by Jodi Thomas
“That’s right, Doc Hamilton had three children, two of them are doctors, and eight grandchildren, four of them are finished with med school and two are still in,” Ada May added as if testing her memory. “They believe in passing down the family business. If the doc told them to come, my guess is they jump to.”
The sheriff didn’t look as if he needed to know the details of Hamilton lineage. He continued looking at Lora and Micah. “They’ll let us know something as soon as they finish working on him. All I got out of Hamilton was that it looked like Billy was in one hell of a fight. Bruises everywhere, probably some cracked ribs, and a blow to the head that must have knocked him out cold.”
Lora nodded. “When I held his hand, his knuckles were bloody. The bandage he still wore from the glass cuts was soaked in blood.”
Granger got out his notepad. “I’ll need to know every detail you can remember, Lora. If it was a fight, Billy didn’t go down easy.” He looked up at the sisters and Sidney as if he were going to ask them to leave.
“Don’t even think about it, Granger,” Ada May said. “We’re all staying right here until the boy is out of danger. Anything you need to say to one of us can be said to all.”
Granger groaned in frustration, but began writing. “Start at the beginning, Lora. Tell me everything you remember.”
Before Lora could say anything, Sidney answered. “The beginning might be the drill bit through the window, or someone starting a fire, or the gunshots last night.”
Granger’s head jerked up. “What gunshots?”
“The ones made at Sloan McCormick’s truck while he was over at the house with Micah and Billy.”
The sheriff looked at Micah. “Is that true? In the city limits? You were shot at.”
Micah nodded. “We filled out a report, or Sloan and Sidney did.”
“Deputy Adams said he’d see to it that you were notified this morning,” Sidney added.
Anger molded Granger’s face into worry. “Anyone know where Sloan McCormick is?”
“I do,” Sidney answered. “He’s got a room at the motel.”
“Would you see if he’d come up here? I need to talk to him as soon as I take Lora’s statement. Gunfire in town should have been looked into before now.”
Sidney nodded and moved across the room to the pay phone.
Granger wrote down everything Lora said. When she finished, he asked, “Did you tell the deputy all this?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No, he said he was going back to the office to write up his report.”
Granger pulled his cell from his belt and punched a number. “Adams is on call. If he’s not at the station, he’ll pick up on his mobile.” He waited.
There was no answer.
Lora watched the sheriff try to hide his frustration. He was a man of order, of rules. Everyone in town knew it. The deputy was either breaking the number-one rule, or he’d disappeared.
Lora was too tired and spent to even let her imagination think about where he might be.
“Sheriff?” the professor whispered as she returned from the phone.
“Yes,” Granger answered.
“Sloan McCormick’s on his way, but there’s something else I need to tell you. It may not be important, but I’d planned to drop by your office tomorrow with these.” She opened her hand revealing three yellow slips of paper. “Someone keeps leaving me notes.”
Granger unfolded the first. Then the second. Then the third.
They all said the same thing. Let the house fall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Sidney figured the hospital would probably send her a bill for wearing out the tile on the waiting-room floor, but she couldn’t sit down. Somehow, all the things that had happened at Rosa Lee’s house were linked. She could no longer accept the first theory that the drill bit flying through the window had simply been a prank. She felt like a general who didn’t know which way to turn to fight. The violence didn’t make sense.
She walked back to the windows. Sloan McCormick and the sheriff were talking out by his truck, which was now illegally parked in the handicap slot. She guessed the light was best there, for the sheriff had wanted to look at the holes in Sloan’s windshield.
Sheriff Granger Farrington was a good man—he’d figure out something. He had to.
She turned away and walked to the other end of the room where her committee waited. Beth Ann had been asleep for an hour and Lora looked to be dozing on Micah’s shoulder. Ada May thumbed through the notes she’d made on unusual behavior happening in Clifton Creek this week. Micah had his hands folded and his eyes closed. He might have been praying or sleeping.
Sidney sat down next to him. He shifted and opened his eyes. Though he smiled at her, as always, there was a sadness in his smile. “You all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine, just frustrated. Do you think someone attacked Billy because of the house?”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Most folks I know like Billy. He hasn’t had it easy with his dad, but I think he’s giving it his best shot. Lora thinks the guy she had one date with might have hired someone to beat Billy up, but I tend to think maybe he just walked in on someone in the house.”
“He came by to see me earlier.” Sidney tried to relax. “We’re working on getting him into the criminal justice program at the college. He said the sheriff wants to offer him a job that could work into a career.”
Micah looked surprised but didn’t say anything.
Sidney needed to keep talking. “His grades are surprisingly good. I think we can get him not only a grant but maybe a scholarship to cover some living expenses.” She lowered her voice. “You know what he told me?”
“What?”
She leaned closer. “He said he’s saved almost eight thousand dollars since he got out of high school. He said he was waiting for his break.”
Leaning back, Sidney tried not to cry. Seeing Billy made her aware of how hard it was for some people. She’d gone eight years to college with her mother picking up the bills for everything but spending money. She’d had her mother and grandmother backing her all the way, encouraging her, helping her.
