The Widows of Wichita County

by Jodi Thomas

Granger laughed. "I'm standing knee-deep in snow and mud trying to dig a car out right now. I'm cold, wet and hungry, but other then that I'm just fine, Mrs. Allen. Maybe we could talk…"

  "I understand this is not a good time to visit." Meredith knew she had to hurry. "I called to ask if you would like to come to dinner tonight. I want to pay you back for buying me dinner and I thought tonight you might like getting off work and having a meal ready."

  The silence lingered so long she was sure he was thinking of how to turn her down, but then he answered, "What time?"

  "I'll have it ready at seven but I can leave it on warm if you're late."

  "I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

  "I understand." She could almost hear him trying to think of an excuse to get out of coming.

  The connection ended. He obviously was not a man who wasted time with goodbyes.

  Meredith gathered her bags and headed home. She had a great deal to do before seven. She hadn't cooked a meal in a month. During lunch she had made a list of what she needed from the store, but there was still the house to clean.

  Rushing like a madwoman, Meredith had everything ready by seven and then she relaxed. She was glad as the minutes ticked away giving her time to rest. But by nine o'clock she knew he wasn't coming and the disappointment surprised her.

  As she stood to put the food away, a tap sounded at the door.

  The sheriff had already backed away to the steps when she answered. "I'm sorry I'm so late." He looked tired. "If you'd like to try it another night, I'd understand."

  "No." She motioned him in. "I put supper in the oven. It won't take me but a minute to set it on the table."

  He removed his hat and coat before following her into the kitchen. "We could make it another time." He tried again. "I know you've got to teach tomorrow."

  He looked tired. She almost changed her mind. But she had cooked the food. They might as well eat. Plus, she had been looking forward to seeing him all day. Now, she was not sure why. "Please, Sheriff, sit down."

  He watched her, studying her. But he did not make her nervous like most people did.

  After a few minutes she had to ask, "What is it?"

  He grinned. "I guess I've never seen you wearing anything but boxy sweaters that are usually wallpapered in nursery rhymes. It seems strange to see you wearing jeans and a T-shirt."

  "Do I need to change to make you feel comfortable?"

  "No. Of course not. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You look great just the way you are. I'll just have to get over missing the nursery rhymes."

  He leaned against the bar and continued watching her. They both seemed to have run out of anything to say, and she was still setting the table. The sheriff was no good at small talk, and all she usually talked about was school. The greeting they paid one another in the hallway of the courthouse was about their limit.

  The warmth of her house seemed to help him relax. Finally he talked of his day, but it sounded more like a report than conversation. When she did not add much he went back to watching her. She could almost read his thoughts. She wasn't his type. He looked like he counted the minutes until he could say good-night.

  "Help yourself to a beer," she said with her back to him as she pulled food from the oven.

  "Beer? Mrs. Allen? Are you telling me teachers are allowed beer?"

  She glanced in his direction. "Do I need an ID?"

  He smiled. "Wearing that Texas Tech T-shirt you look almost young enough to card. But no, you're old enough." He reached for two longnecks and leaned back against the counter as he opened them.

  Meredith walked past him delivering food to the table. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Smells good."

  She almost asked if he was talking about the food or her.

  "And peaceful here," he added. "Or maybe it's not the place but you that makes everything seem in order."

  She knew what he meant. They were not playing games; they were simply becoming friends. They were just two people about to have a meal. Then he would go on his way and the next time he saw her in the hallway at the courthouse, they might talk a little longer than before. Maybe they would ask about more personal things than the weather, like "Did you have a nice weekend?" or "Hope you haven't caught the flu going around this season."

  "I made barbecue." She broke into his thoughts. "I hope you like it."

  "Sounds fine," he mumbled before taking a drink of the beer.

  She watched him run his hand though his hair, as if pushing memories aside and relaxing.

  Meredith reached into the oven for the pan of rolls. The crocheted pot holder slipped in her hand. She jumped backward, trying to avoid the pan hitting her legs and feet.

  A second later, her elbow struck the beer in Granger's hand. He let it fall as he grabbed her around the waist to steady her.

  Beer and dinner rolls hit the floor, splattering and turning everywhere. He pulled her close, leaning back against the bar as they watched the mess collect at their feet.

  It took her a moment to realize she was in his arms. Her body pressed against the length of him, warming him after his cold day. He suddenly felt better than he had in a long time.

  All she had to do was step away. His hands at her waist only steadied her. She was not the kind of woman to flirt, much less come on to a man. But she did not want to move away. She wanted to stay if only for a few more minutes. She could feel his breath and his heart pounding.

  The beer slowly dripped on the floor, but neither reached down to clean it up.

  Move, she shouted inside her mind, but her body didn't cooperate. Step away and act like this didn't happen. But to the very core of her being Meredith knew she did not want to move away. She wanted to be even closer.

  The sheriff also seemed to be struggling. All he had to do was say "Pardon me" and walk to the other side of the bar, then they could both pretend she had not been so close. They could avoid each other's eyes and act as if they had never touched. In time, maybe they would forget.

