The Past Came Hunting (36 page)

Chapter Fifty-eight

The morning after the shooting, Mel sat up in her hospital bed, her injured arm bandaged and in a sling. She tried not to frown as yet another nurse came in to take her blood pressure. “Excuse me,” Mel said. “Can you tell me when the doctor will be by? It’s been three days since I’ve seen my son, and I want to go home.”

The nurse patted her arm. “You’re not the doctor’s only patient, dear. Try to relax and I’ll give him a call.”

Mel looked to the ceiling and blew out a frustrated breath.

“She’s right, Mom,” the young man said in the doorway. “You need to
chillax
.”

Mel squealed and held out her good arm. “Luke! Oh my God. Luke!” Her son crossed the room and she crushed him in her one-armed embrace. For days she’d been crying tears of sorrow, today she shed happy ones. Brushing the blond hair out of his eyes, she studied the endearing face she thought she might never see again. “I was so worried about you.”

“
You
were? What do you think you did to me? You made the papers, Mom. The kids at school are calling you an Amazon warrior. They think it’s pretty sweet you brought down an ex-con as bad as Maxwell.”

She blushed at her son’s praise, but wasn’t about to take all the credit. “Actually Lt. Crandall had something to do with it, and so did the bank manager.” Dorothy Hayward, the woman who’d used the bank ledger to bring Maxwell’s rampage to a halt, had paid Mel a visit earlier that morning. Mel’s silent plea for help had gotten Dorothy’s attention, and it was then that she said she’d recognized the vulgar man who’d pretended to be a potential bank customer the day before.

“I would’ve done much, much more to keep you safe,” Mel said.

It was Luke’s turn to turn red. “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought company.”

Supporting herself with her good arm, she shifted awkwardly. Joe and Matt stood in the outside hall. She smiled and waved them inside.

Matt entered the room, bobbing his head like the proverbial cool cat. “Somebody must have connections. Check out all these flowers.”

“You think?” Mel laughed. Her boss had spared no expense to fill the hospital room with exquisite arrangements. Lenora Sims had sent her a bouquet, too.

Across the room, Luke rifled through all the well wishes and zoned in on a box of chocolate. “Crandall, get over here.”

Joe used the boys’ distraction to join her in a chair by the bed. “How’s the arm?”

“It looks pretty awful, but they tell me it’s just a flesh wound, and I’ll be fine.” She winked. “Want to see?”

“No. I faint at the sight of blood. Especially yours.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Then turning it, he kissed her palm. “I thought I’d go out of my mind, Mel.”

She squeezed his hand. “Did I thank you, Joe? When I think of everything I stood to lose, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

He rose from the chair, scooted next to her and pulled her into his arms. “No problem. I’ve already come up with the terms. You’re not leaving my bed for weeks.”

She looked toward the boys and sent Joe a censuring look.

As much as she’d tried to banish the memories of the last two days, they surfaced. “That man named Ramirez?” she asked. The moment he’d heard sirens, the gang leader had fled the scene.

“He’s in custody. The Sheriff’s office provided backup and cornered him a few miles from the bank. He made a critical mistake in bragging to you about killing one of his gang members. We’ve located Ernesto Sanchez’s body. Ramirez will be going away for a very long time.”

Sagging with relief, she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Drake Maxwell was dead; Ramirez was going back to prison. That’s all she needed to know. “Good. Can we talk about something else then, please?”

“Love to. Let’s talk about us.”

Us.
The word conjured up all the longing and dread she’d been avoiding in recent weeks. She emitted a bitter, humorless laugh. “As much as I’m grateful you kept me and my son alive, Lieutenant, I’m afraid there’s still no
us
.”

“I don’t agree,” Joe said.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Bruce Bennett stood in the doorway. At the D.A.’s presence, Mel yanked her hand out of Joe’s. She stiffened, expecting him to move away as well. When he remained steadfast by her side, the logical part of her brain cried
your career
, while the part that was in love, rejoiced.

“May I come in?” the prosecutor asked. In his left hand he carried a briefcase.

She looked to the boys. There was no way she would rehash the events of her kidnapping in front of them, or let Bennett insinuate she was a criminal in front of her son. Luke had been through enough. “This isn’t a good time, Mr. Bennett.” She lowered her voice and lifted an eyebrow. “Do I need a lawyer? I’m not seventeen anymore, and I promise you, he
won’t
be a public defender.”

Luke and Matt paused in their chocolate raid across the room.

“No. You don’t need a criminal lawyer, but perhaps a civil one to see to certain aspects taking place. Also, when you’re ready, Mrs. Norris, the police department and the district attorney’s office have a little gift we’d like to bestow on you.”

“Really?” Luke tossed a piece of chocolate back into the box, and wandered close to her bedside. “Mom, talk to the man.”

