Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek (27 page)

“I'll just go on back to where the children are,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she walked through the doorway and headed toward the back room. “You two have fun now.”

The sheriff noticed that that thought seemed to alarm Barbara.

“We're going to work on a slogan,” Barbara turned to say the older woman.

Mrs. Hargrove didn't even break her stride as she walked across the floor toward the back room. “You'll come up with a good one, too.”

Mrs. Hargrove entered the back room, and the sheriff heard the excited shrieks of the children.

“I see they woke up,” he said, wishing for the tenth time today that he'd been born with the gift of gab. He'd never seen the use of chitchat before tonight. But now he was coming to appreciate the skill of making small talk, even though he didn't have any of it.

Barbara nodded. “I fed them a sandwich earlier.”

The sheriff nodded. “Do you need to do anything else before we go? Because I can wait if you need. That's no problem.”

The sheriff paused for breath. He sure wondered what Pete Denning would say to a woman in this same situation. “You did something different with your hair. It's nice.” The sheriff wondered if that was adequate. “Real nice.”

Barbara smiled as she lifted one of her hands to her hair. “Thanks. And I guess I'm ready. Just let me go get my shawl. It looks cold out side.”

The sheriff nodded. “It is a little chilly.”

The sheriff watched Barbara walk across the floor to the doorway of the back room. He hoped he could catch his breath while she was back there. He didn't want to give the impression that he couldn't walk a few steps without being winded. Especially now, because he planned to offer his arm to Barbara for the walk down the street to the café. He'd decided when he put the suit on earlier that it would be the proper thing to do.

If he didn't get his wind back though, she might think he was offering his arm so that she could steady him. That wasn't the impression he wanted to give. Not at all. He took another deep breath. This one sat easier inside. Mrs. Hargrove was right. He'd do fine.

B
arbara hadn't stepped completely through the door into the café before she knew something was wrong. She'd walked into this same café hundreds of times in the past five months, and she'd never seen it look like this.

Usually on Saturday evenings, Linda added a candle to each table. But she also had fluorescent tube lighting in the ceiling that streamed down and gave everything a homey appearance. The candles were only an accent. No one actually ate by candlelight.

The Dry Creek Café wasn't a romantic place. It had a black-and-white-checked linoleum floor, and even with the white table cloths Linda used on Saturday nights, it looked like a place where one would go to order a ham burger with friends instead of a gourmet meal with a date. In fact, the usual Saturday-night
specials were bacon cheese burgers and T-bone steaks.

But tonight was different. The lighting was so low no one could see the person in front of them, let alone the color of the floor at their feet. Soft instrumental music was playing on the stereo Linda kept in the kitchen. Even Linda herself was transformed. Instead of wearing her usual T-shirt and jeans, she was wearing a black dress with a white collar and a white bib apron. Linda's hair was drawn back into a bun and clipped with a gold barrette.

“Isn't anyone else having dinner?” Barbara whispered when she and the sheriff walked past Linda. Usually, the café had a half dozen people in it at this hour. In the past month or so, Linda had even been talking about hiring extra help. Saturday was the big night for people in Dry Creek to go out to dinner. The place shouldn't be empty.

“The Redferns were in earlier and ate,” Linda said calmly as she closed the door behind Barbara and the sheriff. “Oh, and the Curtis family were here, too. And the Martins.”

“But it's not even dinner time yet, and they're all finished,” Barbara said. She couldn't believe it. “What about the Elktons? They always come in around this time on Saturday night. They're like clock work.”

“They ordered takeout tonight. I just gave them their bag not five minutes ago.”

“Takeout? No one ever orders takeout here.”

Linda shrugged and gestured for Barbara and the sheriff to sit at the one table that had been moved to the center of the room. It was clearly a table for two, its size small enough for close conversation. Usually, large group tables sat in the middle of the café floor. Barbara knew the smaller table had been placed there especially for her and the sheriff. Someone had even stuck a long red rose in a silver vase and put it in the center of the table. For good measure, there was a doily under the vase.

“My best table,” Linda said as she pulled back one of the straight-back chairs.

The sheriff stayed standing until Barbara sat down and then he moved closer to settle her chair under the table.

When the sheriff finished pushing in her chair, he went back and sat in the other chair.

“Our specials tonight are garlic-roasted pork loin or grilled Atlantic salmon. Both are served with cream of asparagus soup and a nice rice pilaf,” Linda announced.

