Bitter Rain (Kate Fox Book 3)

by Shannon Baker

  With no escape possible, I allowed Louise to tie the tablecloth around my neck. Like a prisoner facing a firing squad, I sat, gritted my teeth, and stared Barnett in the eye.

  His eyes gleamed like a killer jack-o’-lantern, and I knew I was toast. He drew his arm back, the pie resting on his open palm.

  “Ka-tie, Ka-tie, Ka-tie.” A chorus erupted to the right of the pie table. My family. From what I could tell, the whole herd, including all brothers and sisters, a handful of nieces and nephews, Bud and Twyla, and even Dad, joined in the chanting. “Ka-tie, Ka-tie, Ka-tie.”

  It must have worked like some kind of Fox voodoo, because when Barnett launched the pie, it sailed wide. I felt the wind as it whizzed past my head and landed in the dusty weeds behind me.

  My peanut gallery erupted in cheers.

  Barnett reached for another pie, but Louise shot an arm out and stopped him. “You’ll need to get to the back of the line if you want to try again.”

  At that signal, the Foxes crowded in behind Jeremy, and the line tripled in length. Barnett’s Clint Eastwood sneer scorched me, but not for long, as a fluffy plop of canned whipped cream collided with my noggin. Jeremy lifted his arms in triumph. Sticky, but not having my eyes blackened or my nose broken, I laughed, wiped and licked the fluff from my face, and stood for Louise to untie the bib.

  Louise handed me a damp towel and turned her attention to Pete. Onlookers and his family teased, and the whole thing began again.

  I scanned the crowd for the teens and located Ruthie and David and a few of their friends threading their way through the stock trailers. I scrubbed at a spot of cream on my chest and started after them.

  My sister Diane called to me, and even though that made me want to run the other way, I waited for her to catch up to me. “Did you decide who I should marry?” My question came out snarkier than I expected.

  Diane wore khakis and a golf shirt embroidered with her bank logo. Her expensive blond haircut looked perfect, despite the breeze tugging it, each strand landing exactly right. She had the tight, toned look of someone who worked out regularly with a personal trainer. If I was the black sheep of the family, Diane was definitely the Golden Fleece. She flashed remarkably white teeth. “Learn to take a joke.”

  She was right. I could hang on to the insult, but why? In a few days, there would be something else to be offended about. If I didn’t let it roll off, I’d spend my life angry or alone. I rubbed a dried bit of cream from a strand of hair. “Thought you were heading back to Denver this morning.”

  The loudspeaker crackled and Bill Hardy test, test, tested. He’d been announcing rodeos and ropings since before I could say yee-haw.

  “Welcome, welcome!” He launched into a corny joke, thanked everyone for helping out the Dugans, and emphasized that the Calcutta on the roping would be split fifty-fifty with the family, so be sure to bid it up.

  Diane rolled her eyes at Bill’s drivel. “Kimmy and Karl wanted to stay for the barbeque. What the hell? We’ll get home at bedtime and I need to stay up late to prep for a meeting, but, when you’re a single parent, you make sacrifices.”

  Yeah. I wouldn’t know, not having any kids of my own. “How are the anniversary plans coming?”

  Mom and Dad’s anniversary was coming up, and Louise wanted a family get-together in town. Diane insisted we all contribute and give them a getaway weekend instead. She’d promised to plan it and make reservations, and we’d all agreed. Except for Louise, of course.

  Diane waved her hand. “It’s coming together.”

  One problem I didn’t have to worry about. “Great.”

  “So.” She hesitated, and I knew this wouldn’t be good. “You know Poupon?”

  Uh oh. Poupon was Diane’s three-year-old Standard Poodle. When someone asks a question they know you can answer, you should back away. I tried, but she kept up with me.

  “He’s been getting out of the yard, and I hired a fence company to install an underground electric fence. The kind that works on a collar. But they can’t do it for two weeks. I was going to leave Poupon with Mom and Dad, but Mom’s working on a new sculpture, and now that you’re not living there, well, he needs more attention.”

  I looked over my shoulder, backing away faster.

  She slipped around me to look into my face. “So I left him out at your house.”

  I stopped. “What? I can’t keep a dog. I’m hardly ever home.”

  She wouldn’t hear it. “He’s really easy. Doesn’t need much. It’s only for two weeks.”

