by Jen Atkinson
“Keith?”
“Dakota’s dad. He was the smartest in the entire school. Emma was only second to him. But she didn’t mind.” He looked up from his paper. “So, I figure the combination of their intelligences made a super genius. I heard that girl does algebra.”
“She does not do algebra,” I said, laughing at Andy’s awe expression. The tiny girl could only be a handful of years.
“And that she knows four languages. English be’n one of them. That one’s not as impressive, though. Most kids know that one.”
She had spoken Spanish to me this afternoon. “So, where’s this highly intelligent father of hers?”
“Keith ended up at Cambridge College. I heard he’s work on his medical degree.”
Why wasn’t she with her dad? It sounded like he had a better head on his shoulders than unstable Emma. Still, I hadn’t meant to get her fired. If anything Dakota needed a mom with a job.
Andy scribbled something out on his notebook paper and then wrote out a new line. He hummed to himself, his pencil fluttering in the air like a baton.
“So, have you heard of any job openings in town?” I asked, pretending to look back over my traffic incident report.
“You look’n for a new profession?”
“Nah, not for me.” My right leg bounced beneath the desk as I waited.
“There’s a teaching job at the school. Mrs. Evers came out of retirement to sub long term and she isn’t too happy about it.”
I couldn’t imagine Emma having any type of degree—or teaching—she’d eat those kids for lunch. Besides, I’d seen her in places like coffee shops and laundromats. She wouldn’t be searching there if she had a teaching degree. “Anything else?” I went over our showdown at the Do or Dye in my head. How could anyone blame me? She’s the one who—
“Well, of course Jodi’s looking for any kind of special skills person: nails, eyebrow wax’n, massaging.” Andy dropped his pencil and peered over at me, his round face rolling out a third chin with the stare. “You look’n to find Emma a job?”
“I just—I thought I’d help.” I tapped my pen on the table. “You knew she was let go?”
“Of course I knew. This is my town, Aiden. You didn’t?”
“I—well, no, not until recently.” Like three hours ago. “So, anything else?”
“Your best bet would be to talk to Jodi, see if she’d take her back. It’s been a few weeks, maybe she’s calmed down by now.”
I hadn’t planned to get that involved. It wasn’t my fault she screamed and threw a fit like a child. It baffled my brain to think of that woman as a mother. My own soft and gentle mom had never resembled anything like that. Emma the wrecking ball—get out of the way or get crushed.
I’d pictured Tess with our imaginary child a hundred times. How could a pediatric nurse not want children? I’d seen her with her patients, playing games and singing songs. My head could not conjure up any scenario where Emma Sunday sang a sweet lullaby and Tess Laurden never mothered a child.
“Emma’s smart, but she’s got no training except for massaging. She’s good, too. You’d know that if you’d followed through with your appointment.”
Wait, did Andy blame me? How did he even know? “It was pretty hard to follow through with her hollering at me.”
Andy tilted his head, doubting me.
Should I have laid on that table while she screamed and clawed at me? “Jodi’s reasonable,” I said. “I’m sure if Emma talked to her.”
“They’re both pretty stubborn.”
I supposed that meant I had to talk to Jodi. Great. I rubbed my hands over my face, tired and ready for my shift to end.
“Don’t let Emma find out. She’ll refuse the job if she knows you helped her get it.” Andy never looked up from his paper, but his belly jiggled with laughter.
Chapter 8
Carter
“So, what do you think?”
Jodi’s fake lashes—they had to be fake, I’d never seen a human with lashes so long—fluttered as she studied me. “Why would you do this? You don’t owe her anything.” Pink zebra stripes wound their way around Jodi’s head and into a pile on the top of her crown.
Guilt. Emma had a kid—a cute kid—and I didn’t want to be the reason that kid went hungry. “There’s not a lot of work in town. She has a family.”
“Oh, I know it.” Jodi walked around the hairdressing chair next to her and plucked the end of a comb into Mrs. Colson’s tight curls. “Taggart’s a pain in the skivvy’s. I wouldn’t wish taking care of that on anyone.”
