Where Love Abides (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  As he tapped in the number for the prosecuting attorney’s office, he prayed that the man would be in. He’d have called yesterday if he’d felt up to it, but he’d spent all morning sleeping while Jenna was at preschool, and she’d required all his attention and energy in the afternoon. By the time he’d tucked her in at eight o’clock, he’d stumbled to his own room and fallen asleep sprawled across the bed with his clothes on. He hadn’t moved a muscle until morning.

  Relief surged through him when Andrew Briggs’s secretary put the call through.

  “Mr. Briggs? Dale Lewis.”

  “I’m glad you called, Sheriff. I have some interesting information to pass on.” Dale heard papers being shuffled. “We did some checking into Jack Barlow’s finances, and it appears that on a number of occasions he withdrew funds from the ATM machine in five-hundred and thousand-dollar increments on the same day, or within a day or two, that Stratton made deposits in the same amounts.”

  “Stratton could deny any connection.”

  “True. But we also discovered that the former owner of his current car was Barlow. And it doesn’t appear any money changed hands in that transaction.”

  Circumstantial evidence, but telling nonetheless, Dale reflected. And coupled with Christine’s story, it could be incriminating.

  “I have some news for you, too.” Dale related Christine’s story, including her witnessing the first payoff, with as much professional detachment as possible. “The question is, where do we go from here?”

  “As I understand it, your primary interest is seeing that Ms. Turner’s record is expunged, is that correct?”

  “Yes, and also that justice is done. The Strattons of the world give all cops a bad name.”

  “Trust me, I’m working very hard to ensure he pays for what he’s done. If I have my way, he’ll serve a good chunk of time despite the plea bargain. As for Ms. Turner’s record, the easiest way to accomplish that is for Stratton to admit Barlow was paying him off for the harassment. And I think I’m armed with enough material to make Stratton squirm. Can you get a written statement from Ms. Turner?”

  “No problem.”

  “Send it to me as soon as possible, and with that in hand, plus the additional evidence we’ve uncovered, we’ll confront Stratton. My guess is he’ll confess. He put up a pretty tough front at first, but the more we’ve uncovered, the more cooperative he’s become. Once we have an admission of complicity, expunging Ms. Turner’s record shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You’ll keep me informed?”

  “Of course.”

  Severing the connection, Dale flipped the switch on his computer. As he waited for it to warm up so he could prepare a statement for Christine to review and sign, he said a silent prayer of thanks. Gary Stratton might think his dealings with Barlow were as dead as the man himself, but he was about to discover otherwise. If everything worked as it should, justice would be done.

  As for Barlow, Dale wished he, too, would have been forced to pay the price for what he’d done to Christine. But in death, his fate had been handed over to a higher power—a God who was forgiving…but also just. And Dale trusted the Lord to deal with Stratton as the man deserved.

  When Dale and Jenna walked into the library as Christine opened the book to begin her first story, her eyes widened in surprise. She’d expected Dale to spend every spare minute resting—and by the look of him, that’s what he should be doing. His cheeks still had an unnatural pallor, and there were lines of weariness at the corners of his eyes.

  Despite the aftereffects of his illness, however, he radiated a natural virility that tripped her pulse into double time. Dressed in jeans, an open-necked, dark blue cotton shirt and a black leather jacket, he didn’t look anything like a cop today.

  “Hi, Ms. Christine!” Jenna waved and trotted across the room, settling into a cross-legged position in the circle of children on the floor.

  “Hello, Jenna. I’m glad you could come.” She glanced toward Dale, and he smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. Standing near the wall, one shoulder propped against some shelving, he looked ready to drop. “There are chairs and magazines on the other side for anyone who’d like to take a break while we read stories.” Christine’s gaze swept over the adults who were standing around in the back, ending with Dale. He gave a slight nod, pushed off from the wall and wandered to the far side of the room.

  An hour later, when Christine went to retrieve the treat of the day from behind the front desk, she scanned the chairs in the reading area. Dale had chosen a spot in the corner, and a magazine lay in his lap. But his head was tipped back against the wall, and from his even breathing and the slack lines of his mouth she knew he was asleep.

  A rush of tenderness swept over her as she traced his strong profile, softened now in slumber. Despite his illness, he’d brought Jenna to the story hour she awaited with such eagerness. He was a good dad. Not to mention a good man.

  “What kind of cookies do we have today, Ms. Christine?” Forcing herself to look away from Dale, Christine smiled down at one of her story hour regulars. “Sugar cookies. Would you like to take them over to the other boys and girls?”

  Pleased to be charged with such an important duty, the little boy smiled. “Okay. I’ll pass them around, like you do.”

  “Thank you very much, Justin. I’ll be over in a minute or two.”

  She waited until the children were clustered around the plate of cookies before moving toward Dale. Up close, the lines of exhaustion in his face were more pronounced, the shadows under his eyes silent testimony to his ordeal. His hair, always neatly combed, was in slight disarray, and she was tempted to brush it back from his forehead.

  Without making a conscious decision, she reached out to him, but his eyelids flickered and she retracted her arm, feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  Straightening up, he gave her a lopsided grin. “I must have dozed off.”

