sometimes a man wants more than just friends.”
“I know,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder.
“What about you, Libby. Did you love him?”
Her tongue went numb for a second. It wasn’t a question she expected from him. “When I married him I did,” she answered, slowly.
“And later?”
Libby scooted in her seat. This conversation was leading down trails she wasn’t sure she wanted to travel. But maybe he should know the truth.
“Ben was a lawyer, and the firm he worked for expected certain things from him. Like an appropriate spouse.” Her tone grew slightly bitter. “I guess I fit the bill. I thought he loved me, and maybe he did. It was hard to tell by the time he died. He spent most of his time working.”
He touched her face softly. “I’m sorry,” he answered.
She cleared her throat, turning towards the basket as an excuse to change the subject. “How about some coffee?”
He laughed. “You’re gonna make sure I drink it, aren’t you?”
She poured the dark liquid and handed the cup to him. “A woman likes to know her efforts are appreciated.”
He broke into a smile in response to the teasing tone of her voice. Taking a sip, he nodded. “Best coffee I’ve ever tasted.”
“If you weren’t the sheriff, I’d slug you,” she answered, suppressing a laugh.
Did he mean for her to be curious? Maybe she was the woman from his past. Would it matter to him if he realized that she still loved him after all these years? She swallowed hard. Maybe it was best not to know.
A flicker of moonlight lit the cab as she observed his face. She had thought of him as perfect, the most handsome man she had ever known.
Until he left her, that is, with no real explanation or answer about his feelings at the time. He loved her once, she was sure of it. But somewhere in the years between then and now, he may have given his heart to someone else.
And so had she, for that matter. A mistake she would never make again.
****
At one a. m. exactly, the western sky lit up. Jackson rolled down his window and Libby did the same, zipping her jacket as high as possible and tightening the knitted scarf around her neck. A cold blast from the rising wind whipped around her as she tucked her hands in her furry pockets. Why hadn’t she remembered her gloves?
After five minutes, a deep, heavy rumble was audible in the distance. The sound floated on the damp night air. She sucked in her breath at the noise. So this was Maddie and Cora’s spaceship. Libby glanced across the cab.
Jackson’s eyes met hers, and he smiled. “I think it’s a backhoe. Probably the same one that made the tracks in the cemetery.” He turned the ignition. “Roll up your window, and we’ll take another drive over there.”
He slowed as they passed her driveway en route to B
urning Bridge Road. “Is that horse trail still behind Martin’s place? The one that leads behind the cemetery?”
She shrugged. “As far as I know. I haven’t ridden much since I’ve moved home.”
He turned right, then pulled into her driveway. “How about we saddle up the horses and take ride in the dark?”
The air in the barn was mellow with the odor of horses and hay. Her fingers searched along the wall and found a switch. The bare bulb hanging above offered faint light for saddling the horses.
Scout stomped around her stall, shaking her head. Libby laughed. “Poor thing, she feels left out.” She patted the mule’s face. “Not tonight, old girl. You get to stay in here where it’s warm. Tomorrow’s your big day in the parade.”
As she saddled Hattie, Jackson threw the saddle blanket over the horse named Bet. She nickered and shook her silky black head, as if ready to go. “If we can go in on the riding path, they may not notice us. I figure if they’ve got a guard out by the road, they don’t want people to know what it is they’re up to.”
“What do you think they’re doing?” she asked, pulling on the leather gloves she kept hooked on a post.
He pushed his cowboy hat back on his head. “I don’t know. It’s sure not illegal to dig on your own property...but it’s just an odd time to do it.”
“You don’t think it’s...dangerous for us to go over there, do you?”
He smiled as he adjusted the saddle. “We won’t get too close. I’ve got my cell phone in case we need to call in some backup. Bill and Jim are on duty tonight, so we’ll have plenty of help if we need it.”
She tugged the reins and led the horse towards the barn door. “Maybe it won’t come to that.”
“I just hope we can tell what’s going on. By the way, you’d better wear this.” He snagged her grandpa’s old hat that hung just inside the barn. “Come on, we need to get going.”
****
The wind picked up as they rode silently down Honeycomb Road, covering the rumble of machinery in the distance. The one house they passed was long deserted, its old screen door hanging by its hinges, the gingerbread trim dangling in the breeze. Nothing but deserted pastures lined the road.
Her face stung in the bitter breeze as she wound the scarf around her neck and chin a little tighter. “It’s frigid out here.”
“Yeah. The sky has cleared, so it’s gonna be colder tonight than they predicted. Look at the stars.”
She leaned back a little to stare at the bright mass above them, its twinkling clusters a little like the bulbs on a Christmas tree.
The dirt road dead-ended as the woods surrounded them. “It’s kinda creepy back here,” she whispered. “I think I heard a sound in those trees.”
Jackson pulled Bet to a halt and turned in his saddle. “I don’t see anything. Probably just the wind knocking something around.”
“Probably.”
A barn owl hooted in the trees to their left and swooped in front of them. Hattie nickered at the white flash and danced a step to the side. Libby pulled on the reins and patted the horse’s neck. “There girl. It’s OK. Just a big bird.”
There it was again. A tiny rustling behind them, almost like they were being followed. “Did you hear that?”
He laughed. “There aren’t any ghosts...or aliens out here, Libby.”
Smart-aleck. “I know,” she snapped. Although the hair on her neck rose at the crackling in the brush.
He sidled up beside her, their legs brushing. She wanted to pull away, but it was impossible to move. “I was just kidding,” he whispered, his voice soft and warm.
Her resolution to ignore him began to thaw. “That’s OK. I just don’t like being patronized.”
