hesitant tone. “But?”
“But I’m pretty sure Gunner finds the idea far-fetched. Not the artistic type, my brother. But he has a good head for business, so if I make a practical case for it...” She ran her hands through her hair, wondering if she was boring the guy with her oddball ideas. “It’s just a dumb idea I had. I don’t know if it will go anywhere, but it will give me something to do until I figure out what’s next.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Gran said I could stay as long as I wanted, though I’ll have to go back eventually. I’ve got an apartment and supposedly still a job in Atlanta. If I’m smart, I’ll be back before the wedding and gala season, but those months can be brutal in the restaurant business. I’m not sure I’ve got the strength for brutal left in me, if you know what I mean.”
Nash frowned at her strangely, as if the choice of words had touched a raw nerve. “Yeah, believe it or not, I do know.”
She wasn’t sure it was safe to ask. “How?”
A flash shot through his moss-green eyes. “Let’s just say LA specializes in brutal, and I was done with it, too.”
“Are you hoping here will be less brutal? I’m pretty sure you’ll get your wish as long as you stay outside of Austin. Martins Gap can come close to boring.”
He managed a slip of a smile. “Nobody calls the sheriff out because they’re bored.”
She felt a smile—the first in what felt like ages—turn up the corners of her lips as she sipped her coffee. “Oh, I guess that’s true. Bison Crimes Unit, huh?”
Now he genuinely laughed. “It’s a far cry from vice and vandalism, I’ll give you that. Gang members can be big, but they don’t come in thousand-pound hairy versions with big horns. At least not yet.”
Ellie returned her gaze to the pastures. Blue Thorn Ranch had seen its share of challenges over the years, but it was hard to imagine anyone seeking to do the family or its animals harm, even for a thrill. “Why would someone want to harm the herd?”
“Maybe they’re not trying to harm the herd. Maybe they’re just proving something to buddies. For a thrill or a dare. To join some gangs in LA, you had to shoot someone. It didn’t matter who, just that you shot to kill.”
Ellie felt the same distaste that drew his jaw tight. “That’s awful. We don’t have gangs out here.”
Nash shrugged. “Maybe not like in LA or even Atlanta or Austin, but kids anywhere will try to prove their worth in bad ways if no one shows them their worth in good ways.”
It should have made it better—to consider the attacks might not be deliberate and personal—but it still sent a shudder down Ellie’s spine. “But to an animal? It’s cruel. And even if you forget the compassion part—it’s frightening when a big, dangerous animal could turn around and kill you.”
“All the more reason to think it’s kids who aren’t thinking through the consequences, wouldn’t you say?”
Ellie wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, suddenly craving its warmth. “I don’t know.” She caught Nash’s eyes. “I didn’t know I was coming home to an episode of cops and robbers.”
He grinned ever so slightly. “That’s okay. I didn’t know I was moving here to an episode of cowboys and Indians.”
“Then I guess we’re both in for a surprise.”
“That’s one of them foreign sports cars, isn’t it?”
Nash looked up from under the hood of his 1980 Datsun 280ZX to find Theo Kennedy, the local pastor, standing in his garage doorway. Kennedy was twice Nash’s age—graying at the temples and a bit thick around the middle—but he was a likable guy, and it was clear people in town loved him dearly.
Nash had been to church once or twice since coming to town, liked the local congregation, but hadn’t realized he’d drawn enough attention to warrant a pastoral visit. Evidently what Don kept telling him about small towns like Martins Gap was true—nothing ever truly went unnoticed.
“It’s an import, yes. Japanese, to be exact.” Nash wiped his palms on a nearby towel and offered a hand to the pastor.
“Don’t see too many of those around here. Looks fast,” the man said, peering at the array of tubes and parts under the vehicle’s long, sleek hood.
It was true. Nash had seen nothing but domestic cars in his travels around the small town. He’d also noticed his share of glares that clearly translated to “Why ain’t you drivin’ an American car?” when he’d taken the Z out for drives. Some days the stares didn’t bother him. Other days they made him feel about as foreign and shunned as the import. “She is fast. When she runs right, that is. She threw a fan belt on the highway two days ago and is currently giving me a hard time.”
“We got a hardware store and a garage in town. Both of them carry car parts.”
Nash laughed. “Not these. This little lady has very exclusive taste in accessories. I didn’t bring all my spare parts in the move from LA, and now I’m regretting it.” At least the Z was reasonable compared to other foreign cars. Some of the Italian models could cost his yearly salary in parts and labor, but the Z sucked up only a slightly painful portion of his spare cash. “Still,” he continued as he dropped the hood down and heard it latch with a satisfying click, “I don’t mind tinkering with a few things while I wait for parts to ship.”
“Like to get grease under your fingernails, do you?” Pastor Kennedy asked.
“It’s a good stress release from law enforcement. And a nice change to be making things run instead of stepping in when they don’t.” Nash moved his toolbox from one of the two metal stools beside his workbench and motioned for the pastor to sit down. “Something I can do for you, Pastor Kennedy?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Nash realized that was probably a dangerous thing to ask a pastor. Yes, he ought to get better connected in the community, but he didn’t exactly feel ready to set down roots or open himself up to relationships.
“Please, just Theo or Pastor Theo if you like, since I am here on church business. There is something I’m hoping you might help with.” The man picked up an air filter from Nash’s workbench and examined it. “Don told me you worked with at-risk youth in LA. I think we have some trouble brewing with ours.”
Nash’s stomach tightened. He’d always found “at risk” a sanitized and clinical term for hoodlums and gangbangers who seemed closer to savages than humans some days. He often could glimpse the person hiding under the animal, and he knew the value of that sight. But what he’d told Ellie was true; he wasn’t ready to go back to that kind of brutal. He returned a wrench to its place in the toolbox rather than respond.
“Don also tells me you agree with him that whoever’s making trouble over at the Blue Thorn is most likely young folk,” Theo went on.
Nash sat down opposite the man. “Seems like it, yes. Only it’s too early to say for sure.”
“Kids need something good to do, or they find something not-so-good to
