by Alison Stone
“Conditions were pretty bad. The sheriff told me to give Paul King a written warning. Tell him to clean up his act. I threw in a few threats on my own accord. Told him I’d be back and not to be surprised if I took the animals. Most Amish don’t want to run afoul of the law. That usually does the trick.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing.”
Harrison ended the call, figuring Becky would be pleased with the latest developments.
He turned toward the voices. Becky was chatting easily with the waitress at the counter. Since he had dropped Becky home early this morning after work—her last shift for a while—she had undone her braids and gathered her hair into a long ponytail. It hung down her back almost to her waist. He blinked away, realizing he was staring. It wasn’t any of his business how long her hair was or how nice it looked.
Becky turned slowly and glanced at him as if sensing his appraisal. A small smile hooked the corners of her mouth. He acknowledged her with a quick nod and turned his attention to the plastic menu in front of him. Despite having been in town for a while, he had never sat down in the diner to eat. He preferred to cook at home. Or maybe he just preferred to not deal with people outside of work.
He was still trying to figure out what it was about this woman that made him break all his rules.
When Becky slid into the bench across from him and brought with her a clean scent, maybe cucumbers, maybe something else, he suspected he partially knew the reason he was inviting her to dinner, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.
“Sorry,” she said, “just wanted to say hello to Patty.”
Harrison nodded, but didn’t say anything. He had a close circle of friends back home, but he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to grow up and live in the same small town his entire life, where everyone knew your story. Where you’d actually stop to catch up with the waitress at the diner. Where people knew that you grew up Amish and left to become a deputy. Where soon they’d learn you were suspended.
Didn’t sound too appealing, actually. He had experienced his own version of that in Buffalo after his brother died. It was a relief to go someplace where people didn’t feel sorry for you.
Harrison opened his mouth to ask her what it was like to grow up Amish, but he found himself dropping his attention to an image of sunny-side-up eggs on his menu. He didn’t like when people pried into his past and he should give her the same consideration.
Becky tapped the edge of the menu on the surface of the table. “Have you decided what you’re having? The burgers are good.”
Harrison set the menu down. “Then a burger it is.”
“Oh, make sure you save room for dessert. They have the greatest shoo-fly pie.”
“Just by the name alone, I know it’s good.”
Becky’s eyes flared wide. “You’ve never had shoo-fly pie? How long have you been in town?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, you’re in for a treat.” Her animated expression surprised him. She seemed so quiet, reserved, when in uniform. “A few different Amish families provide pies to the diner. When I was old enough to take the horse and wagon myself, I used to come in here and sell pies. Gave me some pocket money for when I decided to become a rebel.” Her eyes flashed with excitement at the memory.
Harrison had a hard time imagining a bonnet covering her pretty hair. He had so many questions about the Amish, but he suspected those were questions for a second or maybe third date. His words skidded in his mind as if on a bullet train and someone flipped the brakes.
Easy boy, this wasn’t a date. First, second, third or otherwise.
Oblivious to the commentary running through his head, Becky leaned forward and pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket. “I have a list of things I need for Chewie. They should have most of them here in town.” She smoothed out the wrinkled paper on the table.
“No regrets?”
Her brows snapped together, then smoothed. “About taking Chewie?”
He raised his eyebrows.
Becky waved her hand. “I didn’t have much choice. The sweet dog needed a home. I have one. And the vet said she’d make a house call tomorrow.”
Harrison liked her way of thinking, but in his world, few things were straightforward. “We can grab those things, sure. Shouldn’t be a problem. By the way, I got a call from Deputy Welsh while you were washing your hands.” She furrowed her brow, so he continued. “He works animal control. He stopped by the Kings’ house and gave Paul a written warning. Said he’d be back to check in on the dogs.”
“That’s good.” She bit her lower lip. “But I don’t imagine Paul thought so.”
By the way she referred to the owner of the property, Harrison suspected she had a personal relationship with the Kings. Of course she did; she grew up on the farm next door. He wanted to ask her how being former Amish impacted her job. In some areas, it must help, in others, they must look at her as a traitor.
Just then the bells clacked against the glass door of the diner. A shadow of concern crossed Becky’s features. Harrison shifted in his seat to glance behind him to whatever had caught her attention. Two uniformed deputies strolled into the diner. Harrison recognized one as Colin Reich, the son of the suspended officer and the man who had warned him to steer clear of Becky.
Harrison gave them a subtle nod. “Evening, deputies.”
Young Reich had his thumb looped through his belt as he sauntered past their table and glared at them. He must have signed on to work a double. He slid into the booth directly behind Becky. Her face grew red and the enthusiasm that was in her eyes when she was discussing her list of dog supplies had been replaced by something else. Fear? Regret?
The second deputy muttered a quick, “Hello,” with a strained smile. The unspoken sympathy in his eyes suggested not all deputies were squarely behind Deputy Ned Reich, but refused to speak up. Harrison imagined there’d be a lot of tension within the sheriff’s department until the beating incident of the young Amish man by a sheriff’s deputy was just a speck in the rearview mirror of the town’s collective memory. Unfortunately for Becky’s future, memories were long and some incidents tended to forever stain a career.
