Safely Home

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Audra’s mouth gaped. “Could you even imagine an undergarment that big and that useless?”

  Cress laughed out loud, relaxing. Without thinking, she lay her hand atop Belle’s thick, wooly head. “Poor old woman. I bet that thing cost a pretty penny and we stole it. Used it for battle techniques.”

  “I sent her money.”

  Cress angled her head, surprised. “You did?”

  Audra nodded. “A few years back, once I was grown up and had a brain. And a conscience.”

  Cress met her sister’s look. “So did I.”

  Audra frowned. “How much?”

  “Fifty.”

  “Crap.” Audra glared at the ground, scrubbing her toe against caked, ruddy soil. “I only sent twenty-five. Think between us we covered it?”

  Cress’s lips quirked. “I don’t know. There was enough elastic in that thing to catapult a small planet into orbit.”

  “Amen.”

  “This way.” Audra switched gears as she tugged her left. “Come meet the horses.”

  “I really should get back.” Cress eyed her watch, then the horses. Deciding, she headed into the paddock with Audra. “Horses are expensive,” noted Cress. “How do you finance that?”

  “Rescue groups.” Audra led the way across the grass with a casual hand toward the ground. “Mind the droppings.”

  “Great. Horse dung. My favorite.” Drawing near, three horses stepped forward, heads nodding as though bidding them good day. One hung back, edging right, trying to look inconspicuous. Something about his manner caught Cress’s interest. “Who’s the shy guy?”

  “Brandywood. He’s new. And he is shy, but I think he’ll come around. He needs lots of attention right now, though, and I don’t really have the time to baby him the way he deserves, not with guests booked almost every day for the fall season.”

  “Rideable?”

  Audra nodded. “He was a racer who brought in over three-hundred-fifty thousand on the circuit.”

  Cress whistled. Audra nodded. “I know. Pretty impressive. He had a problem with his right foreleg and the owner decided he wasn’t worth the time or money to rehabilitate.”

  “Moron.” Without glancing at her own leg, Cress’s sympathy for the tall ruddy Standardbred grew. “How old is he?”

  “Six.”

  “So young.”

  “Yup.”

  “And no one wants him?”

  Audra shrugged. “You want a wake-up call, check the online sites for horse rescue. They’re everywhere. Like you said before, horses are expensive and time consuming. You have people who love them and are willing to sacrifice the time and money—”

  “Or have the time and money,” Cress interrupted.

  Audra nodded, one hand trailing the mane of a sorrel mare. “These days you’re either rich and have horses or poor because you have horses. Not much in between.”

  Cress eyed the horse, thinking out loud, “If I came over in the mornings, maybe I could work him for you.”

  Audra looked hopeful but pragmatic. “Gran’s chemo is about to start.”

  Cress nodded. “Ginny has offered to spell me now and again. Stacey offered too, but she’s not Gran’s favorite person in the world.”

  “Gran’s too judgmental,” cut in Audra. “I don’t know what would have happened to us if Stacey hadn’t come along and fallen for Dad. He turned things around after he met her in AA.”

  “How nice it would have been if we’d mattered that much.” Gaze out-turned, she wondered if she was the only kid who felt that way.

  “I know.” Audra’s voice softened. Because of the shy horse? Or the topic? Cress wasn’t sure. “But it helped, so that’s what I focus on. We can’t change the past so I grab hold of the future with both hands. As long as it keeps me right here in Watkins Ridge with my own personal petting zoo.”

  “And paying guests.”

  Audra laughed. “That’s the bottom line right there. These days there are lots of folks who just want the simple, sweet goodness of an old-fashioned country setting. Glad to oblige.”

  “I’ll talk to Ginny today. If she can cut me loose now and again, I’ll come over and work the horse.”

  “Sounds good to me. He could use the attention of an experienced, patient rider.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to ride since I left home. I’ve missed it.” She met the gelding’s look across the paddock, reading his emotions. Hurt. Maybe resentful. Kind of sad. Or was she mirroring her feelings onto the animal?

