LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART

by Nancy Gideon

  It was so easy to fall completely under his spell. She missed the exact second she caved in. Probably when she slit her eyes open to scan the floor, to see if the linoleum was clean enough for them to roll around on. When she forgot to care if Faith walked in on them. That she was no more protected than she had been the first time. Or the fact that this was her mother's house.

  Nothing mattered but the exquisite taste of passion reborn. A passion that wasn't raw edged with cigarettes, bottled beer and desperation, but a mellow lingering taste of clean, crisp promise. Of forever rather than goodbye.

  And it made her hungry to savor the heat and urgency of a real kiss.

  He pulled back, seeing capitulation in her softly flushed cheeks, in her slightly parted lips, in the smoky longing clouding her gaze. He could have taken her to the linoleum or to the moon. But before she could ask him to, he stood, her words from earlier that evening tempering passion with a cautiousness. If he cashed in on the invitation in her eyes, it would be a moment's weakness not a lifetime decision.

  She gazed up at him, dewy-eyed and desire drugged, everything he wanted there for him to have … but not hold. What was one brief moment of heaven in her arms if it meant spending an eternity in hell without her? She wasn't ready for that all-or-nothing commitment. Without it, he'd still have nothing.

  With a hoarse "I'll see you tomorrow," he was gone.

  For a long restless night, Bess thought about the possibility of those linoleum tiles, cool and hard beneath her, while Zach Crandall moved hot and hard above. And not even the high setting on her window fan could ease the heated flush of her skin.

  She knew the harsh words she'd said to him earlier were more truth than temper. And he'd meant every one of his, as well. The pull between them intensified with every meeting but answered none of the difficulties they couldn't overcome. The entire town of Sweetheart, for one. Like how they could ever breach the barrier the past placed between them, for another.

  Then, there was the big one: how could she risk more involvement without telling him the entire truth?

  One truth had hit her unfairly while she'd tended his hurts in the kitchen. She wanted Zach Crandall.

  Seventeen years ago he'd taught her the basics of sex. This time she wanted him to elaborate on the intricacies of making love.

  And all the pressure to deny it, from both conscience and community, didn't make a dent in discouraging that desire.

  * * *

  He heard the shushing strokes of a broom mingling with the soft hitch of his sister's sobs. There was no light on to illuminate the porch, but Zach could see Melody's slumped figure highlighted in shadow as he raced up the walk.

  "Mel? Melody, what's wrong?"

  By the time he bounded up onto the porch, his vision had adjusted to the lower level of light, and he could see what she was doing. She was cleaning up a mess. All the pretty blooming pots she'd hung from the ceiling beams lay in smashed piles of broken pottery, soil and scattered petals. Metal hooks dangled above, as empty as the look in his sister's eyes.

  "Why would someone do such a thing?"

  Zach lifted her up from where she'd been meticulously brushing the remnants into a dustpan. He removed the broom and the pan from her hands and put his arms around her, offering shelter a little too late. He wished he could say he didn't know the answer to her question, but he did know. He knew who and he knew why.

  He brought heartbreak back into his sister's life with his return, making her the target of an indiscriminate hate.

  And as Melody wept against his shirtfront, he felt a familiar darkness freeze through him, a mindlessly vicious anger he'd always equated with the sound of his father's belt clearing its loops.

  That cold black fury lived in him, too; an inheritance from Sam Crandall. The temptation to let go, to let the anger out like something wild and deadly, had never been so close to overwhelming him. He'd learned a thousand ways to kill a man and a thousand more to make that same man beg for death. He'd ended a man's life more than once, and on one of those occasions had been perilously near forgetting all that was civilized and good. He'd vowed then and there he would never allow himself to approach that point again.

  So he held Melody close and he used his love for her as a center, focusing, forcing the darkness down until it was manageable.

  There were ways to deal with Web Baines and his friends. Ways in his command.

  And first thing in the morning they'd realize their mistake in making his sister cry.