Billy had no one. Even when the sheriff called his father a few hours ago, the man said he already had plans tonight, but he’d try to stop in and see Billy after work tomorrow.
“He’s going to be all right,” Micah whispered.
“Power of prayer?”
“No. Intuition. He’s too much of a fighter.”
She nodded, wanting to believe. “It’s my fault he’s hurt. I told him to keep an eye on the house. If I hadn’t, he would not have gone inside and surprised whoever beat him up.”
“We don’t know that,” Micah whispered.
The doors to the operating room opened and retired Dr. Hamilton walked out with a younger version of himself at his side. Micah woke Lora; Ada May woke Beth Ann. They all stood.
“How is he, Doc?” Ada May couldn’t wait any longer.
The older doctor smiled. “He’s going to be fine, Miss Rogers. We patched him up and stitched him up until he looks like one of your quilts, but he’ll pull through.”
Everyone let out a breath at once. The doctor continued, “He’s got four cracked ribs, scrapes and cuts everywhere. He took a blow to the head from behind. We figure that’s what took him out of the fight.”
Granger came through the sliding front doors with McCormick at his side. They caught the last sentence. The sheriff turned to the doctors. “How soon till I can see him?”
“Wait a while. He’s full of painkillers.” The younger Hamilton stepped up and shook hands with the sheriff. “I’ve worked the emergency-room crowd in Wichita Falls for three years and treated my share of fight victims. Whoever hurt Hatcher wasn’t trying to kill him, they seemed to be doling out as much punishment as possible.” He lowered his voice. “They were going for as much pain as the kid would take, but not murder.”
“Until
one got tired of the fight and hit him in the back of the head,” Sloan guessed.
Hamilton nodded. “Looks that way.” He glanced at the others. “Are you all family?”
“Yes,” Ada May answered and dared the sheriff to argue.
“Well,” Hamilton continued. “I’d suggest all of you go home for the night. It’s unlikely he’ll wake up before morning and when he does he’ll be weak from a loss of blood. One of you can stay to call the others if there is any change. In a town this size you all can be back here in five minutes if we see any change.”
The young doctor turned to his grandfather. “I’m heading home, but if you need me, call me.”
The old man rested his hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “You did a good job in there. I’m proud of you.”
The younger Hamilton smiled. He had just been given all the pay he needed for the night’s work.
Suddenly, everyone talked at once, arguing over who would stay. Finally, youth won and Lora wrote down everyone’s numbers so she could call if anything happened. The tired warriors picked up their belongings and headed home.
Sidney gave Lora a few last instructions, then watched her disappear with the doctor behind the doors. She glanced up to see Sloan watching her with a smile. She raised an eyebrow, wondering what was so funny.
He crossed to her side and said, “Time to go home, General.”
Surprised, she realized he’d seen what she’d felt when the group was together. They were a unit and, like it or not, she was their leader.
They walked to his truck and he drove her home without talking. She relaxed, happy not to be alone. When he parked the truck, she asked, “Do you want to come in?”
“It’s late,” he answered.
“I know, but I’m not sleepy.”
He cut the engine. “Me either. How about some cocoa?”
“Sure,” she answered as they climbed out of the pickup. Tonight she didn’t want to wonder about what he might think she meant by inviting him in. Her offer represented so much more than her not wanting to be alone.
They walked through the darkness to her door. “Sorry I forgot to leave the light on,” she commented.
The shrubs up close to the porch moved in the wind, casting shadows back and forth. It occurred to her that someone could easily hide behind them and wait for her in the dark. She’d never worried about it before, but after tonight—after one of the committee had been beaten—she thought about it.
Sloan seemed to sense her nervousness. He put his arm around her protectively.
She pulled her keys from her purse and fought to keep from running the last few steps.
When Sidney was safely inside, she called herself a fool for panicking. “Have a seat, I’ll make the cocoa.”
Sloan shrugged off his jacket, but didn’t sit down. He leaned against the door frame leading into the tiny kitchen and watched her. “Do you have any idea who beat Billy up?”
“None,” she answered. “Logic tells me if it was someone wanting us to decide on what to do with the house that they would have let us know. Right now the only message the beating seems to say was that Billy should stay away from the house.”
“Or stay away from Lora.” Sloan didn’t meet Sidney’s stare.
“What do you know?” she asked.
“Nothing yet.” Sloan accepted his cocoa. “Want to go over what we do know?”
She shook her head.
“Want me to leave?”
She moved her head back and forth again. How could she tell a man she’d only known a few days how dearly she needed him to stay? She didn’t want to talk. She just needed to know someone was near.
“Maybe we better have a seat.” He walked to the couch and sat down.
She followed, taking the other end of the couch. For a few minutes, they drank their cocoa in silence.
“I like those paintings,” he said pointing with his cup to the dozen small paintings grouped together on one wall. “How many do you have?”
