Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  Noreen’s eyes clouded. “So even if I get to keep my job, I may as well erase Hank from my list of possibilities.”

  “I didn’t say that. Blake Adams instituted the rule. He can therefore make exceptions. He knows Hank isn’t a player. He knows you even better. Sometimes, when two people meet and hit it off, a rule that forbids them from seeing each other is ridiculous. Human nature declares that they’ll sneak around to see each other, and Blake would be crazy to want that happening.”

  “So you think he might lift that taboo for just me and Hank?”

  “Maybe.” Looking into Noreen’s eyes, Erin hoped so. Positive reinforcement from Hank might do wonders for Noreen’s self-esteem. “But first, we have to get you up to speed on code. What’s it mean if I say I’m taking a code seven?”

  “I means you’re breaking for lunch, getting fat, and I won’t feel jealous of you anymore.”

  They both burst out laughing, and in that moment, Erin believed the quirky bubble-gum chewer might end up being one of the best friends she’d ever had.

  * * *

  • • •

  It had been the most chaotic five days of Wyatt’s career as a ranch foreman. Getting the base camp set up had gone faster than it ever had in his memory, mostly due to Vickie Brown’s incredible talent for organizing and directing people. Her years of working as a chef had definitely honed her ability to keep track of a dozen different activities at once. But otherwise the whole process had been a shit show. Four Toes’ mission to get revenge against Slade had not been mitigated by giving him the three partially filled chili cans. Instead he now expected more food, and because Slade had been the person who’d tricked him with a pepper bomb, Slade remained the target of Four Toes’ ire. On top of that, some idiot was playing practical jokes. With three new men and Vickie in camp, it was impossible to finger the culprit. Wyatt thought it was Vickie, but that was only a guess and unsubstantiated by any facts.

  So far, the pranks had been harmless and even funny. One night Ron, the oldest of the new guys, had seen eyes out in the woods, nearly crapped his pants, and almost opened fire with a high-powered rifle to kill what he believed was a predator. Slade had grabbed the long barrel of the gun to direct it at the ground, and there had followed an angry diatribe from Slade on the follies of shooting at things one couldn’t clearly see. That had been unpleasant, to say the least, even though Wyatt thought it was a good lesson for Ron to have learned. Then there’d been the spider trick just the previous morning. Slade had walked out to use his special outdoor toilet, the broken seat for which had been replaced when Dale went into town for fresh produce. Wyatt wasn’t sure exactly what had transpired behind the shower curtain the boss had hung to give himself privacy, but Slade had let out a caterwaul and come charging from the makeshift enclosure with his Wrangler jeans and boxers down around his ankles. Still caterwauling, he’d proceeded to toe off his boots and the puddle of his clothing, only to stomp on it, yelling with every breath that a spider had dropped into his britches.

  Wyatt had one hope, that he eventually would be able to erase that memory from his mind, because there was something downright pathetic about a grown man of Slade’s caliber hopping around half-naked in broad daylight with his dingus flopping in the breeze. Okay, yes, it had been funny. Wyatt had known Slade didn’t like spiders, but he hadn’t realized the boss was phobic about them. Afterward Wyatt had braved the outdoor toilet area to find the huge spider that Slade swore he’d seen as he started to pull off a section of bathroom tissue. And he’d quickly found said spider, which had been artfully drawn onto a square of the paper with a black felt pen. The thing had looked three-dimensional, and Wyatt could see why Slade had been fooled. The question was, who had known about his irrational fear of spiders?

  Wyatt was back to Vickie again. Only, after watching her, he found it difficult to believe that she’d target Slade so mercilessly. He knew the two of them had an unpleasant history and that Vickie believed Slade had been unfaithful to her all those years ago. But he found it difficult to believe jealousy might still push her to get even with him for the alleged transgression. She seemed like a bright, accomplished, and genuinely sweet person. Not a doormat, by any means. With her dander up, he had a feeling she’d belly up to a logger in cork boots and dare him to try kicking her ass. He’d heard of little man syndrome, and he guessed the slightly built Vickie might have a feminine version of it, but she was also incredibly kind. The dogs both worshipped her. The men were all fond of her already. After Dale’s trip into town, she’d made six of the most beautiful and delicious pecan pies that Wyatt had ever seen, one of which became Dale’s pie, hands off to everyone else. Even Four Toes was smitten with her and hung out near the cookshack a lot. Wyatt suspected she was slipping the bear treats, but he hadn’t caught her at it.

