by Lyn Cote
"My oven is all preheated." Grandfather led her into the neat blue-and-white kitchen. "I was just going to pop in a TV dinner. Couldn't Sage come, too?"
Wendy followed him, her spirits still dragging. "No, she's ushering at the high school concert tonight."
"And I bet Trav's with her?" He turned to her.
"As usual." She couldn't keep the negativity out of her tone. Trav was a good kid, but she wanted more for her beautiful, intelligent sister!
"Now, just because Trav's Uncle Elroy has never gotten his life straight with the Lord doesn't have anything to do with Trav," Grandfather counseled. "
"I know," she agreed, but with a frown.
"You have that sad look in your eyes tonight. Are you missing your mother?"
His genuine concern for her was like honey on a raw throat. Wendy took care putting the casserole into the hot oven to rewarm. After Sage and Trav had left for their high school, Wendy couldn't face eating alone in the old trailer where she and Sage still lived. Ever since Mom had moved to Florida in the fall, their trailer had felt lifeless. Picturing her mother's full head of golden hair and bubbling laughter, she admitted, "Yes, I miss Mom, but I've had a long day, too." A bad one.
He held up the coffeepot, asking without words if she wanted a cup. "I heard about the burglary. Bruno called me. How's Ma?"
She shook her head, saying no to the coffee. "I just saw her at the hospital before I went home." At least the news about Ma was good. "We got her there in time. The effect of the mild stroke was almost completely reversed, but she's going to stay at the care center for a few days."
Her grandfather set the pot back on its burner and put his arm around her. "That's good. I'll get a few men together from church to go over and fix up things for her before she gets home."
"She'll appreciate that. Ask Bruno to help. He'll want to." Wendy twined her arms around her grandfather's lean chest and rested her head there. Earlier, when she'd arrived at the trailer, she'd glimpsed old Miss Frantz, one of Veda's cronies, spying on them from her parted curtains. The woman was their busybody neighbor who kept a hawk eye on Sage and Wendy. That's what had sparked Wendy to give Sage a hard time.
Grandfather touched her hair lightly. "What is it, pumpkin?"
The use of his pet name for her made her eyes moisten. She longed to pour out her frustration over gossip, her loneliness, her irritation with Sheriff Durand. But her grandfather was nearly eighty. He needed smiles, not her tears. "Just tired, Grandfather." She pulled away.
But he drew her back and hugged her close. "You're all I've got left in this wicked, old world. Remember that—always. I love your sister too, but she's not my blood. You are my only son's only child. My only blood relation left."
"I know." Why couldn't she ever get Sage to realize that because of their mother's wild youth, people measured both of them by a stricter standard? That alone had been enough to keep Wendy from dating in high school. Kept her from dating now. How could Sage just ignore it? Wendy stayed within Grandfather's comforting embrace, letting go of her turmoil bit by bit. "I've always tried to do you proud."
With his head resting on the top of hers, he said simply, "You did me proud the day you were born."
She didn't know how he could say that, but she kissed his leathery cheek, then drew away.
The delicious aroma of baked chicken and sage dressing, which hadn't affected her at the trailer, was suddenly irresistible. "The chicken smells about ready. I'll set the table."
"That Sage is a great little cook."
In the midst of opening a kitchen drawer, Wendy halted. She gave him an arch look. "Is that a backhanded way of telling me my cooking lacks something?"
"Pumpkin, you're real good at opening a can of soup, and your toast is dee-licious." Scraping back a kitchen chair, he sat down, looking pleased with himself.
"Well, just keep that in mind." She quickly laid out a new cloth on the small oval table in the kitchen. As she finished setting the places, she thought she heard a motor outside.
"You set a pretty table, Wendy. Just like your grandma."
Wendy never knew what to say to her grandfather when he mentioned his late wife, a woman who had been better at hating than at loving Wendy. With quilted pot holders in hand, she opened the oven. Heat warmed her face.
A knock sounded on the back door.
"Now who could that be?" Her grandfather opened the door. "Well, I'll be. Come in. Come in."
When Wendy heard the voice answering her grandfather, she almost dropped the casserole dish. She turned slowly.
Sheriff Rodd Durand stood within feet of her. A shock like electricity shot through her from her toes to her scalp. A hot flush warmed her cheeks, and she planned to blame on the heat from the oven.
"Miss Carey, I didn't see another car," he said, eyeing her like a man watching a geyser ready to spout.
"Call me Wendy, Sheriff. I always park in the machine shed." Shaking inside, she made herself walk casually to the table and set down the dish. She wanted to ask, What are you doing here? Had he followed her?
Suppressing her mounting paranoia, she paused by the table. Though averting her face, she forced a friendly tone. "We were just sitting down to supper. What can we do for you, Sheriff?"
"I had to go down to Eagle Station for medicine for my cattle." The sheriff sounded subdued, wary. "I stopped at the Old Brown Jug and picked up some of their ribs. Thought I'd share them."