A scuffling sounded in the wooded area to their left. He pulled the revolver from his holster as he turned. The half-moon gave just enough light to add shadows to the landscape.
Libby’s pulse throbbed against her throat, her fingers gripping the reins tighter as Hattie tensed, ready to bolt in an instant.
After a moment, he spoke. “I don’t see anything.”
Staring at the pistol he kept drawn, her voice trembled. “I keep thinking something is following us.”
He looked at her. “Could have been anything. A squirrel, even.” He shrugged and holstered the gun.
Libby pulled a flashlight from her pocket and flicked the beam along the sides of the road. Illuminating a worn-looking trail flanked by two enormous oaks. “I think that must be it. The cemetery isn’t far.”
Sweet gum, walnut, and oaks towered overhead, their naked branches casting eerie shadows across the frozen ground. Shivering against the night’s chill, Libby took a last glance behind them before she followed. In the past, their trail rides had been romantic moments in the winter moonlight. But this one was more like a ride through Sleepy Hollow.
****
The rumbling ceased as they crossed a low-flowing branch of the creek and reached the cemetery. “About right,” Jackson whispered, sliding off Bet.
They tied the horses to the posts of a nearby iron fence that followed the cemetery’s boundaries. Jackson unlatched the gate, and they slipped inside. He pointed the flashlight to the ground.
On the other side of the cemetery, light glowed through the bare-branched trees.
Her feet slid through the damp leaves that carpeted the graveyard floor, creeping towards the small rise between the cemetery and the farm.
Libby glanced at him as the machine started again, glimpsing lines of tension around his jaw even in the weak glow of the flashlight beam.
“Come on,” he whispered. Slipping below, he tested the frail bridge between the cemetery and ranch, offering his hand to guide her across.
Great. Old bridges in the middle of the night were not the sort of thing she had in mind. She followed slowly, holding his fingers. Please, Lord, keep this bridge up and get us across here safely.
They scrambled over the rocky ground through the tangled saplings in the overgrown field. Jackson’s hand touched her arm, stopping her as he pointed to the scene ahead, just beyond the forest of young trees.
An old red barn leaned to one side, huge lights mounted high on its sides and on trees throughout the area. The yellow-gold color of the equipment was visible as it dug the brown earth, building a large pile of dirt beside it.
He took her elbow as they moved closer, the sound of the dozer covering any noise they made. Crouched behind a large double cedar, Libby shivered. They were only about thirty feet from the digging.
“Look over to the left,” Jackson whispered.
Her eyes widened. There were two other holes, soil piled high between them.
“They’re looking for something,” she said, as much to herself as him.
The sound cut at once, and a man jumped down from the machine, causing them both to duck behind the bramble. Another man spoke, his form barely visible in the shadows. The wind carried the sound of his gruff tones into the night air. “Something’s wrong,” he snapped. “This area hasn’t been dug up in a hundred years. We’re just wasting our time.”
Libby glanced at Jackson, their eyes meeting with the same reaction. The voice belonged to Larry Allen, the man that greeted them at the gate yesterday.
The ringing of a phone sounded from inside the barn. The man who had warned them away earlier disappeared into the doorway. A moment later, the lights went out.
Libby blinked at the sudden blackness. “What do you think’s going on?”
“Shh...listen.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated. A motor sounded in the night air. A car or truck out on the road. A glimmer of headlights shone across the area below, and a truck pulled in beside the big machine. The bright lights flickered back to life.
A woman stepped out of the vehicle, her figure shadowed by the machinery parked nearby; the men, including the driver of the backhoe, approached her.
“The idiot you hired to figure this thing out is nothing but a tro
ublemaker,” snapped the driver. “A lazy, no-good skunk. How do expect—”
“Hey you shut up,” snapped the second man. “It’s not like I have a lot of information to work with. Just let—”
“Be quiet!” The woman shouted over both of them.
Libby gasped. It was Paula Felton.
The men ceased talking and stared as Mrs. Felton spoke again. “You two quit arguing,” she said. “I finally found the missing information. And I guarantee you we’ll find what we’ve been digging for tonight.” She walked towards the barn, the two men following her inside.
Libby and Jackson turned and slid to the cold ground, their backs against the trees behind them. Libby shivered. Paula Felton reminded her of a villain in a late-night movie. She was definitely the boss.
Jackson sighed and spoke in a hushed tone. “If only she’d mentioned what they’re going to find, it would’ve been a big help,” he said. “But I’m beginning to suspect it’s not something the law allows you to keep. And it seems an odd time for her to come out here to check on things.”
Libby answered in a low voice. “Yesterday Maddie mentioned that Mrs. Felton had gone to Tulsa. Maybe that’s where she got the information she was talking about. Besides, she said they’re going to find it tonight, so it shouldn’t be long.”
“We’ll see,” he whispered. “We’re going to sit here and keep an eye on things until we figure out what they’re up to. Then I’m gonna call for reinforcements, if I have to.” He settled himself low behind the brush, peering through the dried branches at the scene ahead.
There was a long pause before Libby spoke again. “Jackson?”
“Yeah?”
She cleared her throat. “About what we were talking about earlier. You and that woman that...that broke your heart.”
“What about her?”
She hesitated. Now didn’t seem like the right moment, on the verge of finding an answer for the strange happenings in the community. But the question had been gnawing at her since he first mentioned it. And if something should happen here tonight—
“It’s just that...if you really still love her, I think you should tell her. I mean, it’s something too important not to...to take a chance on. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what she might have said.”
Christmas in Coyote County Page 5