quarter mile past the one main street of Crossroads, his truck lights flashed across four teenagers walking along the road between the Catholic church and the gas station.
Three boys and a girl. Fifteen or sixteen, Staten guessed.
For a moment the memory of Randall came to mind. He’d been about their age when he’d crashed, and he’d worn the same type of blue-and-white letter jacket that two of the boys wore tonight.
Staten slowed as he passed them. “You kids need a ride?” The lights were still on at the church, and a few cars were in the parking lot. Saturday night, Staten remembered. Members of 4-H would probably be working in the basement on projects.
One kid waved. A tall, Hispanic boy named Lucas whom he thought was the oldest son of the head wrangler on the Collins ranch. Reyes was his last name, and Staten remembered the boy being one of a dozen young kids who were often hired part-time at the ranch.
Staten had heard the kid was almost as good a wrangler as his father. The magic of working with horses must have been passed down from father to son, along with the height. Young Reyes might be lean but, thanks to working, he would be in better shape than either of the football boys. When Lucas Reyes finished high school, he’d have no trouble hiring on at any of the big ranches, including the Double K.
“No, we’re fine, Mr. Kirkland,” the Reyes boy said politely. “We’re just walking down to the station for a Coke. Reid Collins’s brother is picking us up soon.”
“No crime in that, mister,” a redheaded kid in a letter jacket answered. His words came fast and clipped, reminding Staten of how his son had sounded.
Volume from a boy trying to prove he was a man, Staten thought.
He couldn’t see the faces of the two boys with letter jackets, but the girl kept her head up. “We’ve been working on a project for the fair,” she answered politely. “I’m Lauren Brigman, Mr. Kirkland.”
Staten nodded. Sheriff Brigman’s daughter, I remember you. She knew enough to be polite, but it was none of his business. “Good evening, Lauren,” he said. “Nice to see you again. Good luck with the project.”
When he pulled away, he shook his head. Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered to stop. This might be small-town Texas, but they were not his problem. If he saw the Reyes boy again, he would apologize.
Staten swore. At this rate he’d turn into a nosy old man by forty-five. It didn’t seem that long ago that he and Amalah used to walk up to the gas station after meetings at the church.
Hell, maybe Quinn asking to kiss him had rattled him more than he thought. He needed to get his head straight. She was just a friend. A woman he turned to when the storms came. Nothing more. That was the way they both wanted it.
Until he made it back to her porch next Friday night, he had a truckload of trouble at the ranch to worry about.
* * *
TWENTY MILES AWAY Quinn O’Grady curled into her blanket on her front porch and watched the night sky, knowing that Staten was still driving home. He always came to her like a raging storm and left as calm as dawn.
Only tonight, she’d surprised him with her request. Tonight when he’d walked away at midnight, it felt different. Somehow after five years, their relationship felt newborn.
She grinned, loving that she had made the first move. She had demanded a kiss, and he hadn’t hesitated. She knew he came to her house out of need and loneliness, but for her it had always been more. In her quiet way, she could not remember a time she hadn’t loved him.
Yet from grade school on, Staten Kirkland had belonged to her best friend, and Quinn had promised herself she’d never try to step between them. Even now, seven years after Amalah’s death, a part of Staten still belonged to his wife. Maybe not his heart, Quinn decided, but more his willingness to be open to caring. He was a man determined never to allow anyone close again. He didn’t want love in his life; he only wanted to survive having loved and lost Amalah.
Amalah had wanted to be Mrs. Kirkland since the day she and Quinn had gone riding on the Double K ranch. She’d loved the big house, the luncheons and the committees. She knew how to smile for the press, how to dress, and how to manage the Kirkland men to get just what she wanted. Amalah had been a perfect wife for a rich rancher.
Quinn only wanted Staten, but never, not for one moment, would she have wished Amalah dead. Staten was a love Quinn kept locked away in her heart, knowing from the beginning that it would never see light.
When her best friend died, Quinn never went to Staten. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair. She never called or tried to accidentally run into him in town. Amalah might be gone, but Staten still didn’t belong to her. She was not the kind of woman who could live in his world.
Two years passed after Amalah died. Staten would stop by now and then just to check on Quinn, but her shyness kept their conversations short.
Then, Randall died.
She’d heard about the car crash on the local radio station and cried for the boy she’d known all his life.
Tears for a boy’s life cut short and for a father who she knew must be hurting, but who she couldn’t go to. She wouldn’t have known what to say. He’d be surrounded by people, and Quinn was afraid of most people.
When she’d heard a pounding on her door that night, she almost didn’t answer. Then she’d seen Staten, broken and needing someone, and she couldn’t turn him away.
That night she’d held him, thinking that just this one time, he needed her. Tomorrow he’d be strong and they’d go back to simply being polite to one another, but for one night she could help.
That next morning he’d left without a word. She had never expected him to return, but he did. This strong, hard man never asked anything of her, but he took what she offered. Reason told her it wouldn’t last. He’d called the two of them the leftovers, as if they were the ones abandoned on a shelf. But, Staten wasn’t a leftover. One day he would no longer suffer the storms. One day he would go back to living again, and when he did, he’d forget the way to her door.
As the five years passed, Quinn began to store up memories to keep her warm when he stopped coming. As simple as it seemed, she wanted to be kissed. Not out of passion or need, but gently.
Every time he walked away might be the last time. She wanted to remember that she’d been kissed goodbye that last time, even if neither of them knew it at the moment.
Lauren
A MIDNIGHT MOON blinked its way between storm clouds as Lauren Brigman cleaned the mud off her shoes. The guys had gone inside the gas station for Cokes. She didn’t really want anything to drink, but it was either walk over with the others after working on their fair projects or stay back at the church and talk to Mrs. Patterson.
Somewhere Mrs. Patterson had gotten the idea that since Lauren didn’t have a mother around, she should take every opportunity to have a “girl talk” with the sheriff’s daughter.
Lauren wanted to tell the old woman that she had known all the facts of life by the age of
