Purgatory Ridge (22 page)

Where was Cork? He’d put himself at risk, waded neck deep into whatever it was that was going on in Tamarack County. Was he in danger?

Or was it something else, something Jo would rather not have considered? He’d loved another woman once. Maybe he’d found someone to love again.

“Would you blame him?” she asked herself aloud. “Jo, Jo, what have you done?”

She wandered to the dock, thinking hopelessly,
You let your sister raise your children. You’ve put yourself at odds with the whole town. You’ve driven your husband away. Again. But at least you’re one hell of a lawyer, kiddo. Yes, ma’am—you’ve certainly won everyone’s respect
.

“Until they see that photograph,” she whispered to herself.

She sat down on the old boards of the dock, took off her loafers, and let her feet dangle. The cool water of Iron Lake felt good.

What was respect anyway? Something bright and shiny but cold to the touch. It didn’t keep her feet warm in bed at night. It didn’t rub her shoulders when she was tired. It didn’t listen—ever. It felt like a mantel trophy, stiff and lifeless and self-serving.

She looked back toward the dark windows of Sam’s Place. Where was Cork? She stood up, becoming afraid—not that she had driven him away but that maybe something had happened to him.

Headlights flashed on the road from Aurora. They came over the railroad tracks and fixed on her, so that she felt exposed. The vehicle pulled to a stop with the lights aimed directly at her. She shaded her eyes, in vain, because she could see nothing behind the glare. The headlights died, but her eyes were blind now in the sudden dark. She heard footsteps approaching.

“Rose told me you were here.”

Cork paused at the other end of the dock. She could see him now, standing in the moonlight.

“You went home?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason you came out here, I hope. Jo, I’m sorry.”

“No, Cork, no. I’m the one who’s sorry.” And she was moving toward him, and against him, holding him so tightly the thump of his heart felt as if it were her own. “I’m so thoughtless sometimes. I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”

“And I didn’t mean to stomp out.” His arms about her made her breathless. “Jo, I don’t want you to be afraid that I’d ever leave you again.”

“I don’t ever want to give you reason. I love you, Cork.” She was crying now, with relief and with gratitude, and it felt so good and right, and although something was flowing out of her, it seemed to be filling her up at the same time. “If you want to run for sheriff, I’ll be right there beside you. Only…”

“Only what?”

“You might not want me there. Wait here, Cork.” She kissed him, then went to her car. When she came back, she held out her hand. “Hell Hanover paid me a visit this afternoon. He brought me this.” The moonlight was bright enough that she knew Cork could see the horror she offered him. He had seen it before, a long time ago. And then he’d left. She was afraid he might leave again, but he had to know.

Cork looked at it, his face grave. “He’s the worst kind of coward, Jo.”

“He says you have to step back from the investigation of the bombing and refrain from running for sheriff, ever, or he’ll make that photograph public.”

Cork tore the photo in half.

“He’ll have others,” Jo said.

He brushed her hair softly with his hand. “We’ll figure a way to deal with Hell Hanover.”

“If people see that photograph, they’ll think differently about me, Cork. And maybe about you.”

“They’ve thought a lot of different things about me over the years. I can live with it.”

She put her arms around him and her cheek against his chest. “You know what I’m concerned about most? The girls. What kind of example am I? What will they think of their mother?”

“They’ll see that I love her, and they’ll understand that’s what’s important.”

“You do love me, Cork?”

“What is it?” he asked, hearing her uncertainty.

She released him, just a little. “In your sleep sometimes, you say her name.”

“Oh, Jo. I’m sorry.”

“Do you still love her?”

She was afraid he would turn away, address the hard truth in a way that would spare them both the discomfort of having to look into one another’s eyes, but he didn’t. He spoke in a voice soft and graceful as the moonlight.

“When she was in my life, she was all I had. But she’s gone now, and now I’m here with you. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, and no one else I’d rather be with. I do love you, Jo.”

She kissed him with a yielding of herself that was frightening and wonderful.

“What I know about the goodness of men,” she said
to him, “I know because of you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” She turned and leaned back into his embrace while she stared out across the dark water and the path across it the moon had paved. “Cork, I saw my mother alone, watched her give up little pieces of herself to men who didn’t care. I did that, too, once. It was the biggest mistake I ever made. The worst part of it was that I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t. I’ll be here. Always.”