“About thirty, I guess. There is another grouping in the bedroom. They were my mother’s and before her, Grandmother Minnie’s. I always thought they were the reason I loved plants. Even in the dead of winter, with the paintings, the house always seems full of flowers. That’s one of the things that drew me to the Altman place, I guess. My mother and grandmother also loved flowers. My mother was named after a flower.”
“These paintings kind of remind me of the one in Miss Carter’s room back at the retirement home.”
Sidney nodded. “Maybe some local artist. I’m not sure where Grandmother Minnie got them from. She wouldn’t have bought them while she lived here back in the thirties, not when she was saving every penny. But, she might have ordered them. I remember my mother saying once that when she was a child, every now and then another painting would appear.”
Sloan lifted his leg and rested it on the coffee table, then thought better of it and lowered the boot back to the floor.
Sidney laughed. “How about a compromise? Take off those boots and you can put your feet on the coffee table.”
He grinned. “Fair enough.”
Sidney looked around her place guessing what he must see. Flowered couch, plants everywhere, sewing basket, books on top of books. Nothing about the room looked as if it would make a man feel comfortable. The room seemed to scream that there was no man in her life and no room for one.
She wanted to talk to Sloan about Billy and what the sheriff had said, and the parts of Rosa Lee’s life they’d managed to put together. But it was late and they’d been over every detail before. He might try to kiss her. She’d liked that last night, but that wasn’t why she’d invited him in. Maybe she needed to explain to him that she wasn’t the type of woman given to love affairs. A man should know that from the first, she thought, so he doesn’t get any ideas.
She jumped up. “Would you like a refill?”
He caught her hand when she reached for his cup. “Sit down, Sidney,” he said. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
She perched on the edge of the couch beside him. “I’m not.”
He waited, knowing she was lying.
“I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to talk, but I don’t want you to go.”
He covered her hand with his. “It’s all right, Sidney. You’re just worried about Billy and keyed up about what happened. We don’t have to talk.”
She frowned, surprised at how easily he’d read her mind.
“You also don’t need a lover tonight, Professor; you need a friend.”
If she’d ever worried about the kind of man Sloan McCormick was, her doubts were laid to rest. She smiled and relaxed next to him. They talked about nothing, and everything. Sometime after midnight they made popcorn, and she watched Sloan eat it by the handful. By then, they’d moved on to talking of family and places they’d dreamed of living. The conversation was easy without awkward pauses. She told him how dearly she loved teaching and he admitted that he hated his job traveling. He said no one was living on his grandfather’s farm, but without a little money, he’d never be able to make the place go. So, he kept working, hoping one day to save enough money to quit.
A little after one, he yawned. “I’d better say good-night.” He stood and carried his bowl to the kitchen.
“Me, too. In a few hours I’ll be teaching a class wishing I could have slept late.” She walked him to the door.
“Good night,” he whispered as he kissed her lightly, the taste of salt still on his lips.
“Good night.” She smiled thinking of how much she’d enjoyed the last few hours. If they were never meant to be lovers, she’d settle for friends with this man. “I’ll call you if I hear anything from the hospital.”
“You do that.” He stepped outside, turning his collar up against the sudden cold. “And by the way, Professor. I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Before Sidney could think of an answer, he was gone.
* * *
Sloan
tried not to hurry, but he was speeding by the time he reached the bar out near Cemetery Road. He parked by the front door and stormed in like a winter wind.
He wasn’t surprised to see Talon Graham drinking at the back table. Sloan had run into the younger man a few times before. Once Talon had stolen oil rights out from under him by passing money under the table to make sure the landowners never saw Sloan’s company’s bid. Another time, in Oklahoma, a farmer had backed away from Sloan claiming he’d heard Sloan’s company was about to go bankrupt. Before Sloan could prove the rumor a lie, Talon had sealed the deal.
To say he hated Talon Graham would have been too strong. But he did avoid him whenever possible. But, since they were in the same business, it was impossible never to cross paths.
Talon stood as Sloan neared. So did the two other men at the table. “Evening, McCormick,” Talon said without smiling. “Join us for a drink?”
Sloan wanted to see Talon’s face when he lost this deal, but tonight wasn’t about oil rights. “I’m here to ask you straight out if you had anything to do with that boy being hurt.”
“What boy?” Talon raised his eyebrows.
“Billy Hatcher was beat up tonight at the Altman place.”
Talon smiled. “Wish I could say different, but I had nothing to do with it.”
Sloan hesitated. He’d seen surprise flicker in Talon’s eyes. If he was lying, he was doing a good job of it. Talon was the kind of man who liked to take credit for what he did, good or bad.
“If I find you’re lying,” Sloan breathed, “I’ll be back and it won’t have anything to do with business, Graham. It will be personal.”
A hairy old bartender pushed his way between them and picked up empty bottles. “You boys talking or drinking?”
Sloan turned away. “We’re finished…for now.”
He didn’t look back as he walked to the door. But he knew Talon Graham would be watching him.