Margorie Colson grimaced, her eyes sliding up to meet Jodi’s face.
“Wait, who?”
“Her daddy, of course.” For the first time in twenty minutes, Jodi looked at me without regard.
I guess I should have known? Well, if Emma lived with her dad, what did Andy have to be upset about? She had help—and there are consequences to behaving badly.
“I guess I could consider taking her back…” Jodi drew out her words, waiting, but for what I didn’t know. She sighed and laid the comb in her hand on the vanity behind her. “I mean, I might consider taking Emma back on if…” She grinned, her red lips parting, and nodded at me encouragingly.
My jaw shifted. If what? I didn’t follow.
Jodi sighed, but looked at me as though I were just an innocent child. “If someone threw a little something into the pot for me.”
“Into the pot? Ahh…”
“You know!” She trailed around the chair and stood in front of me, eye level with my six feet in shoes that had to distort her feet—why did women do things like that to themselves? “If someone helped me out, too.”
“Help you? You want me to help you?” I was completely lost—and a little scared.
Jodi poked me in the arm with a fingernail could have clawed my eyeballs out. “Ohp,” she piped as the rest of her fingers looped around my bicep. “Deputy, you’re as strong as you look.”
“Not that bright, though,” Mrs. Colson murmured under her breath.
“Oh, stop.” Jodi took her hand from my arm and waved it at Mrs. Colson. “Don’t listen to what Emma calls him.”
Great, did the whole town know Emma’s nickname for me. Why was I helping her again?
“Well, he did think her to be sleep’n with Corbin.” Marjorie Colson chuckled, speaking as if I weren’t right next to her.
But she had a point—I had wrongly accused Emma. And though I didn’t believe it, some people felt I was the reason for the loss of her job.
“Innocent mistake,” Jodi said, back around the chair, her fingers in Mrs. Colson’s hair. “Now, about me—”
“I don’t know what you want.” I didn’t know what she thought I’d do to help out Emma Sunday, but it wasn’t a long list.
“I want a standing appointment with you for the next six months.”
“With me?”
“Yep.”
I eyed the large wedding band on her left finger. “Umm…”
“You’re nice to look at, Deputy Carter. Your face in that window,” she pointed to the picture window out the Do or Dye front. “It’ll help out my business. You help me. I’ll help Emma.”
Carter
When I committed to serve the people, this wasn’t what I had in mind. I didn’t even like Emma Sunday. I unzipped my deputy’s coat and threw it into the office chair. “What have you gotten me into Andy Pollock?”
Andy’s head poked out from the office door. “Did she go for it?”
“You sound as if I never had a chance.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think you did.”
“Then why did I even—”
“But it worked?” He rolled his entire body out the door on his wheeled office chair.
“Yeah, it worked. She’ll offer Emma her job back and not say a word about my involvement as long as I get a trim every two weeks for the next six months!”
Andy’s lips protruded into a satisfied frown. He nodded. “Not bad. Tha
t’s a good deal. I thought for sure Jodi’d want you to MC the town Christmas party or pose for a calendar. Something horrible.”
I touched the hair on top of my head. Would Emma Sunday be worth this? Probably not, but Dakota had to be.
Still, if Emma found out, I may not survive this.
Chapter 9
Emma
“Did I hear that right?” I gripped the handle on Taggart’s old home phone.
“You best change that tone or I’ll change my mind, Emma.” Jodi snarled into the receiver.
“No tone—other than surprise. Promise.”
“And no more scream’n. I can’t be having that in my shop.”
I held a hand to my beating chest. “Of course. That was a one time—flukish thing.” Deputy Idiot would not be returning for a massage from me, so yeah, I could make that promise.
“All right then, I’ll put you back in the newsletter Monday morning. You can start setting up appointments.”
Wait until Kotes heard the news! I hung up the phone and bounded out into the living room. “Guess who got her job back.”