  * * *

  Bess sipped her morning coffee at Sophie's, forcing her mind to remain on the workday ahead when it preferred to stray to Zach's husky claim of, "I'll see you tomorrow."

  Once, long ago, she'd lived and breathed for Zach's brief appearances, lighting up when he was there, feeling cold and bereft when he was gone. She had the excuse of youth then. As he so deftly pointed out before, what was her excuse now?

  She had to tally her sidewalk sales amounts, to plan her front window display, to decide on whether or not to make a daring trip to a trade show in Chicago to bolster her tired inventory. But all she could concentrate upon was the remembered feel of hard muscle rippling beneath her palm.

  She sighed, exasperated at her own sorry state. She had a worse case of hormonal hysteria than Faith and all her friends put together. But she was a grown woman who knew what to do about it.

  Could an affair with Zach satisfy her cravings for intimacy, or would it leave her desperate for more? A more she knew he couldn't give her.

  While she stared into her cup as if she could find the answers there floating in grounds that had somehow slipped through the reused filter, the stir of excitement all around her gradually broke her from her trance. She glanced up, then frowned in puzzlement.

  The counter girls gathered at the front window, whispering, pointing outside. They were joined by the early bird customers who added to the agitated murmurings. On the walk Bess could see passersby stopping to stare over at the town center. Something was going on.

  Not one to involve herself with gawking and gossip, Bess tried to ignore the situation until Myrt Watson looked her way. The woman's features were a caricature of amazement as she called, "Honey, you'd better come see this."

  Bess slid off the counter stool, taking the time to smooth her skirt before going to the window. She didn't want to seem too eager to elbow into the foray. She had to stand on tiptoes to get a good look at the object of their attention. Then she stood as stunned as the rest of them.

  For strutting right through the center of the square, bold as brass, heading toward the sheriff's office, was Zach Crandall wearing the proudly creased uniform of the Iowa State Police.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  The look on Sheriff Lloyd Baines's face was worth it all.

  Every minute of hell going through basic. Every lonely night watch in a foreign land. The disbelief of his friends and superiors when he announced he had no plans to reenlist to take the career opportunity of a lifetime.

  Who would pass up a request to join military intelligence to ticket highway speeders in the cornfields of Iowa?

  They didn't understand. They had no idea what this moment meant to him.

  Watching Sheriff Baines's flabby jowls quiver, his hard, mean little eyes pop wide open in shock as moisture beaded up on his bald head like rain on a Simonize shine, paid a multitude of past debts in full. It made up for the cold terror that had gripped him every time a patrol car had pulled up in front of their house. It erased the brutality of the "questioning" he'd endured while refusing to admit to something he hadn't done. It eased the memory of sleepless nights in the back, curled up on an unyielding cot, terrorized by the knowledge of what was going to happen—not at the hands of the law but at those of his merciless father when he was finally sent home with a reprimand or a fine.

  But nothing could wipe away the haunting image of his mother's tears the first time she'd watched handcuffs snap c
losed on her eldest son's wrists. So Zach took his time peeling down his dark glasses, reveling in the sheriff's astonishment.

  Surprise, you son of a bitch.

  "Good morning, Sheriff Baines. I'd like to say it's professional courtesy bringing me by to say hello on my first day on the job, but unfortunately," he let out a slow, searing smile made lopsided by the swelling of his lower lip and concluded, "it's business."

  "Crandall." That's all he could manage.

  "You remember me. I'm flattered. I remember you, too." The icy smile melted down to a cold, thin frost line. "Fondly."

  Shock wore off, becoming instant hostility. "What the hell are you doing here like that?"

  Zach deliberately misunderstood him. He reached into his uniform pocket and withdrew five driver's licenses. "I want you to pick up these men on assault charges, and that last one for assault with a deadly weapon, for starters."

  Baines took the cards reluctantly without looking at them. "Who's filing charges?"

  Zach tapped his forefinger against the spectacularly discolored bruise behind his left brow. "I am. I'll be back on my lunch hour to fill out an official report, but I suggest you catch up to these boys before they do something else stupid. Like get in my face without bars between us."