  But to start the process of forgetting, one of them had to move.

  She felt his fingers pressing against her shirt. The need to touch must be as strong inside him as it was in her.

  He moved his hand down her body and took her hand. Lifting her fingers up, he whispered, "Are you burned?"

  Slowly, he turned her hand over.

  "No," she answered. She moved her fingers into his hair as she had seen him do only moments before. "I'm all right. Don't worry about me."

  Granger spread his hands along her middle. The feel of her seemed to feed the hunger of a lifetime. "You are far more than all right, Meredith."

  She heard the evening news coming from the small set in the living room. The smell of beer blended with the barbecue aroma. Yet everything seemed faraway except her sense of touch.

  He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and brushed the band of her jeans and the skin just above.

  This could not be real, she told herself. Nothing like this had ever happened before in her life. He was not the kind of man who flirted or who women talked about. And she was a good woman no one ever spread rumors about.

  And right now, the good woman was silently telling him what she wanted. They might have trouble talking, but he had no problem understanding what she was trying to communicate.

  She wanted to be touched.

  He moved his hand to the warmth of her middle, and she leaned her head back against his shoulder. With trembling fingers, she guided his touch higher.

  Her brain pounded with all the reasons why she should stop as his fingers pushed aside her bra and closed around her breast.

  "Are you sure you want this?"

  "I'm sure," she whispered as she stretched and let his other hand slide down the front of her jeans. "And you?"

  "I-I'm not a big enough liar to tell you I want to stop, Meredith. If your wanting to be with me is just a stage of the grief you are going through, I'll still be here, but I'd like to know from
the first. Because my wanting to be with you has nothing to do with anyone else but you."

  Meredith smiled. "I'm not sure what you are, Sheriff, but you're not some therapy I'm taking." She leaned closer and pressed her lips against his throat.

  He undressed her slowly, then led her into the bedroom. She felt him watch her as she climbed on the bed and lay down atop the covers. There was no fear or doubt or hesitation in her, only need. He undressed and folded his clothes on the room's only chair.

  He pulled the thin white ribbon from her hair and twisted it in his hand. Somehow the action was more intimate than removing her clothes. His hand, half-covered in white satin, slid over her full hips.

  "I don't like to be touched when I'm making love," he said as his hand stilled, waiting for her response.

  "All right," she answered.

  He moved his fingers down her body.

  She kept her arms at her sides making no attempt to reach for him.

  His hands brushed over her, boldly caressing. There was no need to kiss her, or to say anything. They had gone beyond any game of seduction in one move.

  She closed her eyes and grinned as he explored her curves. For the first time in her life lovemaking was all about her. And the knowledge of it being so made her almost explode with joy.

  "Say my name," he insisted above her. "I need to know that you know it's me here with you."

  "Make love to me, Granger." She read his mind. "No one but you."

  He made love to her more completely than she ever imagined a man could make love to a woman. He treated her as a gift that had been handed to him. He could not get enough of her. He was gentle and kind and starved for the feel of her.

  She kept her hands at her sides, but moved with him, gently pressing close. Without any words, she knew what he wanted, what he needed. She made no sounds of passion.

  The air was warm and still and quiet around them as if brand-new. No mood music, no candles. Only Granger's arms.

  She never tried to be shy or coy. She offered her body to him, honestly, completely. And he took her in the only way he knew how, completely.

  It was after midnight when he moved his hand along her body, damp with perspiration. "I have to go," he whispered against her ear.

  She did not answer, and he slipped away from her side. She fell asleep listening to him dress.

  November 7

  Clifton Creek Elementary

  Meredith did not allow herself to think about what had happened until midafternoon the next day. She got up late and rushed to get to school before the students. Her tardiness was easily explained away by the weather. Then, from the moment she entered her classroom, she was too busy to think of anything but her job.

  Finally, when the students were all wrapped in wool and sent home, she sat behind her cluttered desk and stared out at the snow swirling across the playground equipment. She had never done anything in her life as crazy as what she did last night with the sheriff. She hoped people would not see it on her face. She would not have been surprised if the school billboard had announced her affair, instead of next Tuesday's PTA meeting. It should have said something like Second-Grade Teacher Has Wild Night With Town Sheriff. Details To Follow.

  People do not just go around bumping into one another and making love. Or at least until last night, she never thought they did. She had never even had a conversation longer than a few sentences with the man, and last night she had let him touch her all over.

  At the thought, Meredith blushed. All over, she repeated in her mind.

  She had wanted to lose all control, or maybe hand it over to someone else for a change. That must have been her plan, only she could not remember thinking it. And he certainly took control, leaving her free to float. She got what she asked for, but more than she had known to expect.

  She put her head in her hands. Nothing made sense. What if he told someone? Gossip like this would spread so fast. They would be pointed at, talked about in whispers, joked about.

  Meredith reconsidered. Of course, he would never tell anyone. They were not in high school.

  The vision of Granger sitting around the Pancake House with all the old farmers swapping stories made her laugh.