  “No, I…”

  Bill Hardy’s voice rang over the fairgrounds. “What do you get when you give an alligator a vest?”

  Diane raised her chin and focused behind me. “Kimmy! Karl! Time to go.”

  “An in-VEST-igator!” Groans accompanied the stupid punch line, and Bill introduced the first ropers.

  Diane started to leave, blowing me a kiss and saying, “Thank you. I owe you.”

  “Wait!”

  She turned, eyebrows raised.

  I held firm. “I refuse.”

  She had the nerve to laugh at me. “You don’t refuse.”

  I rubbed my sticky fingers, feeling less than powerful with bits of cream sticking on me. “I do now. Bad things happen when I’m put in the care of living things.”

  The annoyed exhale and drop of her arms dismissed my argument. “Get over it. Carly ran away because she’s willful. You aren’t to blame.”

  Why did she assume I was thinking of Carly? I hardly talked about her, so my family shouldn’t know she was always on my mind. “She was my responsibility.”

  Diane walked away, pausing only long enough for her end of the conversation. “She’s probably living it up in California.”

  I lunged at her and caught her arm. “California? How did you know she’s there?”

  Diane lasered my arm with her supersonic eyes, and when I didn’t let go, she wrenched it free and made a face at the sticky spot on her arm. “I didn’t know. It just seems that if I ran away, I’d go someplace warm.”

  I meant to question her further but she walked away, shouting at Kimmy and Karl.

  Someone chuckled behind me.

  I turned around to see Kyle with his eyes twinkling.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling the highway?”

  He held up his hands, still grinning. “On my way, boss.”

  Before he left, Roxy waved from a few yards away on a straight path toward me. On instinct, I swung to look behind me to see who she wanted. Oh, please lord. No one was there. She came at me like a tornado. I altered my course to follow the teens and swerve away from Roxy. It didn’t work.

  “Kate. Wait. I want to talk to you.” Roxy jiggled and wiggled on her way to us.

  I lowered my eyebrows at Kyle to indicate he should be going, but he folded his arms across his chest and waited to see what bee Roxy had up her bonnet.

  Knowing prying eyes watched every time I met Roxy in public, I plastered on a polite smile. The mature and forgiving cheated-on ex-wife, that’s me.

  Roxy caught up to me, all out of breath. She nodded a greeting to Kyle, then patted her pregnancy-swelled boobs. “Whew! I can’t believe how much expecting a baby takes out of me. Normally, I wouldn’t be winded at all.”

  I waited, trying not to wish expecting a baby would take more out of her than her wind.

  “I’m glad I found you. I heard that Trey Ridnoir is on his way to the roping. He’ll be here pretty soon. Ted brought in a mare he wants to sell, and Trey agreed to ride her in the roping to show her off. But he needs a partner. Ted and I knew you’d be perfect.”

  “Me?” I couldn’t help the outburst. I hadn’t roped since Ted had kicked me off Frog Creek when I served him divorce papers.

  “You should ask me,” Kyle said, his eyes still holding a mischievous gleam.

  Roxy and I both stared at him.

  He took us in with his gaze. “Yep. I learned to rope from my uncle, Lloyd Walks His Horse. He won the
Indian Rodeo All Around eight years in a row.”

  Roxy tilted her head. “I think I’ve heard of him.”

  Oh, brother.

  Spurred on, Kyle continued. “One time, when I was a kid, I followed Lloyd around at the finals. I noticed that every time he was up for an event, like saddle bronc or steer roping, he’d go to the stock pen first and sing. Only it was so soft I couldn’t hear what he sang. So when I asked him about it, he told me he sang to each animal according to who they were, and the stock appreciated it so much, they helped him out.”

  On the loudspeaker, Bill Hardy commiserated with a missed throw. “Let’s show the hard-luck cowboys how much we appreciate their effort.” He couldn’t seem to help his stupid jokes. “What kind of music do bunnies like best?”

  Roxy’s eyes stayed riveted on Kyle as if she were listening to the Dalai Lama.

  Bill answered himself. “Hip-hop.” More groans.

  Roxy nudged Kyle. “Finish your story.”

  “Uncle Lloyd, he taught me the song especially for the steers. Only I don’t do it much because it doesn’t seem fair.”

