CHAPTER FOUR
TONY STARED AT the television, but had no idea what he’d just watched. He stood up and paced around the living room. He’d finished the breathing treatments the doctor had ordered and was given the okay to start exercising. Lightly. Right. Tony didn’t understand the meaning of light exercise. What good was it if it didn’t make him sweat and leave him tired?
The phone in the kitchen rang and his grandmother answered. “Tony, it’s for you.”
Who would call him here? Most people called his cell. “Hello?”
“Tony Montoya?” an unfamiliar voice greeted him. “My name is Jarrod Butler. I work with the Lampasas County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Hello, Jarrod. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you could meet me for coffee. I’d like to discuss some things with you.”
What did someone from the sheriff’s department want with him? “Yeah, sure. What time?”
“I have time right now. How about meeting me at The Eagle’s Nest in about twenty minutes? I’ll buy lunch.”
The Eagle’s Nest. Any place but there. His first instinct was to insist on discussing this on the phone, but curiosity got the better of him. “Sure. See you in a few minutes.”
He’d been through town several times in the weeks since his return, but this was the first time that he paid attention to his surroundings. It looked the same as it had...well...almost. A few more of the old buildings were boarded up. The drought that had racked the area over the past few years had taken a toll on the small ranching community and many of the smaller mom-and-pop shops had closed. How much longer would the place be able to survive?
When he paused at the town’s only intersection, next to what used to be a dry-goods store, Tony scanned the graffiti on the weathered lumber across the window. A force of habit. There were no gang signs or hidden warnings in the scribbles on the warped wood. Just kids looking for something to do.
The gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled into the café parking lot. He recognized many of the vehicles. More proof that small towns were reluctant to change. Might as well get this over with.
Pausing at the café’s entrance, he tried to shake off the feeling that he truly was about to walk through time. A small bell rang when he opened the door. He scanned the dining area but didn’t see a uniformed officer anywhere.
Nostalgia punched him in the gut as he slid into a booth to wait for Jarrod to arrive. How many hours had he sat in the exact same booth, waiting for Sabrina to finish her shift as a waitress here? He shook his head, warding off the memories.
“Tony? I’m Jarrod Butler, I’m an investigator with the Lampasas County Sheriff’s Department.” He looked up to see a redheaded man with freckles.
Standing up, he shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He followed Jarrod to a secluded area at the back of the café.
The waitress greeted them. Makeup pancaked her face in an attempt to cover the wrinkles. “What can I get for y’all?”
The aroma of fried chicken overpowered his resolve to find out what Jarrod wanted and leave. “Give me the special and a glass of sweet tea.”
Jarrod placed his order and then they were alone. He swirled his water glass, watching Tony carefully. “I read the article in the paper about you. Impressive.”
“I was just doing my job.”
“I talked to your captain.” Jarrod leaned his forearms on the table. “He says you’ve got quite a gift for working with troubled kids.”
Jarrod had talked to his captain? Why? He gave the man a level stare. “It’s not a gift. It’s experience. I’ve been where those boys have been. I understand what they’re going through.”
“He says you’ve helped more boys get out of gangs than the rest of his staff combined. Sounds like a gift to me.”
“I like to think I’m using my rebelliousness to allow me to connect with the kids no one else wants to deal with.” Was Jarrod aware of Tony’s teenage reputation in this town?
“While you’re here, I wondered if you would be willing to put your experience to use.”
“Surely you’re not having gang trouble in Salt Creek?”
“No.” Jarrod shrugged one shoulder. “At least, not yet. But we are experiencing some issues.”
“Issues?”
“Vandalism, theft.”
Tony shook his head. “Sounds like typical teenagers.”
“I thought so at first. But we’ve received reports of drug activity in the area. Maybe linked with a group home here in town.” Jarrod leaned back in his chair. “Some of the teenage boys have suspected gang ties.”
“So what do you want from me?” Bitterness soured his sweet tea. Was Jarrod looking for someone to tell him it was okay to send the kids away? Pack them up and ship them out. That’s how everyone wanted to deal with kids in the foster care system.
Jarrod reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He slid it across the table. “I want to help them. But I don’t know how. I’ve tried to get to know these boys but—”
“You were shot down.” Boys like that didn’t trust easily. Especially a deputy sheriff. Tony studied the list of names, complete with ages and where they were from.
The platinum blonde waitress appeared with their order. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Jarrod and Tony said in unison.
She started to walk away, then stopped and turned back toward Tony. “Don’t I know you? You look real familiar.”
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to place the woman. “Could be. I lived here for a few years.”
She studied him for a moment before a toothy smile brightened up her chubby face. “You’re Antonio Montoya’s grandson, ain’t ya?”
She set the coffeepot down and grabbed him by both arms. “Stand up, boy, let me get a look at ya.” She clicked her tongue. “I guess I just lost a bet.”
Betty. She’d been best friends with Sabrina’s mom and had taken Sabrina under her wing when her mom died. “What bet?”
“I figured you’d end up in jail ’fore you were twenty-one, but Sabrina always said you’d come back here one day and prove everybody wrong.”
“If it wasn’t for her, I probably would be in jail,” he told her honestly.
“When Sabrina lit out right after you, we was sure you two had run off together.”
His gut wrenched. No way had she tried to follow him. He’d made sure