  Bottom line, he was tired, and he was glad to be heading into town on a booze run. Paying guests would start arriving at camp the next day, and although Slade forbade any drinking during the day when guests were riding horses and handling weapons, he did allow a happy hour at night. Well, he called it a happy hour, but it normally started with before-dinner drinks and lasted until bedtime. Most people were responsible about their consumption and didn’t get sloppy. But sometimes Slade didn’t get the luck of the draw, and they had a lush on their hands for a week.

  Wyatt was happiest when he worked mostly with horses and cows. Animals of all species were far more predictable than humans. He knew what they liked to eat, how to handle them, what frightened them, and what soothed them. He didn’t constantly feel on edge. People were another kettle of fish. They got pissed off over the stupidest things. One time they liked a certain food and the next time they hated it. And their peculiar routines and expectations could drive him right over the edge. Like the guy last year who’d refused to walk out into the woods a little way to brush his teeth and spit. Instead he’d done his spitting right outside the cookshack doorway where everyone might step on bluish globs of toothpaste. By the time that guest left, Wyatt’s boots could have been featured in a Crest commercial.

  When Wyatt reached the fork in the trail, he saw the old drop box and remembered that Erin had sent up a parcel for him. If he waited to pick it up, he was afraid he’d get distracted in town and forget to collect it when he came back up the mountain.

  He told himself that he didn’t really care what she’d gotten for him. He was a man with few needs and didn’t want for much. For his birthday and Christmas, he asked his family members to just get him socks and boxers, because those were items that he wore out fast. In his line of work, he did a lot of walking. People thought he sat on a horse all day, but that was a romanticized picture. He did spend a lot of time in the saddle, but he couldn’t do much of anything from the back of a horse. He went through socks like nobody’s business. He was also constantly getting his pants hung up on barbed wire. He covered the cost of replacing his Wrangler jeans, because they could get expensive for his folks if they bought him a couple of pairs twice a year. But boxers and a pair of socks didn’t cost that much, so he didn’t feel bad about asking for those.

  The problem with Wyatt’s Christmas and birthday wish lists was that he rarely got a surprise when he opened a present. Socks and boxer shorts ranked way low on the wow factor. He always tried to act excited so his family members would know he really appreciated what they’d gotten for him, but the truth was, undergarments didn’t really float his boat. They were necessities.

  It was kind of nice to get a package when he had no idea what was inside. He’d be surprised no matter what it was, and that would be kind of nice. When he drew the parcel out of the drop box, he had to smile. She’d wrapped it with cowboy paper. A tiny horse with an equally tiny cowboy on its back was plastered all over it.

  He’d told himself that he wouldn’t open the gift until he was back at base camp, which wouldn’t happen until he rode in way after dark. But now that whole idea seem
ed silly. If he opened it now, he could stow the contents in his saddlebags and leave the box. Plus he could text Erin while he was in town and thank her for the gift if he knew what it was.

  He grinned as he sat down on the sloped lid of the drop box. It groaned under his weight, telling him that he should probably speak to Slade about replacing it soon. It had been in service for years, and everything wore out sooner or later. It had put in its time.

  He didn’t want to tear the paper. It wasn’t often that someone bought special wrapping just for him. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single time. He quickly learned that Erin was fond of using tape. Clear lengths of it covered nearly every seam, and when he tried to pull on it, he removed bits of the wrapping design. He finally drew his knife from its sheath and used the razor-sharp blade to slice through the tape.