  Scowling his displeasure, Baines thumbed through the licenses, pausing at the last one. "No way. I'm not doing this."

  "Why, Sheriff, a fine upstanding lawman like yourself wouldn't want to be guilty of obstructing justice, now would he? You wouldn't want to force me into taking action against a fellow officer of the law." He withdrew Web's switchblade from his trouser pocket and clicked up its tongue of steel. Baines stumbled back. With a blur of motion, Zach reversed the handle in his hand and drove downward, embedding the blade in Baines's desktop. "Log that as evidence."

  Baines looked from the shivering blade to the bare steel of Zach's stare. His face grew florid, veins throbbing in his thick neck and temples. "My boy ain't gonna be found guilty of no crime in my town. Especially for beatin' up on the likes of you."

  "Sheriff, we don't tolerate anybody beating up on anyone. Not in my state. Have a nice day." With another grim smile, Zach nodded and turned toward the door. Baines shouted after him, panic touching his voice.

  "How did you get Pat McEnroy's job? Who's idea of a sick joke is this, anyway?"

  Zach paused and glanced back at him with a gratified smirk. "It's mine."

  And he pushed out into the warm morning, scattering the half dozen citizens who'd crowded up on the front step to peer through the frosted door. They froze up stiff when he issued them a genial good morning.

  Time to go to work.

  * * *

  "He's coming over here."

  The cry from Myrt sent the patrons of Sophie's scuttling back to their seats. All but Bess. She couldn't make her legs function even when the tinkling of the bell announced Zach's arrival. She took in the sight of him—admiration, pride flickering in her suddenly moist gaze.

  He'd done it. He'd proven it to everyone.

  Zach Crandall wasn't a loser with only jail time waiting in his future.

  She'd known it all along. The only thing missing from her satisfaction was her mother here to see it for her own doubting eyes.

  He glanced at her in passing, noting her shock and the deeper evidence of her pride, without betraying his own reaction. Greeting each of the customers by name, he made his way to the counter.

  "Coffee, please, Gert. Very large, very black."

  "Sure thing, er, Zach."

  Silence sat heavily as he waited for the harsh dark brew, but he seemed immune to the flabbergasted stares. Either that, or he was enjoying them. Bess wasn't sure. But she did know his dramatic, jaw-dropping appearance in uniform was carefully calculated for effect.

  "Thanks, Gert." He took the huge foam cup and laid down a dollar. Gert stood too stunned to notice the size of the tip. Coffee in Sweetheart was still fifty cents with refills.

  This time Zach paused at the door, taking his time before directing his translucent stare toward Bess. He waited for her to say something.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked at last.

  "You didn't ask where I was going, just where I'd been," he replied in a tone as meticulously camouflaged as his gaze. "I wanted to know if it would make a difference to you." Then, with the incremental lowering of his eyelids, she knew the depth of his disappointment. "Guess I got my answer."

  Then he pushed out the door, wading through the gawkers to walk across the square once more toward the new state post on Palmer.

  "The wolf guarding the lambs," someone muttered behind her.

  Set on guarding those sheep or devouring them? Bess wondered. If Zach was the wolf, did that make her Red Riding Hood? What other disguises concealed the real purpose of Zach's return?

  * * *

  "This can't be allowed in our community, and we want to know what you plan to do about it!"

  A sweating Mayor Howard Anderson looked at the agitated members of the town council assembled in his office for an emergency meeting. Ted Doolin, Sweetheart's council leader and banker, as usual, was leading the pack and stirring up the most trouble. Howard checked his watch. Twenty minutes until he had to pick up his grandson for a promised fishing excursion.

  "I don't know that I can do anything about it, Ted."

  "You're not going to weasel out that easily, Howard," Lloyd Baines growled with menace. The mayor swallowed hard. Baines wasn't a man you wanted to cross.

  "I'm not trying to do anything of the kind, Sheriff. Listen to me, all of you. I've seen the transfer orders. Everything's in order. Pat McEnroy recommended him."

