when Brigman glanced at him. “Don’t look at me,” he said in a voice so high Thatcher barely recognized his own words. “I’m just collecting cow chips. I didn’t kill nobody.”
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Pass out the blankets, kid.”
While the man kept talking, Thatcher handed every dripping visitor a blanket. The last one, he opened up and put over the girl who was probably the oldest. She was so wet he could see the outline of her bra.
He tried his best not to look, but failed miserably. Her breasts might be small, but she was definitely old enough to fill out a bra.
“Thank you,” she said when the blanket and his arm went around her.
“You’re welcome,” he answered as he raised his gaze to the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen.
Until that moment, if you’d asked Thatcher Jones if he liked girls, he would have sworn he never would as long as he lived. When you’re the poorest and dumbest kid in school, no one has anything nice to say to you and most girls don’t even look your direction. During grade school he’d been kicked out several times for fighting, but now, since he was no longer in grade school, he’d decided to ignore everyone and skip as many classes as possible.
But this girl just kept smiling at him like nothing was wrong with him.
He didn’t want to move away. “Did you see the body?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “I saw the sack. It had brown spots on it. Blood, I think. My dad didn’t let us get too close.”
Thatcher thought of all the blood he’d seen in his life. He’d killed animals for food since he was six or seven. He’d washed his mother up a few times when one of her “friends” beat her. He’d watched his own blood pour out with every heartbeat once when he’d tumbled out of a tree, but none of that mattered right now.
“I’m sorry you had to see such a thing,” he whispered to the green-eyed girl.
“He was murdered,” she said so low only he could have heard her.
“How do you know? He could have committed suicide. Folks have done that before, or died in accidents down there in the canyon.”
Her eyes swam in tears. “Do people who die from suicide or accident stuff themselves into sacks?”
Thatcher nodded. “Good point.”
Then the strangest thing happened. Right in the middle of the sheriff calling in backup and Pearly coming in to take statements, and the storm pounding so hard against the north windows that he feared they’d break...right in the middle of it all, the girl reached out and held his hand.
As if she needed him.
As if in all the chaos he was her rock.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Thatcher stood in the drizzle and watched the sheriff working the crime scene. He’d been told, since he’d insisted on coming along, that he had to hold a big light down the trail toward where they found the body. Nothing else. Just hold the light, as though he was nothing more than a lamppost.
The county coroner had come in from Lubbock County to pronounce the dead guy dead. Which Thatcher thought was a bit of overkill. He stood thirty feet away and he could tell the guy was dead.
“I’m going to list the cause of death as undetermined,” the coroner shouted loud enough for Thatcher to hear him.
He thought of yelling down that the huge dent in the burlapped man’s head should be a pretty good hint as to how he died. What was left of his face looked more like the Elephant Man than anyone Thatcher had ever seen.
“Get back in the cruiser,” Brigman yelled as he started up the path.
“Yes, sir,” Thatcher answered without moving. This was far too interesting to crawl back into the car. He wasn’t sure he could do the sheriff’s job, but he decided to check into becoming a coroner. It didn’t look that hard.
As men lifted the body and began the slow journey back up the canyon, Thatcher watched and tried to figure out why someone would leave a body in Ransom Canyon. Wouldn’t any old bar ditch do?
A beefy deputy from Lubbock County stepped up behind him and flashed a beam of light in his face. “What you doing here, kid?”
Thatcher smiled. “I was called in to help with the investigation. What are you doing here, deputy?”
“You’re Thatcher Jones.” The lawman said his name as if he was swearing. “You got anything to do with this?”
“Nope. How about you, Officer Weathers?” Thatcher made a habit of always remembering any lawman he met. When he’d seen the tall deputy once in Brigman’s office, Weathers had been wrestling two drunks and hadn’t had time for an introduction.
About the time Weathers reached for him, the sheriff stepped between them. “You know Thatcher?”
The deputy nodded. “He...”
“Don’t tell me,” Brigman interrupted. “I can already guess and I’ve got my hands full right now.”
Thatcher grinned at the deputy and followed Brigman to his car. Once they were inside, he whispered, “I’m staying in your county from now on, Sheriff—that deputy scares me. I don’t mind cops who come in small, medium and large, but somebody supersized that guy.”
Brigman laughed. “It’s comforting to know you’re selective about where you break the law. Weathers is a good man. Anytime I need him, he’s always got my back.”
Jubilee
February 24
THE RAIN STARTED an hour before sunset, just as it had the day before, and kept falling until full dark. The land, long dry, didn’t seem to know how to take in all the moisture. Tiny lakes formed for as far as Jubilee could see. Water was suddenly everywhere, if only an inch deep.
She swore a storm had never roared like this one. Lightning so strong she felt the whip of fire in the air. Thunder rumbled, shaking the earth and sky. Nature seemed to be running full blast to tell the world that the months of drought were over.
Jubilee had spent the day listening for the sound of a truck, hoping her boxes of clothes, favorite books and office supplies would arrive today. Since her first year of college she’d always kept a home office. No matter what a mess her world was in, everything had its place in file folders or drawer organizers.
Only between noon and the storm she’d only seen one car, a sheriff’s cruiser, driving down the road in front of her place. She wasn’t sure if it made her feel safer to know her ranch was part of his route or not. Surely very few vehicles headed her way, except the moving truck that was supposed to come today, of course.
Jubilee never realized how little she had worth moving. The old pots and pans she’d had since her freshman year in college had gone to