  When he finally got down to the gift, he whistled. He’d guessed right. She hadn’t spent a lot, but she’d chosen something he really liked, special kinds of coffee beans. And she’d even gotten him a grinder, which would be useless until he went back to civilization. It was a thoughtful present, though. She’d seen him eyeballing the coffee, he guessed, and had probably asked Julie at the Morning Grind what he particularly liked. He saw an envelope tucked in beside the grinder. He plucked it from the box, opened the card within it, and found a whole letter tucked inside. He wasn’t expecting that.

  She might be a city girl without a clue about base camps, horses, or wilderness areas, but he was coming to think that she might be a genuinely nice person.

  * * *

  • • •

  Erin kept her hand on Johnny Walker’s shoulder. He was only six, and the manager of Flagg’s Market had scared the devil out of him by calling the cops. The child, dressed in what looked like garage sale specials and a pair of ratty shoes, kept looking at the handcuffs dangling from Erin’s belt as if he expected her to clamp them over his wrists. Poor kid. He’d been caught stealing a candy bar, and in her opinion, the manager was handling the situation all wrong. She couldn’t argue the point that all children needed to learn that shoplifting was a huge no-no, but she intensely disliked being used as the proverbial boogeyman to frighten the boy half to death. There were other ways to steer a child away from a life of crime, for heaven’s sake. Positive ways.

  Erin had never met the store manager, but her first impression was less than favorable. She thought he was a pompous ass. Johnny was trembling. He’d wet his pants. He struggled not to cry and kept holding his breath. When he absolutely had to breathe, snot gushed from his nose. The manager saw it, but he didn’t offer the child a tissue, and Erin didn’t have one on her. Her new purse, which had everything in it, was sitting in the county truck parked outside at the curb.

  Luckily she saw a display of Kleenex on a nearby shelf. Leaving Johnny to fend for himself for a second, she walked over, grabbed a box, and returned to the child. Driving a thumbnail through the plastic that covered the top, she worked out a tissue and crouched down in front of the little boy.

  “Can you blow for me, Johnny?” When he nodded, she clamped the paper over his button nose to catch the eruption. All the mothers she’d ever watched made this operation look easy, but for Erin it wasn’t. She was afraid of squeezing his nose too hard and hurting him, so she ended up smearing mucus over his cheek. When she finally got him cleaned up, she smiled at him. “I’m not a very good nose-blower helper, am I?”

  He shook his head no. Erin pushed to her feet and handed the just-opened box of tissues to the manager with the crumpled, soiled one perched on top. He was a tall man with dark hair, regular features, and cold blue eyes. She didn’t often take an instant dislike to people, but him, she did.

  He held up the Kleenex box. “You do plan to pay for this, I hope.”

  “You mean it isn’t complimentary?” she asked, lacing the question with sugary sweetness when she wanted to call him a jerk instead.

  “We are not in the habit of allowing customers to open products, use some of them, and then just walk out the door without paying for them,” he replied. “Surely you can understand that.”

  Erin felt her temper rising and made a conscious effort to keep her hand relaxed on Johnny’s little shoulder. “What I understand is that Mr. Flagg advertises this as a neighborhood market. He wants everyone in Mystic Creek to feel welcome here. When a little boy needs to blow his nose, I don’t think the cost of a tissue is going to make or break him. Do you?”

  “It isn’t only the cost of one tissue,” he said. “It’s an entire box that has now been opened and can’t be sold.”

  She made a point of staring at his name badge. He went by Jack, which was all she needed to know when she contacted Mr. Flagg to tell him that his manager’s public relations skills totally sucked and that he had no problem with terrifying little boys. “Cold season is on its way. Maybe you can set the box near one of the registers so the clerks can grab one to cover their mouths when they cough.”

  “That’s hardly the point.”