Taggart sniffed, his eyes never leaving the TV. He jammed a spoonful of canned chili into his mouth, a thick dribble running down his chin. Finally, he looked at me, his faded blue eyes like laser beams. His salt and pepper hair waved in a thick row. He could have been handsome for a man his age if he ever thought to wash it. “I guess this means you’ll be able to buy my Natural 30? No more excuses.”
I wanted to bite off my own tongue. “Yes, Tag. I’ll get your drink.”
“You better,” he said, eyes back on the TV gameshow.
I slipped into my cowboy boots and headed to Jodi’s to make calls. I had four hours until Dakota would be home from school. I needed to let my customers know I was back!
Hours later, I left my little studio at the back of Jodi’s, stock all returned and one hundred phone calls made. Well, nearly one hundred. I had twelve appointments booked for the next six weeks and I felt hopeful for more. It had become something of a grand opening.
Lastly, I called Mr. Bear.
“It makes no difference to me,” he said. “As long as I get my massage.”
I yawned and looked at the clock. Six on the dot. An hour later than normal. I told Virgie I might be running behind. Still, I’d have to pick her up two six-packs tomorrow.
I drove home, trying to remember the food left in my cupboards and fridge. Cereal, frozen pizza—so long as Taggart didn’t eat it for a snack—and canned chili. I’d let Kotes pick out dinner. I rapped on Virgie’s door, then stretched my back, achy and tired from working all day. I appreciated this ache though. I had my job back.
I knocked again. It took Dakota much too long to get to the door. Some horrific kissing scene had probably distracted her. Ugh. Telenovela.
At last the door creaked open. Virgie stood in her night muumuu. “Emma?”
“Who else? Where’s Kotes?”
She opened the door a little wider. “Well, you should know.” She waved toward the cabin, her tone clipped.
The beats in my chest skipped. “What does that mean?”
“Stink and I planned on watch’n La mascota del maestro,” she said, her words short and irritable, “but Tag came over, said you needed Dakota to come home.”
“What?” I shook my head, confused. “Taggart?” He never went to Virgie’s and he most certainly never did anything to help me out. He couldn’t care less what happened with Dakota.
“Yes, he took her home at four.”
“Four?” A tremor started in my fingers. “Virgie! I just got home.” I whirled around. “His car is gone. Dang it, Virgie. He left her all alone the last two hours.” Why would he even bother getting her?
Virgie’s face fell, her animosity gone. “But he said—”
I charged for home. Not a glow lit up the cabin, though. No lights? Dakota would need a light to read by…
No, no, he wouldn’t. Hurrying to the front door, I flung it open, banging the hard wood into the wall behind it.
“Emma?” Virgie called from her porch step.
“Dakota!” I screamed her name, but the house fell silent.
Taggart savored his whiskey—one bottle would last him over the course of a week. But here it was Monday and an empty bottle lay on his TV tray. Dakota’s bag sat on the couch, but no Dakota in sight.
I left the door open wide and flew from the house. I’d kill him. I’d kill him dead!
“Where you go’n Emma?” Virgie cried from her front door.
Hot angry tears stung at my eyes. “He took her, Virgie. He drank an entire bottle of whiskey and then took my baby to the bar with him.”
“But why would he—”
“Because he’s the devil!” The tremor that started in my fingers had made its way through my entire body. “He won’t get away with this. I am going to murder him.”
“Emma, honey, wait, I—”
“Murder!” I roared down our quiet street. I slammed the door to my Volkswagen. My shaking hand finally found the key hole and revved the car to life. In my rearview mirror, I saw Virgie step outside—something I hadn’t seen her do in years. With her phone in her hand, she waved at me to stop.
I shifted the car into gear and wiped one escaping tear from my face. I wasn’t sad and I wasn’t weak. A combination of terror and rage consumed me. I sped the mile to Twila’s through homes and stop signs and the minimal traffic of Dubois. He drove this mile with a bottle of whiskey in him and my baby in the car. My baby.
