Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek (25 page)

T
he sheriff was walking down the street away from Mrs. Hargrove's place when he got a bad feeling that this cold gray morning was going to bring him more trouble than it already had. It was about ten o'clock and both booster seats were slung over his back, one resting on each shoulder. Bobby was holding onto the left edge of the sheriff's jacket.

Barbara was walking on the sheriff's other side and she held Amanda's hand in hers. Earlier, the sheriff had tried to balance both booster seats on one shoulder so he'd have one arm to swing in unison with Barbara's just in case she could be convinced to hold his hand to keep her fingers warm. He'd almost dropped both seats before he decided any hand-holding would have to wait for another chilly spring day. It was March, so another day like today would come
along soon enough so that wasn't what was troubling him.

No, the bad feeling he had wasn't about the weather. The sheriff wondered if it was nothing more than a sense of being fenced in. He was surrounded by a woman and her children. It was an unusual place for him. Maybe he felt trapped. No, he realized, as he tried the idea on in his mind to see if it fit. It wasn't that way at all.

In fact, he kind of liked this feeling he had, and if this was what trapped felt like, then it was okay with him. A man could get used to being pulled in all directions and having little voices fire off questions at him while he kept his eyes on the ruts in the road just to be sure he didn't lead one of the children to make a misstep that would cause them to take a tumble.

No, it definitely wasn't feeling trapped that was the problem, the sheriff thought as he looked up from the ruts. When he raised his eyes, he saw where the danger really was. It was coming straight at them and moving fast.

Pete Denning was stomping down the street, swinging his arms and muttering things that were probably curses, although the sheriff couldn't hear the actual words so he didn't know for sure. Even from a distance, the sheriff could feel Pete's eyes glare at him. Some thing was wrong. And, whatever was
wrong, the sheriff figured Pete thought the sheriff was it.

A wind was blowing around a few things that rustled and a dog was barking some where, but the sheriff still thought he caught the sound of a soft growl coming from Pete's throat—which was odd, since Pete was wearing a white shirt that was so well pressed that it had creases down the long sleeves. It wasn't the kind of shirt that a man would normally wear if he was planning to make trouble. Added to that, the ranch hand's boots were polished until they looked like they'd just come out of the store's box.

Unless the sheriff was mistaken, Pete was even wearing that belt buckle he had won in the rodeo in Miles City last year. That buckle was Pete's pride and joy. He kept it dangling from the mirror in his old pickup, vowing it was too good to wear.

Pete was dressed like he was going to a funeral, but the sheriff was never wrong about the fighting look in a man's eyes, and Pete had that look all over him.

Pete stopped a few yards away from the sheriff and braced his legs.

The sheriff didn't have room to get into a good fighting stance, not with Barbara on one side of him and Bobby on the other. Even if he could get ready to fight, he wasn't about to fight a Dry Creek citizen
without knowing what the other man was so agitated about anyway.

“Is there a problem?” the sheriff asked in what he hoped was a friendly tone. Until the sheriff knew Pete's intentions, he wasn't going a step closer to the man. And before he moved, he would see that Barbara and the children were out of harm's way and he'd put down those booster seats on some dry patch of ground so they wouldn't be damaged.

After that, if Pete was still determined to brawl, the sheriff wouldn't back down

“Is it about the permit for your pickup?” the sheriff prodded when Pete was silent.

“You know it's not about the pickup,” Pete ground out and then spat on the ground. “It's about you making fools out of all of the rest of us guys. You just wanted a head start. You and your phony year of peace.”

“Oh, goodness, what's that?” Barbara asked as she moved up until she was even with the sheriff. She was still holding Amanda's hand. “Is the sheriff's department sponsoring some campaign for non-violence or something? I could make a flyer.”

The sheriff had a sinking feeling that he knew what year Pete was referring to. “The sheriff's department always sponsors non-violence.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Well, it's only Pete,” Barbara finally said as she
took a step closer to the man and smiled at him. “How's everything today?”

Pete ground his teeth into a smile. “Good morning, ma'am. Everything's just fine.”