She eyed Joe warily, then refocused on Bennett. “What kind of civil aspect? Is someone suing me? And what could you possibly mean about a gift?”

“It’s a plaque actually,” the D.A. said. He opened the briefcase to remove a framed award. “It reads, ‘In grateful appreciation, the City of Colorado Springs acknowledges Melanie Norris for her part in the apprehension of the Chaos Bandits.’ Signed The Honorable Sanderson Carter, Mayor, Arthur Gallegos, Chief of Police and Bruce Bennett, El Paso County District Attorney.”

She couldn’t be hearing right. Stunned, she reached for the plaque, blinking away the

tears that blurred her vision. But it was true, signatures and all. Wondering if one could die of happiness, she ran a finger over the lettering. “Wow. Oh, wow.”

Joe kissed her forehead and tightened his hold.

“One more thing,” the D.A. went on. “The CSPD thought of one more way it might show its gratitude.” He removed a manila envelope and handed it to her.

“I can’t look.” Overwhelmed, she passed it to Joe.

He opened it and inspected the pages. In a husky voice, he said, “It’s a petition, Mel, containing a boatload of signatures by quite a few men and women on the force.”

“A petition? To whom?”

“The governor.” His Adam’s apple convulsed as he struggled to speak. “It’s a request to expunge your criminal conviction.”

The culmination of the past few days and that remarkable act of kindness renewed the water works. She stifled a sob. Expunge? It was more than she’d ever dreamt of. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” Bruce said, pointing. “As a matter of fact, if you’ll look here, the signatures include not only the police department, but the employees of the Department of Corrections. Notice the first signature.

She leaned over to view the papers in Joe’s hands. At Warden Simon River’s influential scrawl, she knew their friendship was intact and her heart overflowed.

“Members of my staff insisted on signing as well,” the D.A. said.

Mel pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “I―I don’t know what to say Mr. Bennett, thank you.”

The D.A. made an awkward attempt to move toward her, then stopped. She’d never seen him exhibit the least bit of timidity, but he did so now. He cleared his throat. “I’m running for office, Mrs. Norris. Joe’s a good friend, and in the future, we’re bound to cross paths.

“Since you’re soon to be a voting member of society, I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d call me Bruce.” He did step closer then. “And maybe someday you might even find it in your heart to think of me as someone you can trust.”

Mel supposed this was the closest thing to an apology she would ever receive from this man. Reconciling his cold, unfeeling treatment of her in the past would take a very forgiving person. But Bennett had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble on her behalf. She swallowed hard, grateful the doctor chose that moment to enter.

Release forms in hand, he said, “I understand someone’s anxious to go home. But since you’re throwing a party, I can back later.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” The knowledge that he was joking didn’t quell her anxiety or the fact she’d been stuck in this bed for an entire day. Mel extended her good hand for the clipboard. “No offense, Doctor, but I’m sick of your hospital.”

Epilogue

Melanie shoveled compost into a large rectangular ceramic pot and smiled as Joe’s daughter added her share. Mel was showing Trish how to transplant individual herbs from their tiny plastic containers into a transportable herb garden, which the girl could take home with her at the end of the summer. By the intense look on the soon to be twelve-year-old’s face, she was enjoying the process.

Cradling the root ball, Mel held it close to the girl’s nose “Smell, Trish.”

She sniffed and scrunched up her face. “What is it?”

“Sage,” Mel said. “Later, we’ll make potpourri if you like.”

“Cool,” she replied.

Footsteps sounded above in the kitchen and Trish raised her pretty brunette head.

“That’ll be your dad,” Mel said.

“Where is everybody?” Joe called from the kitchen door.

Mel winked at the girl. “On three.” In unison, they hollered, “Down here,
Commander
.”

His footfalls on her wooden steps sounded like an army of elephants. Smiling, Joe met Mel’s gaze, then that of his daughter’s as he entered the basement. “I’d tell you to stop with the commander jazz, but when my two favorite ladies say it...”

Trish, who’d flown in to spend the next three months with her dad, grinned up at him. He brushed the dirt off her face with the pad of his thumb.

“I happen to think it’s great when a daughter’s proud of her father,” Mel countered.

“Me, too. But I’ve been a commander for three months now. Hey, you,” Joe said to Trish. “Mrs. Harmon’s out front waiting to take you and Lindsey swimming.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Sweet. See you later, Melanie.”

Her footsteps were considerably lighter than Joe’s as she tore up the stairs.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice she didn’t say goodbye to me. You’ve created a monster there, woman.” He took in the plant-filled basement, which he’d warned was on the verge of becoming a rain forest.

“As long as she likes me, I’d say it’s worth it, wouldn’t you?”

He glanced down. “Wearing your ring?”

“Right here, Com―Joe,” she said, teasing him and tugging off her left work glove.