“Cream of asparagus soup,” Barbara repeated. What had happened to the chili burgers and tuna melts? Even the steaks Linda offered on Saturday nights were usually served with fries. People in Dry Creek didn't eat much rice pilaf. She was sure they didn't eat asparagus soup. “That sounds good.”

“Which would you like?” the sheriff asked.

“I'll take the salmon,” Barbara answered.

“Make that two,” the sheriff said.

Linda nodded and walked back to the kitchen area.

Barbara waited until she and the sheriff were alone before she whispered, “Did you make some kind of special reservations for dinner to night?”

The sheriff shook his head. “I didn't make any reservations at all—no one has ever needed reservations here before. I did mention to Mrs. Hargrove what time we were planning to eat, but that was only because she needed to know so she could watch the children.”

“I'd guess that more people than Mrs. Hargrove know that we're having dinner here tonight at six-thirty,” Barbara said.

The sheriff nodded. “I'm glad I wore my suit.” He looked at Barbara and smiled. “I would hate to waste all of this on my uniform. Linda's gone to a lot of work.”

“Pork loin and salmon? I guess we should feel honored,” Barbara said.

Barbara knew there was a general misunderstanding being spread around Dry Creek. No one else had private dining in the café. Either she or the sheriff had the measles, or there was some other reason they were being left alone tonight.

“They think we're on a date,” Barbara stated the obvious.

“Maybe we are,” the sheriff said.

“I don't think—”

“We're both dressed up and eating together by candlelight at a table with a fresh rose on it,” the sheriff declared. “And people are worried about our privacy. Oh, yeah, we're on a date.”

“Well, may be—but it's a business date. To figure out a campaign slogan.”

The sheriff shrugged. “We can do that, too. It shouldn't take long. How about Vote for the Sheriff?”

“You at least need to have your name with it,” Barbara pro tested. “People might vote for your competition instead if you're not clear.”

“I don't have any competition. Besides, people always call me the sheriff. Mrs. Hargrove is the only one who uses my name.”

“Oh.” Barbara blinked. That didn't seem quite right to her somehow. “Everyone should have a name that people use.”

“Folks around here just know me as the sheriff.”

Barbara smiled. “But what if you weren't the sheriff, what then?”

The sheriff looked at her as though she'd suggested the unthinkable. “I've been the sheriff here for fifteen years—ever since I was twenty-one.”

A loud noise interrupted them. It sounded as if several pots and pans had fallen on the floor in the kitchen. Barbara's suspicions were con firmed when she saw Linda poke her head out of the kitchen door. Linda's black dress was still neat, but her hair looked like she'd been through a whirl wind. The bun was gone and strands of dark hair fluttered around her face.

“I'm sorry for the racket,” Linda said, a little breathlessly. “I'll have your soup out in a minute. I just need to whip up some more—if I can find some more asparagus back there. I thought I bought more.”

“Don't worry about the soup,” the sheriff said.

“But we wanted the dinner to be special for you,” Linda fretted. “Especially since it's your first date and all.”

The sheriff put his hand over the one Barbara had on the table as though to stop the words he knew were ready to come out of her mouth. She supposed he was right. No one believed her when she said it wasn't a date anyway.

“We're doing just fine here,” the sheriff said.

Barbara nodded. “We'd be fine with hamburgers and fries too, if that's easier for you.”

“You would?” Linda said. She looked relieved.

“I've always liked the hamburgers here,” the sheriff
said. “Some of the best in the stat e—especially the ones with the pepper jack cheese on them.”

Barbara wondered how long the sheriff expected to keep his hand over hers. He'd probably for got ten that he even had it there, and she knew he had only put it there as a request that she be silent, but she still thought he should move it. It was causing her to feel, well, warm for one thing. Plus, it was also causing her to remember that kiss the sheriff had given her when she was in the hospital. He'd never even mentioned it since. The man must make a habit of making gestures that he never acknowledged.

“You're a flirt,” Barbara said when Linda had gone back into the kitchen. The sheriff's hand still cradled hers.

“What?” The sheriff seemed astonished.

Barbara nodded. “You could move your hand. I got your message. But you just leave it there like you don't even know that it's there. Conveniently for got ten. It's just like that kiss you gave me in the hospital. You do it and then you don't even bother to acknowledge it.”

“I—” The sheriff cleared his throat.

Barbara nodded again for emphasis. “I suppose you're worried that I'll mistake them for something they are not, so you don't even mention them. But it's only polite to at least acknowledge that something happened—”

“I—” The sheriff looked a little short of breath again.

Maybe that's why he still hadn't moved his hand.

