spent every last dime at a rowdy bar in Sheridan.
With a groan, he pulled off his sheets and made himself put both feet on the floor. It was time to greet his new day.
Padding to the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. Caught himself in all his naked glory. He paid no notice to the lean muscles of his arms or the light line of hair that ran from the middle of his pecs to his belly.
He ignored the scars on his side and hands and forearms from too many falls and a whole lot of idiocy.
Instead he concentrated on the greenish-gray pallor of his face. His dry, chapped lips.
Then he looked beyond the bloodshot eyes to what he saw in them—the complete look of hopelessness.
He’d hit rock bottom, at least as far down as he was willing to go. He knew all about living with a drunk and a disappointment. He had become his own worst nightmare, and he didn’t know how he was ever going to recover.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he padded back into his bedroom, grabbed his jeans and pulled out his wallet from the back pocket.
And there, sure enough, was a business card of a tire distributor. But that wasn’t what was important. Flipping it over, Austin stared at the name and phone number scrawled in a black felt-tip marker. The guy, who’d only said his name was Jack, had been in Austin’s store shopping for gear, said he’d known Buddy, Austin’s dad.
Further conversation revealed that Jack was a family man. He’d shown off a photo of him, his wife and two young boys posed in front of a Christmas tree. Austin had been wondering what the heck Jack had in common with him until Jack relayed that he’d almost lost it all—his business, his wife…even his kids.
When he’d handed the number to Austin and told him about the weekly meetings held right in Roundup’s Congregational Church, Austin had been stunned. Never would he have guessed that this guy had ever had a drinking problem. Actually, the guy had looked as though he had more together than most folks.
Austin had copped an attitude when Jack had started talking about how the hour-long meetings had changed him. About how he’d meant every single word of that Serenity Prayer.
But long after Jack left, when no one was looking, Austin had put the card in his wallet. Just in case he was ever so weak to dial the number.
You mean brave, idiot, his conscience whispered.
“Yeah, I mean brave,” he said. He sat on the edge of his mattress, picked up the phone and made himself dial before he lost his nerve. Before he turned cowardly all over again.
Finally, it was time. Finally, he was ready to do what he’d been pussyfooting around for the past three years. He was going to get some help.
“Hello!”
“Hey, Jack—”
“I’m not available right now, but leave a message. I’ll call you back—I always do.”
Austin didn’t want to leave a message. But he wanted help more. Thinking of his father, and the way no one gave him a moment’s time, he forced himself to talk.
“Jack, it’s, uh… It’s Austin Wright. You gave me your number a couple of months ago when you stopped by my store. In case, you know, I ever wanted to talk to you. I guess I do. Call me back.” He left his cell-phone number and clicked off.
Then practically ran into the shower, needing to clean off last night’s trouble. And the doubts that were surfacing all over again.
Bracing himself for the pain, he stepped under the showerhead and turned on the water, taking the cold blast of H2O against his skin as rightful penance.
It was no less than he deserved.
* * *
“HEY, DINAH,” DUKE CALLED out. “What’s shaking?”
She laughed. It had taken a while, but she and her deputy, Duke Adams, finally had the sheriff’s office running smoothly. Actually, Duke was more than her deputy; he was also her cousin.
And her friend.
Truth was, Sheriff Dinah Hart needed Duke’s good humor to help her get through the days in Roundup. In their small town, they got all sorts of calls. Anything could happen—from letting people into their locked cars, to directing traffic on Sundays at noon when the folks got out of church, to their current project: figuring out who in the world was involved with the recent outbreak of thefts in the area.
“Not too much is shaking right now,” she said wearily. “I’m exhausted.”
“What kept you up this time?”
“Too much fun at the Open Range on the weekend.” She shared a look with Duke. And though there had been more than one man letting off too much steam at Roundup’s biggest bar, she let herself fixate on the one man she could never ignore. “I tell you what, sometimes I’m this close to wringing Austin Wright’s neck.”
Leaning against an old metal file cabinet, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s he done this time?”
“Nothing illegal, just made a mess of the place. Again.” Remembering her first call of the day, she shook her head. “Ted was fit to be tied when he called me bright and early this morning. Seems Austin puked his life out in the middle of the place on Saturday night.”
Duke cocked an eyebrow. As usual, his low-key way complemented her inclination toward drama. “Don’t see why he called you. Puking’s unpleasant, but last I heard, it wasn’t a crime.”
“It wasn’t just that. Two good old boys got in a fight about where a dart landed or some such nonsense. They broke a pair of chairs and seemed intent on getting their hands on those darts for darker reasons.”
Duke winced.
“Yeah. It got ugly.” She sighed. “But I think Ted would’ve dealt with it all on his own if I hadn’t just paid him a visit. Somehow I must have conveyed that truly no problem was too small for our department.”
“That sounds like something you’d do.”
“Actually, I think Ted just wanted someone to listen to him.”
Duke curved his lips up slightly. “And you did.”
Boy, had she. Shaking her head, she said, “Sorry, Duke. What you got?”
He slid a paper over her way. “Another missing bridle and saddle, this one a Silver Royal from the Neiman ranch.” Whistling low, he added, “Craig Neiman says it’s worth a grand. At least.”
Dinah knew the prices of some saddles. And though Silver Royal was a good brand, all saddles weren’t created the same.
A theft was always treated seriously, but she knew Craig Neiman had a propensity to exaggerate when he could.
She had an idea. “Look, how about I go visit with Austin and see if that estimate is correct? It’s a perfect excuse to pay him a call and give him a gentle reminder about behaving himself out in public.”
“While