He held her hand, turning it to admire the pear-shaped diamond. Then bringing her hand to his lips, he brushed them over her knuckles, which left her anticipating later.

“Feel like taking a drive with me?” he asked.

With the boys practicing in Denver for an invitational tournament and Trish off with friends, Mel’s Saturday was suddenly free. She pulled off her other glove and set it upon the shelf over her grow boxes and next to the humidity gauge. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

He lowered his head to kiss her. “You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later when they turned on to Thirtieth Street, Mel wondered if he’d planned a walk in The Garden of the Gods. But before he got to the national landmark, famous for its three-hundred-foot red sandstone formations, he traveled farther west toward the mountains.

It was early June and snow still capped Pikes Peak. Wherever Joe was taking her, it didn’t matter. Some things never changed. Alone-time with Joe was a precious commodity.

As he drove the Mustang through a neighborhood zoned for horse property, Mel let him have his fun.

Some of the surrounding homes were well-maintained, while others had major landscaping issues. Still, others needed paint and major exterior renovations.

Finally, when Joe turned into the loosely graveled drive, which technically had more dirt than rock, her curiosity couldn’t be silenced. “Okay. What gives?”

He drove down the path and parked in front of an enormous colonial-type house set back from the driveway. With ample parking, it had two-stories and a three-car garage, but clearly the structure, which wept for several coats of paint, had to be more than fifty years old.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She stared up at the potential cash drain, in truth, a little horrified. “Is it haunted?”

“I hope not,” Joe replied. “It’s for sale.”

“No! Somebody’s willing to give up all
this
?”

“Funny. I thought you were a woman with an open mind. You staying in here, or coming with me?”

“I haven’t decided.” But even as she said it, she stepped out of the car.

They toured the house, which thankfully didn’t need as much upkeep on the inside as it did on the outside. Warped, scuffed-up wood floors, an outdated kitchen, five bedrooms and four full bathrooms, the unloved home had family written all over it. And if someone had taken better care of it, it might have been a showplace.

They climbed the circular staircase to the bedrooms. And when Joe opened the door to the master, she gasped. This room, too, required updating, but it was more of a suite than a bedroom. Her mind was already at work taking down the hideous orange and gold wallpaper.

Joe walked to the window and looked out to what she suspected was the backyard. “What do you think of the view?”

She came to stand beside him, ready to ask what they could possibly do with an old barn, when she saw it. “Oh my gosh, is that a greenhouse back there?”

Returning one of his typical half-smiles, he said, “You’d be more qualified to answer that question than me.”

“What are we doing here?” She searched his face.

“Just looking, sweetheart. Just looking.”

“Be right back.” Grinning, she rushed toward the door.

“Melanie?”

In the doorway, she pivoted.

Joe held out a key. “You’ll need this.”

Outside and several seconds later, she slid the key into the flimsy lock of an A-frame-styled greenhouse close to the size of the one Carl had built for her in Cañon City. Once she opened the door, however, she discovered this one stripped bare. Still, there was no mistaking the familiar smell of fertilizer, loam and the plants that at one time must have thrived here.

She traced a hand over dirty, grimy ancient windows, took in the old-fashioned attic fan and the transparent panels overhead, and her half-empty glass filled with hope.

“What do you think?” he asked from the door.

Smiling, she turned to give him her thoughts when she saw what looked like a set of drawings in his hand.

“I guess I’m afraid to think anything until I know what you have in mind.” Her voice carried throughout the vast empty space. “How did you find it?”

Tapping the rolled-up drawings against his thigh, he came toward her. “I told Lenora Sims if she ever came across something in our price range that had a greenhouse on the property to give me a call.”

Mel laughed. “Well, this certainly seems like it’s in our budget.”

“Was I wrong not to talk to you first?” He turned suddenly serious, his ordinarily confident baritone voice uncertain. “To ask if you even wanted to move? I know how much work and pride you’ve put into the one you have now. But when people get married, they generally live together.”

She walked toward him. “They generally do. What’s in your hand, Joe?”

“Architectural plans. Not for the main house,” he added quickly. “For the greenhouse. If we buy this place, the remodel in this area alone will take significant cash.”

Mel’s throat tightened with every spoken word. Simon had once called Joe a walk-away. The warden couldn’t have been more wrong. A walk-away was an unscrupulous fiend, a womanizer, a love ’em and leave ’em type. The term hardly fit the man who’d arrested her, antagonized her, saved her life and then taught her the meaning of love.

Wrapping her arms around him, she whispered, “I’m not marrying you for your money. Joe. Nor am I afraid of hard work.”

“Is that a yes, Mel? You’re willing to move? You like the place?”

“I l
ove
the place, and I love you.”

“What a relief,” he said, bowing his head to kiss her. “Because in case I haven’t mentioned it, the feeling’s mutual.”

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