“That sounds like a wedding vow.”

“No, this is a wedding vow.” Cork turned her and took her hands. “I, Cork, promise to love you with all my heart and all my soul, to cherish you and only you until death do us part.”

He waited. “If I remember correctly, this is where you come in.”

She looked into his eyes, eyes that reflected moonlight, and she wanted to say so much. “I… Jo,” she began slowly, “… promise to… to love, to honor, and to cherish you forever and ever. God, and the angels, and the stars in heaven as my witnesses, I promise I will. Oh, Cork, I promise.”

Although they had been an impulse, the vows seemed as real and as binding to Jo as if they’d been said in a church. She leaned to her husband and their lips touched in a moment that felt sacred to her.

“What now?” she asked.

Cork looked toward Sam’s Place. “The honeymoon?”

H
E SLEPT A LONG TIME
, and when he woke with Jo’s arm draped over him, he felt as if he’d never slept better. He lay on his side, Jo full against him. Her breath stirred the hair on the back of his neck. Her breasts pressed between his shoulder blades. The bone of her hip dug into the cheek of his butt. One leg was sandwiched between his own. Morning sunlight streamed through the window over the sink in the back of Sam’s Place. Everything had a golden hue. At that moment, Cork couldn’t remember ever having been happier.

Then the phone rang.

He felt Jo wake with a start. Instead of separating from him, she tightened her hold.

“Don’t answer it,” she whispered.

“All right.”

After five rings, the message machine clicked in. “Sam’s Place. Leave a message. I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”

“Cork, Wally Schanno here. Rose said you were out there. Give me a call. I’m at my office. It’s important.”

The quiet returned, and with it, Jo was wide awake. She kissed the back of his neck. “Don’t call him yet.”

He had no intention of doing so.

“I slept so well,” Jo murmured.

“Better than in ages.”

“Me, too.”

“I know why for me. I’m not afraid anymore, Cork. I don’t care what Hell Hanover does. I don’t care what people think.”

“We’ll figure a way to deal with old Hell.”

She squeezed him. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” He rolled over, kissed her gently. “You wouldn’t happen to be hungry, would you?”

“Famished.”

They showered together. Then, while Cork fried up eggs and frozen hash browns, Jo made coffee and called her office to say she’d be in late. They ate outside at the picnic table. The sun was high above the trees on the eastern shore of Iron Lake, but its brightness was cut to a pale yellow by the haze thick in the sky.

“I wonder what Wally wants,” Cork said.

“Time with Arletta, I imagine. He’s a man who has put his priorities in place. And you, Corcoran O’Connor, will assume his office.”

“I mean this morning.”

“You’ve had the answers so far. He probably wants a few more from you.” Jo’s eyes swung away. “Well, look who’s here.”

Jenny bounced over the railroad tracks on her bike and pedaled to the picnic table. She was breathing fast. Under her white-blond hair, her forehead glistened. She looked at them both with concern.

“Aunt Rose told me you were out here.”

“What is it?” her mother asked.

Jenny looked at them both and seemed relieved. “Nothing. You look so—happy.”

Her mother laughed. “Kiddo, you don’t know the half of it.”

• • •

An hour later, Cork walked into Wally Schanno’s office at the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department. Schanno wasn’t alone. Agent David Earl was there, and Karl Lindstrom, and a man Cork had known a long time, Lucky Knudsen, a captain with the Minnesota State Patrol out of the Eveleth district office. Earl smoked a cigarette and sat on the windowsill, where the crossbreeze carried the smoke outside. The other men were drinking coffee.

“‘Bout time,” Schanno said.

“And a good morning to you, too, Wally. Agent Earl, Karl. And hey there, Lucky. Been a while.”

“Yah, well, ya know how it goes, Cork.” He grasped Cork’s hand and gave it a strong shake.

“How’s Phoebe?”

“Pregnant.”

“Not again?”

“Yah. Seems all I got to do is look at her. Twins this time, the doctor’s saying.” He shook his blond head, then smiled broadly. “Not bad for a big dumb Scandahoovian.”

“What are you doing here, Lucky?”

Instead of answering, Knudsen nodded toward Schanno.