  Roxy blinked and gave me a tentative smile. “Is he serious?”

  All I could do was look at her and silently thank Kyle for pointing out what an airhead she could be.

  She laughed. “Oh. I get it.”

  Kyle chuckled. “Indian stories.” He saluted me and took off.

  I tipped my head to her. “Thanks for thinking of me. But I’m working today.” I did my best Diane imitation and glided away, looking over my shoulder to shoot her a wave.

  On the trail of Ruthie and Company, Louise collided with me. “Thanks so much for helping out at the pie throwing. We made a couple of hundred.”

  Pleased and feeling like a hero, I said, “Since I’m out here already, I could participate in the wild cow milking.”

  She looked startled. “Oh, that’s okay. I understand you’ve got important county business.”

  She…understood? That didn’t sound like Louise. But I’m not one to look a gift horse, or a wild milk cow, in the mouth. I trotted off before she changed her mind.

  By now the wind had picked up and the dark clouds lumbered closer. The seventies temperatures held, though, so the day progressed in cheery fashion. The steers in the holding pen occasionally bawled, and horses whinnied over the sounds of the crowd. If not for a missing girl and an abandoned car, mysterious headquarters hidden in the hills, and my family meddling in my life, it would be a grand day.

  I wound through the parked stock trailers and horses, twisting around pickups, and country music competed with Bill Hardy’s corny jokes as I looked for Ruthie and her gang. My guess was the kids found someone’s pickup and were having a private party.

  Part of me hoped so, just to loosen Ruthie’s halter a little. She was that bossy kind of older sister who took house rules so seriously she sucked the warm out of a sunny day. A little healthy trouble would do her good. But only a little.

  It took a few minutes to find the bunch. I was disappointed the bushy-haired kid wasn’t among them. David and his herd either got bored or were chased away by the older and cooler kids. I didn’t have to try hard to sneak up on them. They were huddled in the bed of Ostrander’s new half-ton, passing around a cigarette.

  When I popped around the fender, Ruthie nearly passed out. “Oh, jeez. Oh, jeez. I didn’t. I wasn’t.”

  I kept my face neutral.

  She teared up. “Don’t tell Mom.”

  This girl could use some lessons in harmless teenaged rebellion or she’d never break out of her mother’s mold. Carly had been inching Ruthie toward loosening up, but when Carly hit the road, Ruthie buttoned back tight.

  I studied the other four kids. My detective’s nose didn’t pick up any pot or beer. Rodeos and kids on their own could lead to any manner of mischief, and it wouldn’t hurt to check them out. I had them each hand over their pop cans for a good sniff, and if they had vodka or anything else in there, I couldn’t tell. After clearing them, I assured Ruthie I wouldn’t tell Louise that some of her friends snuck a cigarette in Ostrander’s pickup.

  “Earlier, I saw you talking to a dark-haired guy. Tall, kind of cute. Who was that?”

  Melanie Ostrander giggled. “You thought he was cute?”

  Dusty Hardy made a face like he’d stuck his nose in roadkill. “Dude, please.”

  Ruthie shrugged. “I thought he was okay.”

  The others poked her and laughed and generally acted more like junior high kids than upperclassmen. I gave them a “settle down” kind of glare. “Who is he?”

  “Max?” Melanie ventured.

  “Max who?”

  Ruthie spoke for the group. “Don’t know. He kind of walked up and started talking. That’s all.”

  “What did he say?”

  Dusty’s eyes widened. “Is he a fugitive? Drug dealer or gang killer or something?”

  Sheesh. “Far as I know, he’s just a kid. I hadn’t seen him around before and wondered if you guys had.”

  Ruthie answered in her Sunday school voice. “He wanted to know if Kyle Red Owl was around. We told him we didn’t know, and he wandered around a little while, then left.”

  Interesting. I’d ask Kyle about him tomorrow.

  Bill Hardy broadcast over the arena. “Give ’em some love. You’ll get ’em next time, fellas.” The crowd dutifully applauded, and I started toward the 4-H building and my cruiser. “Stick around, folks, for the wild cow milking. We’ve got one more team to go and then the Sandhills’ finest will show you what they’re made of.”

  The chutes squealed, shouts flew from the stands, clapping. “And that’s how it’s done, folks. Shorty and Willy Cally in seven seconds!”