  "What?" Doolin yowled. "That backstabbin'—"

  "He was always sweet on Mary, you know, Ted," Fred Meirs added as if that would explain the unexpected treachery from one of their own.

  "You don't look so surprised about all this, Doc," Baines said, suspicions alerted by the calm way the old man sat polishing his glasses. "Could be you knew about it and didn't say nothing."

  "Could be right, Lloyd." The doctor restored his spectacles and stared at the seething sheriff with a mild amusement. "Pat and I discussed it at length, and I agreed with his choice."

  "And you didn't say anything to us?" Doolin was the first to accuse.

  "Why? It was a state matter not one for local concern."

  "Not for local concern?" Baines stared at him. "Are you nuts? Crandall coming back to this town sporting a badge in front of that attitude of his? You're forgetting who he is and what he's done, aren't you?"

  "I delivered the boy, Lloyd, and I know him and his family a sight better'n any of you. It's not what he's done that got you all haired up, it's what you all did to him. And you're shaking in your socks wondering if it's redemption or retribution that brought him back. I'd be worrying, too, if I were you."

  "That was a long time ago," the mayor put in hopefully. "Surely you don't think—"

  "You're damn right, that's what we think," Doolin clarified for the others. "That's why we've got to do something. Now. We can't let someone like that have power over us."

  Doc Meirs chuckled. "Kinda uncomfortable having that shoe on the other foot, eh, Ted?"

  "Shut up, you old fool. Maybe you should be worrying, too. After all, you never wrote up one complaint in those files of yours to report suspected abuse, did you?"

  Meirs looked down at the blue-veined hands knotted in his lap. "No, I didn't. None of us did anything. Maybe now's the time to apologize for it."

  "What?" Baines roared. "To Crandall? Him, most likely a murderer? Hell, let's just give him the keys to the city, why don't we?" He turned upon the mayor again, causing him to shrink back into his fake leather chair. "There's got to be some way to get rid of him. Isn't there something about him having to finish school? He dropped out in his final year, you know."

  Howard glanced unhappily at the records on his desk. "And it says here that he took his GED before entering the military. G
entlemen, the man has a sterling record—military police, overseas tours, commendations—"

  "Let's elect him mayor, why don't we?" Doolin sneered. "I don't care what those papers say. We know what Zach Crandall is. We had to suffer his daddy for years. Do you want to go through that again? This time it'll be worse. He'll have the law on his side. Look what he's done to my boy and Lloyd's. Picked a fight with 'em and now they're in jail. It could be your son, Fred, or your brother, Howard."

  The other council members shifted uneasily, picturing the vengeful havoc Crandall could level upon their town with complete impunity.

  Howard held up his hands to quiet their murmuring. "All I'm saying is there's nothing we can do about it, legally. Like Fred said, it's a state matter. He works for them, not us."

  "So we're just gonna let him run loose, threatening our families and our businesses?" Elmer Grant muttered from the back. He owned the local Super Value grocery store and held the leases for several other small area shops along the square. Fear hurt business, and when profits were threatened, Elmer took it personally.

  "Has he done anything to anyone?" Howard demanded.

  "Not yet," Elmer grumbled. "Do we have to wait until he does?"

  "Yes, we do. The man's got a right to live and work here as long as he doesn't step out of line. If he does—"

  "You mean 'when' he does," Doolin interjected.

  "—then we have support for a complaint."

  "And until then, a murderer walks the streets with our wives and children," Bernie Sacks, the high school counselor asked, quickening the anxiety once again.

  "No charges or suspicions were ever made against Zach," Doc reminded them.

  "Not officially, but we all know what really happened between Crandall and his daddy." Doolin paused, gathering all their attention with that dramatic hesitation. "He and his old man had it out that night. Sam smacked the crap out of him, and finally the kid got fed up and hit back. We could have just shrugged it off, garbage taking care of garbage, if the coward hadn't skipped and left Mary to take the blame."