Harrison reached out, falling short of touching Becky’s hand resting on the table. He whispered, “We can go someplace else to eat, if you’d like.”
Her gaze hardened and she whispered, “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not going to run away with my tail between my legs.”
From their adjacent table, Deputy Colin Reich made a disparaging remark about Becky. Harrison started to slide out of the booth. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do. A fist to the throat came to mind, but doubted that would do anyone any good, least of all, Deputy Reich. Before he had a chance to add his name to the suspension roster, Becky touched his hand gently. Her pointed glare stopped him in his tracks.
“Let it go. It’s not important.”
“How are you so calm about all this?” he said in a hushed whisper.
“How’s it going to look if I’m involved in another altercation?” She shook her head. “Nope, I’m going to have to have faith that this is all going to work out.”
She had far more faith than he had.
* * *
Becky unlocked the door to her home as Harrison lugged in the pet supplies. She raced to the mudroom and opened the door. Chewie was curled up on a temporary bed of blankets. He got up slowly and wandered over to her, skepticism evident in his eyes.
Becky crouched down and gently patted his head. “Poor guy, still trying to figure out who to trust, huh?”
“Where do you want the supplies?” Harrison stood in the doorway to the mudroom.
Becky glanced over her shoulder. “The kitchen is fine, thanks. Put the things on the counter. I’ll have to make room in the cabinets.”
She heard Harrison set the items
down, then sensed him hovering in the doorway again. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be out here alone,” he said, his voice thick with concern.
Becky slowly stood and stretched her back. “I’m not alone. I have Chewie.” The little dog barked up at him, as if to say, “Yep, she has me.”
Harrison ran a hand across his mouth, obviously not pleased with her quip. “Why do I think he’d lick an intruder to death?”
Becky shrugged and crouched down and touched the dog’s head. “We’ll be fine, right, Chewie?”
Becky crossed her arms, suddenly feeling very tired. It had been an exceptionally long day. She usually slept for a few hours when she arrived home from the night shift, but today, she couldn’t quiet her mind in order to rest. Only now that she was back home did she feel the full weight of her exhaustion. And strangely enough, she was grateful she didn’t have to work tonight.
“I’ll walk you out,” she said.
Harrison studied her, apparently recognizing when he was being dismissed. He paused at the door. “Are you sure? I can stay and help you get Chewie cleaned up.”
“No, the utility sink is in the mudroom. There’s hardly room for me.” She blinked away the grittiness of her contact lenses. “Thank you for offering. I do appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“Okay.” The hesitancy in his voice knotted the tangle of nerves in her belly. Did he really think she was in jeopardy in her own home?
“Don’t worry. I’ll lock up.” She ran a hand down her ponytail and twisted it around her hand. It still felt strange after two decades of wearing her hair in a neat bun. Lifelong habits die hard. “I am a sheriff’s deputy, after all. Well, I think I still am. I’m trained to handle the bad guy.” The humor in her tone didn’t ring true. She cleared her throat and forced a reassuring smile. “Really, I’m fine.” She ushered him toward the front door.
“Okay, goodnight.” He glanced over his shoulder as he stepped out onto the porch. “You have my number if you need anything.”
She waved. “Yep.” She had pinned his business card to the bulletin board in the mudroom before she changed out of her uniform earlier today.
Becky stood in the doorway and watched until Harrison drove away. She closed the door and turned the lock, not something she was in the habit of doing. She flopped down on the couch and Chewie jumped up next to her. She ran a hand down his matted fur and turned up her nose. “You really are a stinky guy, aren’t you?”
Groaning because she couldn’t put this off any longer, she pushed off the couch and grabbed the gentle pet shampoo from the counter and wandered over to the utility sink. What was she thinking? A hose outside would be much easier. And faster.
She tapped her fingers on her thigh and recalled the big metal tub stored in the shed. She stared at the little guy at her feet. “Okay, you win.” She reached into the bag and pulled out the new collar and leash. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Outside, the evening sun was still hot. Perfect weather to wash a dog. She unhooked the hose from the stand by the porch and dragged it toward where Chewie was digging in the dirt next to the steps.
“You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you? Stay there, I’ll be right back.” Becky hooked his leash around the railing for good measure, then wandered to the shed. The strong smell of wood baking in the sun hit her when she threw open the doors. The metal tub she had considered using was filled with topsoil. “So much for that,” she muttered to herself.
She shut the doors and crossed the yard. She unwound the leash from the porch railing and led Chewie away from the steps. She didn’t want a mud puddle at her back door.
She blinked a few times as her contacts grew cloudy. “I should have put on my glasses before coming out here.” She blinked a few more times, trying to clear her vision. She let out a long sigh, looking forward to her evening on the couch. Looking forward to cuddling up with her freshly washed dog.
She held Chewie by his new collar and soaked him with the hose. She reached over for the shampoo and struggled with the cap. She let go of his collar and twisted the lid and took a whiff of shampoo. “This will make you smell like a new doggy.” Becky laughed at herself. In only a few hours, she had become one of those people who talked to dogs. She figured it was okay as long as he didn’t answer.