  Ridiculous, she thought. People have affairs all the time.

  Affair.

  Her forehead hit the desk. This was not an affair.

  Oh, God, it was a one-night stand. She had been a onenight stand. She thumped her head once more on the desk, thinking it was too late for her to do any brain damage. One night too late.

  "Meredith?"

  She jumped, almost toppling out of her swivel chair.

  Granger stood at her door with his hat in his hand. If possible, he looked as confused as she felt. "I noticed your car was the only one left in the lot. I stopped by to make sure you weren't having trouble getting it started."

  He took a step into the room and appeared even taller than usual with the small desks scattered around him. His hair was damp with snow, and from the dark lines under his eyes, he had clearly not slept for some time. He was the kind of handsome no twenty-year-old could be, gray salting his short, curly hair and not an ounce of fat on the man.

  Meredith fought to keep from giving her head one more rap against the desk. Here he was checking on her, making sure her car would start, and she was staring at him thinking about-no remembering-details about his body.

  "I'm leaving." She stood and hurried to her closet, thinking she was almost always the last one in the building since the principal's wife had had twins last spring. Granger had never stopped by before.

  He waited just inside the doorway, looking nervous and out of place.

  She gathered her things, trying to think of something to say. Finally, when they were walking down the hallway, she asked, "Are the roads bad?"

  "Not too," he answered. "I'll follow you home if you like."

  "No. I'll be fine." She felt she should call him Sheriff Famngton again. How could it have only been hours ago when she had called him Granger? She did not even know how old he was. Five years older than she? Ten? No, he could not be ten. Not with that body. Maybe three or five.

  Meredith wrapped her scarf around her throat. The way her thoughts were running she might never be able to speak to the man again.

  He must have been in the same fix, for he did not say anything as he took her arm and helped her along the slippery sidewalk to her car. He waited until the Mustang started, then knelt beside the open car door.

  "I was thinking," he said slowly. "Maybe we shouldn't see one another for a while."

  She just stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to say more… letting his words soak in… wishing she had misunderstood… knowing she had not.

  "All right." She wanted him to move so she could close her door and get away. But he just stood there as if they were making small talk.

  "You understand? I don't want there to be any talk about us."

  "Of course," she lied.

  He touched the brim of his hat, pulling it lower as though the weather had suddenly grown colder.

  "Evenin', Mrs. Allen." He moved away.

  "Evenin', Sheriff." Her words traveled on frost. She shoved her car into gear, realizing he had done it again. He had taken control. This time to end whatever there might have been between them.

  When the rigs went up fitted with multicables climbing to the tower, men were always aloft. A single cable ran from the highest point on the rig and was tied to the ground several feet away from the base of the rig. If an accident happened, the man up top would lace his gloved fingers over the emergency cable and ride to safety.

  November 11

  Montano Ranch

  Anna watched the snow whirl in drifts on the land between her ranch and Zack Larson's place. She had not been off her land in days and wondered if he had. The horses she worked with were inside the barns, and exercised in the huge indoor arena Davis had built a few years ago.

  She told herself she was just res
tless, needing the exhilaration of a long ride, but she knew it was more. It made no sense, but she missed seeing Zack. Or rather, she missed the slim possibility that she might see him working along his fence line, or checking his mail in town, or working his cattle, or lifting his housekeeper's vacuum into her truck.

  Anna's sightings of Zack Larson were pure chance, nothing more. Only she had seen his housekeeper, Bella, sliding along the frozen road to his place a few hours ago. If the old woman was out, surely everyone but her had given up waiting out the weather.

  Anna paced the wall of windows that faced his house. She was acting the fool, she told herself. If she knew the man she would probably dislike him. She had not given him a second thought until he offered to give her a hug if she ever needed one.

  What kind of man makes such an offer?

  "Not any man I have ever known," she answered, wondering for the hundredth time what it would be like to fold into his arms.

  She wasn't sure she even wanted to talk to him. They would probably have nothing to say to one another. "If I could just have the hug," she whispered to herself. "Then I could stop thinking about him." But of course, that was impossible. She could not just walk up to his place and demand her hug. "But he did offer."

  Anna circled the house once more. The remains of the half-burned oil rig sat low along the horizon. Now, covered with snow, it looked harmless, almost like a sculpture.

  As Anna stared, Bella's old pickup rattled down the road from Zack's place. The old Chevy was almost to her drive before she realized it had intentionally turned off the road to her house.

  She pressed her palms against her face, trying to erase signs that she had been crying as she rushed to answer the doorbell. No one ever came to see her except her brother, and he never rang the bell. He used to knock as he opened the door, but since Davis died he had even forgotten that formality.

  "H-hello." She tried to smile as she greeted the housekeeper standing on her porch. The old woman wore a bright green parka and snow-white earmuffs.

  "Hidy." Bella nodded. She crossed her hands in front of her, ignoring the way her huge purse flapped against her ample stomach. "I thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything, Mrs. Montano. You out here all alone and me making a trip right by your place every week. I would be happy to stop by and pick something up for you if you have a need."