  Wow, that time ought to win the whole thing. I’d have to remember to congratulate them on their performance. As Ted used to tell me, an elected official is always campaigning.

  Admittedly, when I ran for sheriff, I wasn’t sure I really wanted the job. Sure, I needed employment after leaving Frog Creek, and this gig paid better than most in the county when you factored in benefits, which most ranch jobs didn’t have. One main motivator for me, and I didn’t tell anyone this, was taking the job away from Ted. There. I wasn’t proud of that.

  Since then, though, I’d settled into it. I might even say I liked being sheriff. At least temporarily. Maybe I’d run again in three years.

  Bill Hardy’s voice traveled over the fairgrounds. “Coming up, the event you’ve all been waiting for. Be thrilled, be amazed, be very entertained as the sheriffs from the four-county region compete in the wild cow milking.”

  I should have insisted I participate in the cow milking. That kind of thing generated a wealth of goodwill.

  Since I’d thrown away that opportunity, I needed to round up Dad and see if he had any insights on the Olson place. I paced toward my Charger, grumbling inwardly about Diane manipulating me again and about my family planning my life.

  “How many teenagers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Bill Hardy fired up the mic again, then answered himself. “Whatever.”

  After the obligatory groan, he said, “And here they are, for your ultimate Sandhills’ entertainment. Milo Ferguson from Choker County, Lee Barnett from Spinner County, Pete Grainger from Chester County, and our very own from Grand County, Ted Conner.”

  8

  Didn’t that just frost your tomatoes? No wonder Louise let me off the hook so easily. She’d already recruited Ted. What a family. I’d have thought that when I divorced Ted, they’d have chosen my side. But no. Seemed the whole caboodle of them picked Ted and slipped Roxy into my place. Even Sarah, my best friend since kindergarten, huddled with Roxy like pregnancy twinsies.

  I growled at the wind and mentally flipped the bird at the gray clouds, yanked my door open, and threw myself inside the cruiser. I drummed the steering wheel and stared out the windshield while my adult self got the upper hand.

  At a population of fifteen hundred people, give or
take a prepper or two, there weren’t a lot of social circles to choose from. Of course, Ted and Roxy were a part of the group. Honestly, as a married couple with a baby on the way, they had a lot more in common with most of my clan than I did. Even if that hadn’t been the case, why would I expect or even want anyone to carry a grudge for me? I lugged around enough for the whole family, and I hoped I’d shed it soon.

  Which was the best reason for me to quit the pity party and get back to my job.

  I backed out of the space, watching the dust as it danced and whirled around my cruiser, and drove slowly from the fairgrounds. I radioed Kyle and told him to go on home, transfer the calls back to me.

  I drove into town. Dad’s old Dodge pickup was parked next to Mom’s Vanagon in the wide dirt patch between them and their neighbor, Beverly. When we all lived at home, this area looked like a parking lot with our various beater cars and, at any given time, a few friends. My family’s coming and going had felt constant and almost always annoying when I’d lived here last winter, but it made me a little sad to see only my parents’ vehicles there now.

  My cruiser didn’t do much to make the place seem homey. Kimmy and Karl had left the old go-cart on the weedy front yard, but even that seemed lonely. I let myself into the kitchen.

  The red polka dot motif and I Love Lucy charm always made me appreciate Mom’s sense of humor. She rarely cooked and had never been domestic, preferring vegan protein shakes and herbal tea. When she took time to eat or drink. For her, the kitchen was a weigh station between her basement sculpture studio and her bedroom behind the living room.

  This afternoon, she sat in her silk kimono, her long waves tamed into a gray braid down her back. One hand curled around a steaming ceramic cup of tea, her face looked rested and her smile radiant.

  With the clouds outside, the kitchen felt cozy, despite being the biggest room in the house. Counters lined the west wall, and a butcher-block island added needed workspace. When the family gathered, which happened often, almost everyone gravitated to the kitchen.

  Dad stood at the counter, patting out hamburger, his ever-present travel mug of coffee close by. Not tall, Dad had a lanky build, his jeans hung loose and his gray hair brushed the back of his T-shirt. He looked tired, probably worked all night, but he had a ready smile for me. “Katie! Let me make you a burger.”