“I got a call this morning from the governor’s office,” the sheriff said. “The governor’s offered the services of the state patrol and anybody else we need up here. He’s worried things may get out of control.”

Cork waited. He knew there was more to it than that.

“Coffee?” Schanno asked.

“No thanks.”

“The deal is this, Cork. Karl is scheduled to speak this evening at the Quetico. The Northern Minnesota
Independent Business Association’s annual dinner. A hundred and fifty people in a large room. After what’s happened in the last few days, I’d prefer the gathering were canceled. But I spoke with Jay Werner down in Eveleth—he’s president of the association—and he insisted on going ahead, so long as Karl was willing. Well, Karl here is more than willing.”

Lindstrom said, “My only concern is the safety of everyone else.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Lucky Knudsen put in. “Delivering the guv’s promised manpower.”

Schanno said, “I don’t have enough deputies to ensure the security of something like this. But with Lucky’s officers, we can probably do what’ll need doing.

“Specifically, Agent Owen is out at the Quetico as we speak, securing the facility, which, with the help of the state police, will remain secured up to and throughout the event. We’ll have an officer at every entrance and exit. Only authorized staff or guests with invitations will be admitted to the building. Because Karl seems obviously the target, I’ve prevailed upon him to wear body armor.”

Cork nodded. A good idea. “So what am I doing here?”

“His idea.” Schanno waved toward Lindstrom.

“I’d be obliged if you would be at the Quetico tonight,” Lindstrom said. “I appreciate that yesterday you were willing to put yourself at risk for a guy who’d been pretty rough on you. I’m prepared to pay. Think of yourself as a hired bodyguard.”

“I’ll be there,” Cork replied without hesitation. “But you can forget about paying me.”

“Thanks, Cork.”

“Well, gentlemen,” Schanno said, rising from his chair. “We have a lot to do between now and this evening. I suggest we get started. Karl, I’d like you at the Quetico a good half an hour before festivities begin. We’ll get you suited up. And Lucky, when you know your roster, get back to me.”

“Will do, Wally. See you this evening, Cork. Say hello to Jo.”

Karl Lindstrom and Lucky Knudsen left Schanno’s office, but Agent David Earl lingered a moment on his perch on the windowsill. He was looking at Cork, not happily.

“Something on your mind?” Cork asked.

“O’Connor, I know about Burke’s Landing.”

“That was a while ago,” Schanno said from across the room.

“I’ve already expressed my concern to everyone else. I just want to be straight with you,” Earl went on. “There’s every intention of arming you this evening. I’m more than a little concerned about a man like you carrying a loaded weapon in a situation like this. But it’s not my call.”

He waited, as if expecting Cork to argue the point. Cork didn’t.

“Well. Until this evening, then.” Earl looked for a place to drop the last of his cigarette. Schanno offered him nothing, and Earl left, still holding the smoking butt.

“He doesn’t know you, Cork,” Wally Schanno said.

“He’s probably not alone in his thinking, Wally. People haven’t forgotten Burke’s Landing. I’m sure the truth is that there are probably a lot of them who’d
rather not see me ever strap on a gun belt or wear a badge.”

“Doesn’t matter who’s in this job—some people are going to feel that way.”

Cork walked to a window and stood gazing at the town. In the morning light, it had a quiet, peaceful look to it. Across the street, the bell tower of Zion Lutheran Church rose with simple grace. Beyond that were the stores on Center Street. And not far beyond that, the lake, cut by white sails and the white wake of motorboats. When he’d occupied that office, the view had been a reassuring one. He’d felt as if being sheriff were part of a larger concept, sometimes as difficult to understand and to justify as the mysterious ways of God and Kitchimanidoo, but the purpose of which was clear to him—to help people live their lives with peace of mind. It hadn’t been an idea with a lot of grandeur to it, no more far-reaching than the boundaries of Tamarack County, yet it had been a part of who he was—until a few confused moments on a cold morning at a place called Burke’s Landing had left two men dead and brought to an end much of the way Cork thought about everything.

Even in his bitterness afterward, he’d never blamed Schanno for taking the badge. It was just the circumstances; it was just the time. And since his fall from grace, Cork had managed to put his life back together again. Did he really want to be back in that office with that view? Hadn’t Burke’s Landing or the years since taught him anything?