Her grandfather rubbed his hands together. "Chicken and ribs and two young people to keep me company. And I thought I'd be eating a frozen dinner alone tonight. Wendy, set a third place, please. And get out that fresh bakery bread and bring over the coffeepot. Rodd, give me your jacket and hat."
At this, Wendy stared at the sheriff, wondering how he'd come to be on a first-name basis with her grandfather so soon. She'd been under the impression Rodd had pretty much stuck to himself . She worked at masking the confusion this man's appearance had stirred up within her.
Then the scent of barbecued ribs distracted her. Suddenly, she was more than hungry; she was ravenous. She quickly set a place for the sheriff and prayed that neither she nor Durand would let anything about their earlier encounter slip out.
Her grandfather seated her formally at the table, nodded to Rodd to sit down across from her, then sat down himself. "Rodd, won't you say grace for us tonight?"
"I'd rather have you say it—if you don't mind."
Wendy wasn't surprised. Instinctively she thought, I'll bet it would be hard for him to ask for anything. Then his strong profile captured her attention, making her take a deep breath. Her grandfather cleared his throat, and she hastily looked down at her folded hands.
Grandfather's voice rumbled in the quiet kitchen, "Father God, we thank you for this day, the beautiful snow, and the sharp, clean air. Thank you that Lou wasn't home when her house was broken into. We ask that Rodd will bring this wrongdoer to justice and that you will bring this sinner to repentance—a miserable man he must be. I thank you for bringing me welcome company and good food tonight. In Christ's name, amen."
Listening to her grandfather's simple, sincere prayer went right to Wendy's heart. The blended aromas of chicken and tangy smoked ribs made her empty stomach growl.
Her grandfather chuckled. "We'd better feed her quick."
Shaking her head, she received the food from Grandfather and passed it on to Rodd. She tried in vain to think of some safe topic to introduce, but her wits had scattered like snow in the wind. She'd known that Rodd's great-uncle George and her grandfather had been lifelong friends. Why hadn't she guessed that Rodd dropped in on her grandfather like this?
After a few bites of food, her grandfather paused. "I'm glad you two finally got to meet. I should have had you both over before now, but you're so busy."
"We met this morning." Rodd took a sip of coffee.
His words freezing her in place, Wendy looked up, suddenly alert.
Grandfather looked at her expectantly.
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br /> She forced her mouth to work. "After Ma and I discovered the door smashed in at her place, I called to report it. The sheriff got there before the ambulance."
Her grandfather patted her arm. "Wendy, you must be more careful. What if the thief had still been there? Don't you think she should have waited outside, Rodd?"
Over the rim of his cup, Rodd's eyes gazed at hers. "With a home invasion, that's usually the best advice. But in this case, the perpetrator has chosen only homes he knows to be vacant."
Wendy held her breath, hoping the sheriff wouldn't bring up that she was always the one who drove the victim to the clinic for the night. Suddenly she realized she had definitely overreacted this morning. The sheriff s right! I am the one link. The thought blazed in her mind.
The idea chilled her.
She looked at Rodd, wishing she could explain that his earlier questions had touched her tender spot. However, looking into this man's blue eyes held danger for her. Maybe if they hadn't met the first time under such dramatic circumstances ...but they had, and what could she do about it now?
Harlan spoke up. "I think I'll ask the pastor to bring this up at the next prayer meeting. We should pray for this culprit to be caught quickly. I don't want him scaring or hurting my friends. At our time of life, we have enough to worry about."
Trying to behave naturally, Wendy relaxed the tenseness in her shoulders and picked up her fork.
Rodd nodded, but Wendy sensed a resistance in him.
The sheriff cleared his throat. "You know God helps those who help themselves. And it's my job to find this thief."
Harlan replied simply, "But prayer helps everything."
'
Later Wendy opened her grandfather's back door and said, "I'll have Harry from the garage send someone out to change the flat in the morning, "She stepped outside and hurried toward Rodd's Jeep parked by the stoop, waiting for her.
She hesitated, conflicted. On the one hand, she was glad that Rodd had not gone off and left before she'd discovered the flat tire. He'd waited to see that she drove off safely . Rodd's likeness to his Uncle George was more than physical. Rodd possessed the same gentlemanly manner and sincere regard that had characterized his great-uncle. But she dreaded being alone with him and having to admit to him that she'd overreacted this morning.
The below-zero wind chill rushed her into the passenger seat. Shivering, she slammed the door behind her. Alone with the sheriff, she kept herself busy hooking and adjusting her seat belt. "Thanks again for the ride home. I can't believe my tire went flat while we were eating."
"No problem. As long as you don't mind stopping at my place first. I need to check on a couple of sick cows."
"No problem." Being alone with him like this presented the perfect opportunity to show she regretted making a big deal this morning. But how could she broach it—with her nerves jumping so?
She squeezed her eyes shut. As her grandfather had taught her as a child, she began to pray. Father God, I'm all shook up about these burglaries ...and everything.