  Audra nodded as a car horn tooted from the front of the house. “That would be great, Cress. I’d sure appreciate it. And it’s good therapy.”

  “For who? Me or the horse?”

  Audra didn’t miss a beat. “Both. Oops, that’s Ashley. Si Grimmer’s wife. She’s watching the quilt-and-candle shop for me this afternoon. I need some time to get dirty out here, and farm labor isn’t always candle-shop-friendly.”

  “Si’s married?”

  “And two kids. Cutest little things I ever did see.”

  The thought that her first boyfriend had grown up, gotten married and sired kids rubbed raw, but it shouldn’t have. Most of her old friends and classmates had done the same while she whiled away her time like Scrooge’s long-suffering girlfriend, waiting for James to announce the time was right and they could move forward.

  In retrospect, that would have been a very bad move, but she took little comfort in the knowledge right now.

  “All right.” Cress turned toward the gate. “I’ll plan on coming by, making friends with my new buddy. Then we’ll play.”

  “Wonderful.” Audra grabbed her in a hug as they drew near Cress’s car. “I’m real glad you’re home, regardless of the reason. And glad that bullet only hit a leg.”

  “I know.” Cress nodded. How many times had Gran sniped that she ought to be counting her blessings? Too many to count. Or maybe she just didn’t want to count that high, for blessings or otherwise. “I’ll try to minimize the pouting.”

  “And whining?”

  Cress smacked her arm. “I don’t whine.”

  Audra maintained a firm vow of silence, earning her another nudge. “Of course you don’t.” She jumped to agreement, fingers crossed behind her back. “Strong. Stalwart. A real trooper.”

  Cress smiled and ducked into the car. “See ya’.”

  *

  Cress grabbed the ringing wall phone as she passed through the kitchen, refreshed by the time with her sister and the thought of working the shy horse. Leafing through Gran’s stack of mail, she said hello.

  “Cress. It’s James.”

  She silently cursed all phones without caller ID, then bit her lip, sucked a breath and straightened her spine. “What do you want?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Talking’s over. Done. Finis.”

  “Cress, don’t do this.”

  “Do what, James? Don’t stand on my own two feet? Don’t get out from under an abusive relationship with a commanding officer, the man who professed to love me when it was convenient for him? Don’t stand up for myself? Exactly what is it you’d like to have me do, James, besides be your doormat? I’m all ears.”

  He sighed. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like a melodramatic commercial for some women’s empowerment.”

  “Stuff it, James.”

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “You know how tired I get. What the stress of my job does to me. And yet you don’t back off.”

  Didn’t back off? So being slapped around was her fault? The two hour distance between them had created the buffer zone she didn’t know she needed.

  “The job you kept putting off marrying me for? Allow me to thank you for that because if we had gotten married, I’d be in the midst of a nasty divorce proceeding instead of a simple get-your-shoes-out-of-my-closet breakup.”

  “I’m devoted to my work, Cress. You of all people should understand how draining our profession can be.”

  “Well, you’ve got it, Jame
s. You and your job. I hope you’re very happy together.”

  “This is getting us nowhere.” His tone was half-scolding, half-condescending, as if she weren’t quite up to his level of thinking. “When are you coming back?”

  He hadn’t once asked about her recovery, her health, her strength. The entire conversation had been him, him, him. Why hadn’t she seen that? If she’d been smarter, quicker, then she might have avoided that final confrontation and the ensuing injury because her focus was split between the chaos of her shattered relationship and the rigors of her job.

  And the greater Minneapolis/St.Paul Award for Stupid Cop of the Year goes to…

  Cress took two strong breaths through her nose to calm her thudding heart and shrugged. “Not your concern. Human resources checks in with me and I’m flagged out until I’m healed enough to handle the job. End of story.”

  “Carl needs you.”

  By citing her MPD partner, James went for the jugular. She and Carl Ingstrom had been partners for years. They took their friendship and work seriously. Cress knew how difficult it was to change partners. A bond like theirs wasn’t forged overnight. “Carl’s fine. He can work with anybody.”