“You should know that I am not foolish enough to read anything into a kiss—no matter how good it was—or to make something over a little hand-holding, even if it is in public,” Barbara stated.

The sheriff's hand moved, only not in the direction Barbara had anticipated. Instead of moving away, his hand moved around until he had hers firmly in his grasp. “You thought the kiss was good, huh?”

The sheriff didn't look at all as though he had trouble breathing now. He even grinned.

Barbara wondered if she was the one who needed some air. “You were very good to me when I was in the hospital—I'm grateful for that.”

Barbara remembered how close she'd felt to the sheriff then. She'd told him all her secrets. She'd never told Neal things like that, not even in the early days when she'd still loved him. The sheriff had heard all her dreams and her fears. She'd thought later that it was the pain medication that had loosened her tongue. She usually didn't trust men with her inner thoughts. But maybe it had been something more. It was odd that sitting across the table from him now in this darkened café, she was starting to feel close again.

“I don't need your gratitude,” the sheriff said as
he moved his hand away. His grin was gone. “It's my job to help people.”

Barbara wondered when it had gotten so cold in the room. Then someone opened the outside door and enough wind blew in to lower the temperature even more.

“Who turned the lights off?” a man's voice said from where he stood by the open door.

The room was so dark that it was hard to see the man clearly. Barbara thought she recognized Pete Denning, but she wasn't sure until she saw the reflection from that gold-plated belt buckle of his.

“We're closed,” Linda said as she walked out from the kitchen and into the main café area.

“How can you be closed when they're here?” Pete said as he took a step into the café. “Besides, they're the ones I wanted to see.”

“Is there trouble some where?” the sheriff asked, as he began to rise from the table.

“Probably,” Pete said as he walked over to their table. “But I'm not here about trouble. I'm here to do my civic duty.”

The sheriff sat back down and asked cautiously, “What civic duty would that be?”

“You never do your civic duty, Peter Denning, and don't you pretend otherwise,” Linda said as she walked further into the room. She had a spatula in
one hand and she waved it around for emphasis. “Why, you don't even vote.”

“I voted last election,” Pete pro tested.

Barbara thought he sounded a little self-righteous.

Linda snorted. “I heard. You voted for Santa Claus. All the slots—even the school board members.”

Pete grinned. “Well, I figure Santa's been good to me, and it's the least I can do for him. The old man seems to have an image problem around here.”

“That's because he's not a real person,” Linda said as she pointed at Pete with the spatula. “No one votes for someone who isn't real.”

Pete grinned even wider. “Half of the politicians in the world aren't real either. They're just images created by their public relations staff. At least Santa Claus is around from year to year and doesn't take a dive on the voters.”

“Well, I don't care who you vote for, you just can't do it tonight. Not here. We have an exclusive party here.” Linda said as she marched up to Pete and took his elbow in her hand so that he had to rise up from the chair he'd pulled close to the table. “If you drive around to the alley in back, I can give you a take-out ham burger through the back window.”

“Like a drive-in?” Pete said in amazement. He
stopped walking. “Since when do you do a drive-in business?”

“Since we have a date in the front dining room—” Linda ground out the words.

Barbara didn't even think about protesting. She was having too much fun watching Linda and Pete grimace at each other. She was going to have to ask Linda if Pete was the man who had left her brokenhearted some years ago. There certainly seemed to be something between the two of them. Maybe it wasn't as hopeless as Linda thought.

“They aren't on a date,” Pete said as he shook his arm free from Linda's hand. “It's a business meeting to set up a slogan for the sheriff's political campaign. Barbara told me that her self.”

Pete looked at Barbara, and she felt she had to nod in confirmation even though by now she was confused as to what this evening was.

“It's both a date and a campaign meeting,” the sheriff finally said as he ran his finger under his collar and loosened his tie. “The one thing it sure isn't, however, is dinner.” The sheriff smiled toward Linda before turning to Pete. “Not that it won't be dinner just as soon as you let the cook get back to her cooking.”

“Well, I guess I could settle for a ham burger to go,” Pete said grudgingly. “I'm just trying to figure out what's what around here.”

Barbara could sympathize with the ranch hand.

“I'll throw in a batch of fries if you wait out back,” Linda offered Pete as she gestured toward the door.

Pete lifted an eyebrow, but he did begin to walk toward the door. “With some of that barbecue sauce on the side?”

“I know how you like your fries,” Linda said.

Barbara couldn't help but notice that the ranch hand turned around to watch Linda as she walked back into the kitchen. And when he did, he had a vulnerable look on his face that made Barbara wonder.