“Please, call me Barbara. Everyone does.”

Pete nodded at Barbara without taking his eyes off the sheriff. “I'm just wondering if some folks standing here don't call you something a little more affection ate than Barbara.”

Barbara gasped. “Why—”

The sheriff lowered the booster seats to the ground and took a step closer to Pete. He motioned for Barbara and the children to step back. Pete looked determined to fight and the sheriff wasn't feeling as opposed to it as he had at first.

Then he heard a boy's thin voice coming from behind him.

“I call her Mommy some times,” Bobby confessed in a rush. “I know I'm not supposed to—I'm going to start calling her Mom. The other boys call their mommys Mom instead of—well, you know. Now that I'm seven, I'm too old for a Mommy. The other boys told me so.”

Pete's eyes softened as he looked past the sheriff and down at the boy. “I wasn't worried about you. I think it's great that you call her Mommy.”

“I call her ma'am,” the sheriff said. He knew
it wasn't always true, but usually it was. “Or Mrs. Strong if it's an official matter.”

The sheriff might wish he called her something more affection ate, at least when she was able to hear him, but the truth was that he didn't have the nerve. The only times he had called her “dear,” she'd been in the hospital so doped up with pain medication that she wouldn't have heard a drum if it was beating nearby. A “dear” like that didn't count for anything but dreaming.

The sheriff would fight a man if he had to, but he drew the line at fighting anyone over something that hadn't even happened.

“I'm not really Mrs. Strong any more,” Barbara offered.

“Well, I'll call you Mrs. or Miss whatever you want,” the sheriff said.

It occurred to the sheriff that he'd been a little disrespectful here. He hadn't even asked Barbara if she objected to being called Mrs. Strong. That's what the FBI called her, and he had gotten into the habit of referring to her by the same name. He'd change that though. “Are you going back to your real name? The one you had before you got married? You should let the post office know.”

“Forget about names. Can we get back to our problem?” Pete said from where he stood. “I haven't got all day.”

The sheriff could tell the ranch hand was weakening in his anger. Confusion would do that to a man. “I don't have all day either.”

“We have to finish delivering the bakery orders so we can meet for dinner to work on the sheriff's campaign,” Barbara informed Pete.

Pete frowned. “You're going to dinner together to work?”

Barbara nodded. “I'm helping with a flyer for the campaign.”

“So, it's not a date like Charley said?” Pete asked.

“Why would he think that?” Now Barbara frowned. “It's a working dinner. To get the vote out. I thought the men in Dry Creek saw women as equals. You wouldn't object to a man having dinner with the sheriff to discuss the campaign, but the minute a woman does it, you question her integrity!”

The sheriff was a little distracted by the pink flush that anger brought to Barbara's face. He didn't suppose that now was the time to remark on how cute she looked though. “No one's questioning your integrity.”

Barbara turned on the sheriff. “He thinks we're going on a date!”

For the life of him, the sheriff couldn't think why that was such a bad idea.

“So, it's not a date?” Pete asked again more cau
tiously. The ranch hand shifted his weight. He didn't look ready to fight anymore. He did have a grin growing on his face though.

The sheriff wondered how a grin could annoy him so much. “It could be a date.”

Pete chuckled. “Not if it's just to get the vote out.”

The sheriff grunted. “Nobody votes around here anyway.”

“I voted last election,” Pete said. His smile grew even wider. “Of course, I voted for Santa Claus.”

“Well, you need to vote for the sheriff,” Barbara scolded him.

“Why?” Pete said with a shrug. “He's going to get the job anyway. I didn't want to waste my vote.”

“Do you know Santa Claus?” Amanda's small voice interrupted.

Pete shifted his feet and knelt down so he was eye level with the girl. “Well, now, I've been known to write the old fellow a letter or two in my day. I reckon he still remembers me. Did you want me to send him a message?”

Amanda nodded. “Bobby says I'm too old for Santa Claus.”

“It's only March. Christmas is more than half a year away,” the sheriff said. He didn't like that Bobby had slid away from his side and was now leaning
against the ranch hand too. “There's no need to send a message now.”