"Aren't you feeling well?"
Wendy's eyes snapped open. "No, I ... I wanted to say I'm sorry we didn't get off to a better start today."
"I hope you didn't think that I thought you were implicated—"
"I know you didn't." The words had all rushed out. She halted, not knowing how to go on.
He gazed forward. "Someone is probably watching you, keeping track of your movements. It's the kind of thing an honest person doesn't notice."
An honest person. Hearing those words steadied her. She let her back touch the seat, her tension easing. As they drove through the country darkness, the night closed in around them.
He cleared his throat. "I'd like you to think over each of the incidents—both on the day when you took your patient into the clinic and the next day when you learned a burglary had been committed. Maybe you'll come up with something, someone."
The silvery moonlight cast his face into an arresting pattern of planes and curves. Again, her fingers itched to trace those contours. Why? After her disastrous first and only love in college, she'd gone back to avoiding men. So what was so special about Rodd Durand?
With effort, she dragged her mind back to the matter at hand. The three burglaries and consequences like Ma's stroke crystallized her fears. These burglaries had to be stopped. She inhaled deeply. "I'll give it some thought."
"Good."
Glancing out the darkened window, she recognized the short road leading to Rodd's family farm. She hadn't noticed the distance they'd covered over the back road. "It's been a while since I've been here," she murmured.
"My great-uncle was one of your home-health patients?"
She nodded, then smiled. "Yes, I was pleased that you came to be with him at the end." George Durand had been one of her favorite patients.
"I wish I'd come back sooner, but somehow I always thought we'd have more time than we did."
She felt him withdraw from her. Her sympathy was stirred. "That isn't uncommon. I do so much work with the elderly that I see it every day. My patients make the same mistake themselves. They will put off doing things—taking trips, doing home improvements, forgiving old wrongs—until they are physically unable."
She turned to face him, wanting to comfort him. "You shouldn't feel you came too late. You came when your uncle needed you. That's what counts."
"Uncle George stood by my dad and me when we needed him. After my mother left us, he always invited me to spend summers and Christmas and Easter vacations up here. My dad was a cop in Milwaukee, and police don't get holidays off. He helped when we needed him. I couldn't let Uncle George down."
Wendy glanced at him. She hadn't thought about it before, but this man had never known his mother. She had never known her father. "Nurses don't get holidays off either," she said wryly. "Your uncle was a fine gentleman. Everyone knew that. Your family has always been respected in the county." Unlike mine.
Rodd stopped his Jeep in front of the classic red barn with a stone foundation. His family homestead was a centennial farm, one that had been worked by the same family for that long.
"Do you want to come in or wait—"
"I'll come in." She wasn't surprised when Rodd motioned for her to wait till he opened the door for her. He certainly was a gentleman, just like his uncle.
As he held the side door of the barn open, she walked past, just a breath from him. The change of atmosphere was instant—from brittle cold wind to moist warmth. She automatically unzipped her parka and pushed back her hood. She inhaled the distinctive, pleasant smell of a well-kept cattle barn, the rich aromas of cured hay, feed, and cattle. She heard the clatter of hooves against the old cobbled floor, the unmistakable sound of bovine jaws and teeth chewing methodically, then the subtle lowing of a cow.
The quaint setting made her feel at ease—even near this handsome man. If only her father hadn't died before she was born and that hadn't sent her mother into a tailspin, Wendy wouldn't feel this gulf between Rodd and her. The only scandal that had ever touched the Durand's was Rodd's mother taking off when Rodd was a toddler.
Wendy walked beside Rodd to a few stalls toward the rear of the barn. "How many head do you have?" she asked, filling up the silence.
"Not many, only a dozen for breeding dairy cattle. They're not much work till calving next year." He grinned suddenly. "As soon as I learn what I'm doing, I'll be adding more stock."
She smiled back. Though still too aware of him, she was seeing another facet of the man. He might be maddening, a very take-charge sheriff, but he was Uncle George's great-nephew. That was why the county residents had asked him to run for sheriff and had accepted him easily into their midst. He might be from Milwaukee, but his father's family's long-established reputation for integrity worked in his favor, while all her life, her family's reputation had worked against her. She'd have to be careful and not be seen much with the sheriff, or they'd become a topic of nasty gossip—Veda would see to that.
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nbsp; She glanced up. Rodd was looking at her. The intensity of his gaze rattled her.
One of the cows in front of them lowed. Rodd reached over and patted the broad, white-faced Holstein. "The medicine looks like it's doing its job. Let me get you home, Wendy." With his other hand on her shoulder, he turned her back toward the door. His hand rode on her back once again, sparking her awareness of him. Why couldn't she just slip out of his touch? She couldn't. He turned out the lights and closed the door behind them.
Inside the Jeep again, she shivered and said, "Brrrr!" But her inner glow warred with the cold winter night.
"Everyone tells me this is really cold for early November." He made a wide U-turn and headed down the road to the highway.