  “You look like you needed the rest.”

  He shook his head. “Between you and Marv, there won’t be much left of my ego.”

  “You went to the office today?”

  “For a few minutes. I had some business I needed to take care of.” He stood and lowered his voice. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private for a few minutes?”

  “There’s an office in the back, but I’m the only one here and I can’t…”

  “My word, Dale! Marv was right. You look awful!”

  Turning in unison toward the front door, they watched as Marge barreled toward them, her calf-length leopard-print coat flapping about her legs.

  “Hello, Marge.” Dale gave her an amused smile. “I’ll have to be sure and thank my deputy for passing that opinion on.”

  “Now don’t you hold it against him. Sam told me the same thing. As did half a dozen other people I ran into this morning. I can’t believe I just found out about this today. Goodness, I would have brought over some casseroles and offered to babysit Jenna if I’d known.”

  “Ms. Christine came to our house. She cooked me dinner and we watched movies and she took good care of my daddy.” All heads swiveled toward Jenna as she joined them. “These are good cookies, Ms. Christine. Justin wants to know if we can each have two.”

  “Yes, there should be enough.”

  When Christine looked back at Marge, the woman’s speculative expression brought a flush to her cheeks.

  “That was very neighborly of you, my dear. I’m sure Jenna and Dale appreciated your help very much.”

  Unsure how to respond, Christine looked at Dale, who seemed unperturbed by the woman’s obvious interest.

  “She was a godsend,” Dale confirmed. “I was knocked flat. Trust me, I will never again eat food that has been unrefrigerated for more than half an hour.” Folding his arms across his chest, Dale gave Marge his most winning smile. “Speaking of favors, I wonder if I could impose on you. I need to speak in private to Christine, and she doesn’t want to leave the front desk unattended. Do y
ou think you could keep an eye on things in general and Jenna in particular for ten minutes while we talk in the back office?”

  “Why, I’d be happy to. You two take your time. I might even help myself to a cookie or two, if there are any left.”

  “Thanks, Marge.” Taking Christine’s arm, Dale nudged her toward the back of the library.

  She waited until they were out of earshot to speak. “This isn’t a great idea. You’re adding fuel to the fire.”

  “What do you mean?” He kept moving, heading toward the door marked Private.

  “Did you see how she was looking at us? Like she thought there was…that we were…” Her voice trailed off. “Anyway, she looked…curious.”

  “About us?” Dale pushed open the door and guided her inside, closing it behind them. “Don’t worry about it. Marge is curious about everything. And she’s a closet romantic. She’s always looking to pair people up.” He settled one hip on the edge of the desk, motioning Christine into a chair across from him. “I have some news from Dunlap.”

  Concerns about Marge vanishing, Christine sank into the chair. She listened in silence as Dale explained the close timing of the withdrawals and deposits in Stratton’s and Barlow’s accounts, as well as the car title discovery.

  “Add in your eyewitness account of a money exchange, and Andrew Briggs, the prosecuting attorney, thinks he has enough to confront Stratton,” Dale concluded.

  Trying to temper the hope that flared within her, Christine leaned forward. “What does that mean for me?”

  “If he can get Stratton to admit that your husband paid him off to harass you and falsify records, Briggs doesn’t think we’ll have much problem getting your record wiped clean.”

  “And if he doesn’t admit it?”

  “Briggs thinks he will. He says the more evidence they’ve uncovered, the more cooperative Stratton has become. But he does need a written statement from you before he confronts Stratton.” Dale withdrew several folded sheets of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and held them out to her. “I put this together based on what you told me. Considering how I felt that day, it’s possible I’ve misrepresented some things, so feel free to make any necessary corrections. Once it’s finalized, signed and witnessed, I’ll fax a copy to Briggs and overnight the original.”

  Christine took the papers but her focus remained on Dale. “This is why you went to the office this morning?”

  “I didn’t want to lose any time.”

  His face blurred as tears welled in Christine’s eyes. Despite his illness, Dale had gone to great effort on her behalf. Gratitude—and something more—filled her heart.

  “Hey, it’s going to be okay, Christine.” Dale entwined his fingers with hers and spoke in a husky voice. “I can’t change the past, but I’m going to do my best to help you have a better future.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” She choked out the words. “Thank you doesn’t seem close to adequate.”

  “We’re not home-free yet,” he cautioned. “Save your thanks for the day we get word that your record has been cleared.”

  “No.” She looked up at him intently. “My thanks have nothing to do with whether or not we succeed. They’re for…everything you’ve done to show me that not all cops are bad and not all men are jerks.”

  With a gentle finger he brushed away the tear that was following the delicate curve of her jaw toward her chin. “There are some good guys still around.”

  “I think I was lucky to cross paths with one of the best.” Her comment came out in a whisper.

  His eyes darkened, and Christine heard the breath catch in his throat. He wanted to kiss her. She could read it on his face as clearly as if he’d spoken the words. And despite all her well-laid plans for a solitary life, she wanted him to.