Red and blue lights whirled in front of Twila’s, just once as I approached and then they went off. Taggart’s car sat right out front, parked askewed, but in the lines. I stopped, cock-eyed in the middle of the road, and ran over to the little white Honda, my opened button up flannel blowing in the wind and my too tight jeans cutting into my hips.
“Emma.” Deputy Idiot stepped out of his car. “Let’s talk about this.”
I didn’t have the patience to spar with him. I peered into the window of Taggart’s old Honda—Dakota lay curled up in a ball on the passenger seat, sound asleep. I lay my hand on the passenger window and heaved out a sigh. My breaths came quick, like I might hyperventilate. “She’s okay.” I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and stare at her little form. “She’s okay.” Tears I’d rejected for years and years ran down my cheeks. They didn’t care that I hadn’t given them permission, that I’d promised myself never to cry in front of Taggart.
A hand on my back bolted me up right and I swung, slapping Carter in the side of the head.
“Ow, hey, hey, it’s just me. I’m here to help.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands. Carter. Another idiot who didn’t need to see me cry.
“How’d she get here?” he asked, watching my baby.
“Taggart, of course.” With Dakota whole and safe, I ground my teeth and started for the bar’s front doors. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Oh, no you don’t.”
A tug on my jeans pulled me back to the Honda. I slapped at Carter’s finger coiled through my belt loop. My chest heaved. I’d beat him first if I had to.
“Let’s just take care of her and then we’ll talk about him.” Carter nodded his head toward Twila’s.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Virgie.”
“That old bird,” I muttered under my breath. “See if I bring her another Pepsi.”
Carter held out a hand as if he may pat my back, but then thought better of it—smartest thing I’d ever seen him do. “Let’s just concentrate on getting her out of the car. The door’s locked.”
I raised my brows. “Lucky for me, I know who has the key.” I pointed toward the wooden door. “A drunk, dead, fool in that bar.” My boot inched to the curb of the sidewalk and I looked back at Twila’s.
Carter wrapped his fingers around my arm. “Nope. I’m one man. I’m not sure I can do drunk and crazy all by myself.”
It took me a minute to realiz
e he hadn’t meant both of those descriptions for Taggart. Taggart may have been the drunk, but I was the crazy one in Carter’s eyes.
“Well, I left my coat hanger at home!” I crossed my arms over my chest, wrenching away from his hold. “Any suggestions?” I wanted to kill Taggart almost more than anything. But most of all I wanted my baby out of that car.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Carter ran to his car. He looked back to make sure I still stood in place, snatched a long metal tool and jogged the few steps back to us.
I stepped up onto the curb, out of his way and watched while he jimmied the tool between the window and the door of the car.
Carter would free my baby.
And I would kill Taggart. With the deputy busy, I turned on my heels and headed straight for Twila’s entrance. “Taggart,” I hollered and the place went quiet.
Chapter 10
Carter
“Just about there…” I glanced back, but no Emma. “Crap.” I turned back to the car and Dakota waved at me. She sat straight and awake—just in time to witness her mother’s crime. Dang it Andy, why hadn’t he bothered to pick up the phone when I called?
I heard a muffled holler from inside the bar and went into action. The passenger door creaked open and I crouched down to peek at Dakota. I didn’t want to scare her any more than she already had been. “Hey, Kotes, remember me?”
“Deputy,” she said, her eyes tired, but unafraid.
“Yep.” I grinned and she beamed back at me, sweet little thing. “Okay, I need to help out your mom. Can you sit in my car and wait for me?”
Her brows knit together. “I’m not going home in Grandpa’s car?”
I shook my head—another yell from the bar—I needed to hurry this along. “Come on,” I said and scooped her up for times sake.
She giggled and didn’t argue as I jogged her over to my patrol car and set her on the passenger seat. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” I peered at her, making sure she understood me. Then, running over the building, I threw the front door open. Emma stood feet away from her father, hands clenched into fists at her sides.