  “He feels responsible for your injury. He’s getting emotional therapy from Julie.”

  Cress’s heart stutter-stepped. Carl was one of her best friends, both on and off the force. And he’d been blatantly honest with her about her relationship with James for the last year or more. She hadn’t listened.

  That inattentiveness led to her injury, the crack of the gun from behind, the knife-hot feel of a bullet tearing flesh, the warm ooze of blood as she went down in the street.

  Carl wasn’t responsible for any of it. Not a smidge, yet leave it to a good partner like him to shoulder the blame. A heavy weight descended on her shoulders. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “It would be better to see him,” James urged. “Come back long enough to see everyone. Talk with people. Hang with Carl. He feels like he popped that shot himself because he didn’t have your back.”

  James was pressing every button he knew. Her relationship with Carl and Carl’s family kept her centered those last years. Her fingers tapped the earpiece of the phone, restive. “I’ll think about it. I’ve got to go now. Goodbye.”

  She cradled the phone and let the wall hold her up for a few moments, grateful the pervading silence meant Gran was most likely napping.

  Carl. The thought of big, tough Carl Ingstrom seeking mental health therapy made her feel like pond scum. Carl had a sweet wife and three great kids. He was an usher at the historic Catholic Church, a man whose faith and strength had been a steadying force in her life.

  James was correct on one thing. She needed to straighten this out with Carl, and she needed to do it face to face, not over the phone. But it would have to wait until after Gran’s treatment began. In the meantime she’d zip him off a reassuring e-mail, letting him know her progress, help ease his concern. He’d know right off that if she was really doing better, she’d call. He could read her voice like no one else. He was the big brother she never had, the sling-an-arm-around-your-shoulders kind of guy who inspired trust and confidence.

  Knowing she’d compromised that because of her inaction made her feel like a loser. Cops took care of cops. It’s what they did. The fact that she’d let him down weighed heavy.

  The soft thud of Gran’s footfall meant naptime was over. Cress took a breath, planted a smile on her face and headed toward the living room, determined to be strong for Gran the next few days, then sort things out. If nothing else, the bullet bought her time enough for that.

  Chapter Six

  Back-breaking, mindless endeavors. If that’s what Alex needed to get Cress Dietrich out of his head, digging post holes for the rustic fencing slated for his nearly complete home fit the bill. Only it didn’t work. Images of her seeped into his brain despite the muscle-aching job.

  Determined, he shoved them aside and turned the sports radio network up louder. The sound of Cruz’s vintage engine made him pause on hole number sixteen, and his brother’s expression when he climbed out of the classic Pontiac pushed Alex to set the posthole digger aside and stride his way. “What’s wrong?”

  “Lindi left.” Disgust thickened Cruz’s voice.

  “She what?” Alex pictured their best friend “Mac” McHenry, the back-to-basics one of the three, strong, easy-going except around a football field, as straight and honest as the day is long. He sank onto a nearby rock, rubbing his jaw, fairly dumbstruck, an unusual feeling. “You mean like gone, gone? Forever? They’ve got two kids.”

  “Yeah.”

  Alex scowled at the heavens, desperately wanting to hit something. Anything. He’d lived the broken marriage circuit with his parents. Not fun. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday,” Cruz growled. “Mac finished football practice, picked up the kids at his mother’s, and found the house empty, all her stuff moved out and no small share of the furniture, either.”

  “She planned it.”

  “Yup. Seems she started setting things in motion when Reggie Grazzo got traded to Tampa Bay.”

  “She ran off with Grazzo, a second-rate tight end?”

  “So it would seem.”

  There were names for women like that. Alex knew them all, but bit his tongue. He was godfather to their oldest boy, a great little kid with good hands and a quick mind, strong potential on the gridiron and the classroom. “How’s Mac?”

  “Shell-shocked.”

  “I’ll bet.” Alex paced toward the nearly complete prairie-style house, then back, pushing a hand through his hair. How could Lindi just up and leave her family? What kind of woman did such a thing?

  Cruz must have read his mind. “Her note said she married too young and made the wrong choices. That while Mac was a great father, she wasn’t cut out to be a mother.”