  Fear held her back, however. Like a government warning label, a red flag appeared in her mind, bearing a cautionary message: loving carries risk. It was a truth she knew all too well. Just as she knew that taking risks required courage—and trust. Much to her regret, she didn’t know if she had an adequate supply of either to pursue the attraction that sizzled between her and the sheriff.

  But she wasn’t alone in her doubts, Christine realized. As she looked at Dale, she saw her own conflict reflected in his eyes. And how could she blame him? She came with lots of baggage. Few men would want to take on a woman with such a sordid past. Especially a man who’d already had a problem-plagued wife.

  Tears once more pricked her eyelids, this time prompted by disappointment, and a sense of loss. But she blinked them back and stood, extricating her hand from his as she took a step back. “I’ll read this as soon as I get home and return it to you by tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “That will be fine.” He rose, too.

  “I need to relieve Marge.” She edged toward the door.

  “I know.” He held her gaze captive for a moment, his expression troubled. “Christine, I think we need to…”

  “I have to get out there.” She fumbled for the knob. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Slipping out the door, she drew a deep, steadying breath. She had to pull herself together or she’d risk feeding Marge’s curiosity about what was going on between the town sheriff and the organic farmer.

  And since there wasn’t anything at all going on—nor was there likely to be, given that look in Dale’s eyes—Christine didn’t want rumors floating around Oak Hill. She needed to play it calm and cool on the outside…even if she felt the exact opposite on the inside.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Balancing the phone against her shoulder, Christine listened as Dale’s home answering machine kicked in. She’d hoped he was taking it easy while Jenna was at preschool, but he must have gone into work—again. This time not on her account, she hoped.

  Her second attempt to reach him, at the office, succeeded. He answered the phone in his “official” voice, but warmth softened it when she greeted him. Or was she imagining things? she wondered, as she inquired how he was feeling.

  “Much better. I ate a regular dinner last night. And it stayed down.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She sat on the stool at her kitchen island and played with the edge of the papers he’d handed her yesterday. She’d read the statement he’d put together—and also read between the lines. Although it was a professional presentation, the clipped style and cut-no-slack tone reflected the hostility he felt toward the men who had mistreated her.

  But she couldn’t argue with the facts he’d set down. He’d captured her story dead-on. With just a couple of minor edits, she was ready to sign it. “I finished reviewing the statement. I can drop it off at your office this morning, if that’s okay.”

  “I have a better idea. You have a fax machine, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Send it to me. I’ll make any changes you’ve noted and bring it out for you to sign after I pick up Jenna from pre-school at noon.”

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble, Christine. Besides, Jenna misses seeing you around the house.” And so did he. But he kept that thought to himself.

  “If you’re sure…thanks, that would be great.”

  Three hours later, when the crunch of gravel on her drive announced their arrival, Christine wiped her palms on her jeans and headed toward the front door, willing the flutter in the pit of her stomach to settle down. Dale was coming on official business, she reminded herself. Besides, Jenna was with him. The youngster’s presence was sure to keep things light and impersonal. There was nothing to be nervous about.

  At least there wasn’t until Christine pulled open the front door and watched as Dale released Jenna from her safety harness, then reached farther into the car and withdrew a wicker picnic hamper.

  “Hi, Ms. Christine!” Jenna ran up the walk toward the porch while Dale followed at a more sedate pace.

  “Hi, honey.” She bent to give the little girl a hug, but her focus was on
Dale and the picnic hamper. “What’s that for?”

  He grinned. “It’s lunchtime, isn’t it? And I have a lot of eating to catch up on. Jenna and I decided an indoor picnic might be fun, and we hoped you’d join us. If you have the table, we have the food.”

  “We brought brownies,” Jenna offered. “And soup. I told Daddy you weren’t supposed to have soup on a picnic, but he said it was okay in November.”

  The soup must be a concession to the delicate condition of Dale’s stomach, Christine surmised. Folding her arms, she inspected the hamper. “I think I can supply the table. Provided the food isn’t from Gus’s.”

  “Perish the thought!” Dale gave her a look of mock horror. “I called Cara to ask if she could prepare a gourmet picnic, and voilà.” He held up the basket. “I don’t know what’s inside, other than the brownies and soup. But it smells great. And I’ve eaten her food at the inn. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’m sold.” She stepped aside and gestured toward the door. “Come on in.”

  With Jenna trotting at his heels, Dale headed toward the kitchen. He set the basket on the counter and turned to Christine, withdrawing several sheets of paper from a small portfolio he’d tucked under his arm. “The revisions. Why don’t you look them over in the living room while Jenna and I set out the food. If you don’t mind letting me use your fax machine, I’d like to send a signed copy to Andrew Briggs as soon as possible. I’ll witness your signature whenever you’re ready.”

  Ten minutes later, when Christine re-entered the kitchen, a veritable feast covered the checkered cloth that had been spread on her kitchen table. A hearty beef barley soup, crusty French bread, chilled poached chicken breasts in a raspberry sauce and various side dishes—not to mention the promised brownies—filled the surface. And there were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Jenna, cut into animal shapes.