  Erin stopped trying to smile. “The point, sir, is that I am not a customer at this moment. I’m a county deputy who was called to the scene because a crime was committed. I commandeered the box of tissues to wipe the perpetrator’s nose, and I have no intention of buying the entire box when you should have provided a tissue as a common courtesy. Why do you think Mr. Flagg goes out of his way to make this store attractive to locals? Safeway, that’s why. It’s bigger, better, and the prices are a bit cheaper. If I want to deal with impersonal corporate BS, that’s where I go. If I want to be greeted like a friend, I come here. Surely you can understand that and realize friendliness and helpfulness are vital to the success of this market.”

  “He’s not my kid. His mother should make sure he carries tissues with him. Mr. Flagg would go broke if we ran around wiping noses with tissues he’s got to pay for.”

  Erin lifted her eyebrows. “Hmm. Interesting.” She looked down at Johnny and resurrected her smile. “Are you about ready to go for a ride in a cop truck?”

  He managed a quivery smile and nodded. Erin bent slightly at the waist to take his hand.

  As she turned to leave, Jack said, “I cannot allow you to leave without paying for this item, Deputy De Laney.”

  Erin stopped and half turned to meet his gaze. “What’s your plan, Jack? Are you going to call the department again and have me arrested?”

  “This is absurd,” he said with a huff.

  “I agree. But on the other hand, it might be kind of fun. I haven’t been cuffed and stuffed since I was seventeen.”

  “Let me put it this way,” he replied. “If you leave without paying, I will call the sheriff and tell him about this incident.”

  Erin nodded. “I like that plan.”

  Johnny walked out with her, then he stared for a moment at the truck and his bottom lip began to tremble again. “I can’t sit in there. I got so scared I wet my britches, and I’ll get pee all over the seat.”

  Erin hunkered down to get at his eye level. “It’s not really my truck. It’s a county vehicle. Do you know what that means?”

  He waggled his head.

  “That means that it’s your truck as much as it is mine. It belongs to your mom and dad and to everyone else who lives in Mystic County.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everyone who lives here pays county taxes. We all contribute a little out of the money we make at our jobs. The money goes into a bank. And when the sheriff’s department needs a new truck, the taxes are used to buy it.”

  “But my daddy doesn’t have a job, and our car broke, so now my mommy can’t get to work, either. I don’t think we own part of that truck.”

  “Yes, you do, because you live in this county. When people don’t have jobs and can’t pay taxes, other people still pay them. And eventually your daddy and your mommy will be working again to help buy the next truck.” Erin could tell
that he was a bright child, and she couldn’t help but smile. “And you know what’s even better? Sheriff Adams always gets trucks with leather seats that wash right off. When I get off work tonight, I’ll be sure to wash the upholstery where you sat, so you don’t need to worry about your pants being wet.”

  He looked past her at the truck. “Are you gonna take me to jail?”

  “Stealing a candy bar was a very bad thing for you to do. Are you ever going to do it again?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Then I see no reason to put you in jail. I do need to talk to you about stealing the candy bar, though. Do you mind if I do that?”

  “No, except it makes me ’barrassed.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, so I won’t talk for long. I think the main thing I want to tell you is that almost everyone gets a powerful craving for a candy bar sometimes. So powerful a craving that we just have to have one.”

  “Do you crave candy bars?”

  “Sometimes. My favorite of all is a Heath bar, and sometimes I want one so bad that I stop at the store to grab one. The difference is that I pay for mine, and you didn’t.”

  “That’s cuz I don’t got any money.”

  “I know. And that’s what we need to talk about. Just because you don’t have any money doesn’t mean you won’t ever get a really powerful craving for another candy bar. And I never want you to steal again. So, here’s the deal. The next time you get a powerful craving for a candy bar, will you call the sheriff’s office and ask for me? That way I can drive to where you are and give you some money to buy some candy. How’s that sound?”

  “But I can’t pay you back.”

  Erin cupped his chin in her hand. “That’s where you’re wrong. Someday, you’ll be a man, and you’ll have a job, and you’ll always have money for a candy bar. By then, I may be an old lady. When I get old like that and have no money in my pocket, it’d be really nice if I could call my friend John and see if he’d mind buying me a Heath bar.”