With two hands, she lathered up Chewie’s fur. He seemed to be enjoying himself. After he was nice and soapy, she adjusted the attachment on the hose while blinking against her compromised vision.
Ugh, these contacts.
She pressed the sprayer and a sharp stream of water hit the earth near Chewie’s head, spraying some dirt. The puppy startled and with a yelp, ran toward the edge of her property bordered by woods.
Becky dropped the hose and started after him. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Come on, Chewie.”
She swiped the back of a soapy hand under her nose. A sharp pine needle scratched the underside of her foot. “Oww,” she muttered to herself. That’s what I get for wearing flip-flops out here.
Blinking rapidly, she slowed, fearing she was chasing her skittish dog deeper into the woods. “Chewie, come on, buddy,” she called in her best “I’ll never hurt you” voice.
Leaves crunched in the shadowed depths of the woods indicating steps heavier than Chewie’s. During the fall, hunters often encroached on or near her property. But it wasn’t hunting season. Maybe someone was hiking nearby.
Yet, she found herself frozen in place, listening hard against the competing sound of her roaring pulse in her ears. Her gut told her to run. Get inside. Lock the door. Her heart told her she couldn’t let Chewie get lost in the woods. The poor dog had been through enough.
Pushing past her fear, she called again to her dog. “Come on, Chewie. Want a treat?”
With the offer of a treat, a little wet ball of fur came bounding out from behind a bush. “There you are!” The rush of relief made her eyes water.
She bent down to scoop him up when a crack sounded over her head. All her training kicked in. Adrenaline zinging through her veins, she gripped Chewie tighter and pivoted toward the house. Staying low, she bolted up the porch steps, praying that if they took a second shot, their aim would be equally bad as their first one.
FIVE
Becky slammed the mudroom door and turned the dead bolt and pressed herself flat against the wall. Her chest heaved as Chewie’s wet fur soaked through her T-shirt. “You’re okay,” she cooed into her puppy’s ear. No one was getting in. They were safe. Since she was a female sheriff’s deputy living alone, she had taken precautions to secure her home with solid locks and an alarm system. But until now, she had never felt the inclination to use them.
She set the trembling dog down on the tile floor. He excitedly jumped at the door, his claws clacking as they left smeared prints wherever they touched, including her shirt. His incessant yapping did nothing to settle her frayed nerves.
Standing off to one side of the door, Becky pulled back a corner of the curtain and peered outside. She squinted into the heavily shadowed woods and couldn’t decipher one tree trunk from the next or determine if, in fact, the shooter still lay in wait. She blinked again, frustrated with her contacts.
Yap. Yap. Yap.
She reached down and distractedly petted Chewie’s head. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Shhhh...”
Yap. Yap. Yap.
She strained to hear above the noise of the dog and her racing heart. Were those more shots fired in the distance?
She glanced out again. Still nothing. Nothing that she could see. She bit her lower lip, debating what she should do. She wasn’t helpless. She was a sheriff’s deputy.
Who was suspended.
Without a gun.
Grumbling her frustration, Becky grabbed her cell phone from on top of the dryer and dialed 91 before pausing with her thumb hovering over the last 1. The
harsh expression on the face of Deputy Colin Reich, the son of the officer she had testified against, came back to haunt her from earlier at the diner. In her heart, she knew most of her fellow deputies were good men and women, but someone obviously had it out for her.
Who could she trust?
Did she dare call dispatch to send a random deputy to help her? Would they?
Her gaze drifted to Harrison’s business card tacked to the bulletin board over the washer. She stared at it for a second. She hated to bother him, but what choice did she have?
The crack of distant gunfire sounded above Chewie’s incessant barking. She bolted upstairs and to her bedroom window, careful not to make herself a target. The tree branches swayed, playing tricks on her tired eyes. She ran to the bathroom and popped out her contacts and slid on her glasses. She returned to the window, still unable to see anything out of the ordinary.
More shots. They sounded far off. Not like the one that pinged off the bark near her head. She swallowed hard. What was going on?
With trembling fingers, she dialed Harrison’s number and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Harrison.” He picked up on the second ring, a coolness to his voice. She didn’t take offense because of course, he didn’t know who was calling.
Becky made a quick decision to play it cool. “It’s Becky Spoth. Sorry to bother you,” she rushed on, before he had a chance to say anything, “but something’s come up.” She hustled back down the stairs while she was talking. She opened the door to the mudroom and Chewie jumped up on her leg and barked frantically as if to say, “Don’t ever leave me alone again.” She patted his head reassuringly, trying to quell his barking.
“What’s wrong?” Concern laced Harrison’s voice.
“Hold on. Chewie’s being loud. Let me see if I can get him to quiet down.” She sat on the floor of the mudroom and pulled Chewie into her lap, ignoring the smell of wet dog and mud. He nuzzled into her damp shirt and settled in, his tiny, wet body quivering. “I was outside trying to wash the dog and a shot ricocheted off a tree near my head.”