  “A little late for that.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “How’ll he do it all?” Alex asked, thinking out loud. “The kids, his job, his coaching. Football season is on top of us.”

  “And no paycheck from the wife.”

  “Who made little or nothing cheerleading in any case.”

  “But whose exposure could’ve, should’ve and would’ve gotten her a modeling career eventually.”

  The brothers exchanged looks. They’d both heard Lindi rationalize her choices over the years, the time she spent getting in shape, being in shape, practicing for the squad despite her young family. The girl had kept herself in prime condition to cheer on the Minnesota team while she lived in the midst of Green Bay fans, and had now left with one of the twin city players.

  Football.

  Mac wasn’t only a science teacher at the local high school, he was the head football coach. His ruthless fall regimen encompassed daily practices, strategy meetings and Friday night games under the lights. “How’s he going to coach the team?”

  Cruz sighed. “No clue.”

  Alex pushed up from the rock. “We’ll take charge of the kids for him. That’s the least we can do. That way he can coach without worrying about them, or have to cough up money to pay someone to watch them. Between you and me we can do that much.”

  “He’s got a daily sitter for the work week. She’s good with them, so that’s covered.”

  “Housework?” Alex eyed his brother and they sighed in tandem. “I hate housework.”

  “Me too.”

  “I think it’s psychological. Too many years of Mom cleaning up after people, then making us clean up the house…”

  “Which we messed up while she worked cleaning up after people,” Cruz cut in.

  “Exactly. Which is why I have a service come in and take care of things.”

  “And why I eat out and don’t mess anything up,” Cruz rationalized. “That way there’s less to clean.”

  “We’re positively brilliant.”

  “But not much help.”

  Alex shrugged and headed for h
is car, leaving the posthole digger half-stuck in the ground. “I’m heading to Mac’s. You might want to grab a twelve-pack and meet us there.”

  “We can’t drink. We’ve got two kids to watch.”

  Leave it to Cruz to be sensible when Alex really wanted to tie one on with his bereft buddy and curse women in general. Alex shrugged defeat as he climbed into the car. “When you’re right, you’re right. Okay. Bring something non-alcoholic the kids will like.”

  “And chips.”

  Alex nodded as Cruz headed toward his jazzed ’69 ragtop GTO, his brother’s one true love. Well, besides football. And low-ante poker nights, two-beer limit enforced.

  He fumed all the way to Mac’s, then bristled some more as he strode around the drive to the side entry. “Mac. You here?”

  The sounds of kids in the backyard turned Alex in that direction. As he passed through the trellised access, Aiden faked-out three year old Nick and ran the Nerf ball into the edge of the privet hedge, arms raised high. Gloating, he did a five-year-old’s version of an end-zone dance, taunting his younger brother. “Fifteen yard penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct,” barked Alex, his tone no-nonsense.

  Aiden tossed the ball back at Nick, adding a little extra spin to ensure his brother would fumble the ball. “Uncle Alex!” He raced across the yard, eyes bright, and leaped into Alex’s waiting arms. “You came to see us! Wanna play? I just juked Nick big time and made like ten scores on him.”

  “He’s three.” Alex noogied the kid’s head. “You gotta play fair, Aiden. He’s littler than you.”

  “I know.” Aiden shot Nick a look that wasn’t even close to repentant. “Mom used to say that, too, but she’s gone away and I can do whatever I want.”

  “Not true.”

  Alex turned left. Mac pulled himself up, out of a lawn chair.

  He looked awful. Hair messed, eyes bloodshot, and two days of five-o’clock shadow darkened his chin and cheeks. Alex frowned at him. “Rough, huh? Sorry, man.”

  Mac swept a hand across his face, then ran it up through his hair. “Yeah, well. Stupid is as stupid does. Should’ve seen it coming.”

  “You hear anything?”

  Mac shook his head and took a deep swallow of something that was definitely not non-alcoholic. “Nope. Changed her cell phone, left no way to get in touch with her, and God knows she hasn’t tried to reach us.”