“I don't know,” Pete drawled as he winked at Bobby and Amanda. “Like they say, the early bird gets the worm.”

“Yuck, I don't want a worm,” Amanda said. “Unless it's a princess worm. But it would have to have a crown.”

Pete nodded thought fully. “With diamonds? I think all princesses wear diamond tiaras. I don't know about worm princesses though. Diamonds would be too heavy for their heads. And they're expensive. Where would a worm get enough money to buy a diamond?”

Amanda giggled. “You're silly.”

The sheriff knew before he turned his head that Barbara was smiling at the ranch hand the same as her children. What was it about Pete, the sheriff wondered, that made women and children like him so much?

The sheriff was beginning to regret that there wasn't going to be a fight. Taking a swing at the ranch hand would make the sheriff feel a lot better about now.

 

Barbara hadn't heard Amanda giggle very often lately. Pete was right about diamonds. They were expensive. She remembered the diamond engagement
and wedding ring set that she had tucked away in her things in the back room of the bakery. She and Neal had bought a matching set of three expensive rings. She wondered how much the two she had would be worth if she sold them. She should get enough money to buy a nice dining room table and chairs.

Barbara would get more if she had Neal's ring to add to it though, because then she'd have all three rings. Maybe she could buy carpet for the floor, too. She wondered what Neal had done with his ring and if he'd give it to her to buy carpet.

After Amanda's giggle faded, Pete stood up again.

“We'd best get going,” the sheriff announced.

Barbara nodded. Since she'd probably see Neal today, she'd just flat out ask him for his ring. That was the best thing to do. He certainly didn't need it as a souvenir.

 

Three hours later, the sheriff sat with his hat in his hands and watched the children. Amanda and Bobby were sitting in a corner of the visitors' area at the Billings prison. Bobby was reading to Amanda from his book.

For the first time all day, the sheriff wished there was someone else to watch the children so he could pay more attention to Barbara as she talked to her ex-husband through the Plexiglas. The sheriff
wondered how, since he was sitting so far away from both of them, he was supposed to know that her ex-husband didn't pass her any messages.

Of course, the janitor sweeping back and forth near Barbara and her ex-husband was an FBI man, so the sheriff figured he'd find out soon enough if any messages had been passed. He just wasn't sure he liked the fact that Barbara's voice was low and he couldn't hear what she was saying. He could see that Neal Strong was smiling, and he hadn't even opened the card that went with the cake. No, it sure looked to the sheriff that Neal was smiling just because Barbara was there talking to him.

 

Barbara bit her lip. She could see Neal's face clearly through the Plexiglas and could tell he was trying to be pleasant. He obviously knew, as she did, that they were being closely watched.

The visitors' room in the jail had tall ceilings and a faint echo. A row of chairs on her side matched the openings in a long counter with Plexiglas windows. It all smelled of cigarette smoke. There were two other visits going on at the same time that Barbara sat there.

“I thought the children would do better with their homework if they had a table to sit at,” Barbara said in a low voice. She'd just asked Neal if she could have his wedding ring.

Neal shrugged. His eyes were rimmed with weariness and his face was unshaven. “Sure. Sell it. I had it on when I came in here. They have it up front some place.”

Barbara nodded. “I'll tell the kids that you wanted to help with the table.”

“Yeah, well. What ever.”

Barbara thought she saw guilt in Neal's eyes.

“I didn't exactly plan for it all to end this way,” Neal finally said. “They're good kids.”

Barbara nodded. “Yes, they are.”

“I'm glad you came so I could tell you that,” Neal said.

Neal looked over her shoulder and Barbara knew he was watching the children where they sat in the corner.

“I wouldn't have except for the cake,” Barbara said. She didn't want Neal to think everything was forgiven and for got ten. She'd never forget.

Barbara had given the cake to the guard when she first arrived for the visit. The sheriff had told everyone about the card so Neal was allowed to have the cake and card. Barbara assumed the FBI was hoping Neal would respond to the card and give them some kind of a tip. But Neal didn't. He didn't even seem to notice the cake.