worrying?
And how many months before the trial, while it would never quite fall from the news or people’s minds? Followed by the resumption of her notoriety.
Hell, she couldn’t really blame the school for all of this. Her severance pay sat in the bank, not enough for anything long-term, her disability checks would continue just a few more weeks, but now that she had resigned, they would dry up. Bills continued to roll in, like her credit card and her student loans. It might be months yet before her victim compensation was approved.
She heard the growl of an engine behind her again and didn’t even need to look to guess who it was. Jake. Why the hell couldn’t he just leave her alone? Seeing him was like picking the scab on a wound that refused to heal.
It was Jake, all right. She didn’t even turn to look as he drew up alongside her and slowed down to pace her.
“Wanna go horseback riding?”
That stopped her in her tracks. Slowly she turned and saw that today he was in his tan Jeep. “Riding?” she repeated. Her mind couldn’t quite make the leap.
“Riding,” he said. “I know you used to love horses. Well, I’ve got a couple that could use a walk today. Why don’t you join me? We’ll go out to the ranch and ride.”
“Are you out of your mind?” The words came out sharply.
He cocked his head, still motoring beside her. “Actually, no. Wandering the streets here in town will bore you pretty fast. Being all alone is probably even worse. I’d like the company.”
She really did love horses. Surprised that he even remembered that about her held her rooted. Not that she’d had a whole lot of opportunity to ride in the past, but a couple of times...
The decision was made almost before she knew it. “I’m not dressed right.”
“Jeans are fine. My mom’s boots will probably fit you, well enough to ride anyway. Come on. Let’s blow this town before we grow cobwebs.”
She doubted he could grow a cobweb if he tried, but she well might. Without another word, wondering if her mind had taken a final break from reality, signaling her total descent into madness, she climbed into the car beside him.
This car was okay. It smelled like leather, like hay and like Jake. And he no longer smelled like the guy who’d hurt her so long ago. His scents had grown more subtle, and they weren’t swimming in cologne these days.
“I used to hate that cologne you wore,” she announced. God, had she forgotten the last of her civility?
“Beth gave me a bottle every birthday and Christmas. I should have taken the hint.”
“Hint?”
“That I wasn’t okay just the way I was.”
That jarred her out of her self-preoccupation. “I’m sorry,” she said because she didn’t know what else to say.
“I was, too, for a while. Then it struck me I’d been a fool in more ways than one. At least we didn’t have kids.”
There seemed to be no answer to that, either. But he didn’t seem to expect one.
“I’m still wondering,” he continued, “why she married me. She sure as hell didn’t like ranch life. In the end she didn’t much like me, either.”
Nora, older and more educated now, knew something about that. Jake had been the best looking and one of the most popular guys in school. Dating him was a feather in the cap. Marrying him, maybe not so much. But she didn’t say that. She’d been one of the drooling girls herself. Back then.
Jake at least left her recent past alone. He didn’t ask any questions or offer any useless sympathy. He talked occasionally about the ranch, about the new police department, giving her a sense of what he was about these days. Casual, safe conversation for the most part.
At least she wasn’t thinking about herself. She tried to think of something to say and finally offered, “I really don’t get why they wanted a police department. Wasn’t the sheriff doing okay?”
“Of course he was. But he’s an elected official and doesn’t answer to anyone except the voters. Me, I answer to the city council.”
“That must be a lot of fun.”
“Oh, yeah.” He sounded sarcastic.
“So why did you agree?”
“Like I said, better pay. And by agreeing, we were able to open up five new jobs. We may even add a few more come spring. If so, that’s good.”
“Are you very busy?”
“Busy enough. Drunk and disorderly, speeding, domestics. Mostly small-town stuff, which is fine. If I wanted to deal with the big-city stuff, I’d move.”
“But the ranch isn’t doing well?”
He seemed to shrug. “It’s getting by, but a little extra cash is welcome. The money isn’t in cattle anymore, so I’m thinking about raising something else. I’ve been cutting back my herd size steadily. Something is going to have to replace it. We’ve been talking about it at the Grange, trying to figure out how to adapt. Feed prices are skyrocketing, so we don’t get what we used to when we take the steers to market.”
“Biofuels?” she asked.
“Partly. And commodity traders. Single-family operations are heading the way of the dodo. So we’re thinking about forming some kind of co-op and getting into something else.”
“That’s sad, about family operations.”
“Things change. Times change. The key is to keep up.”
She supposed it was. Right now, though, she wasn’t ready to apply that theory to her own life. She had to find some kind of acceptance before she could move on. Some way to absorb all the blows and knit them into a whole person, not the remnants of one.
She thought about his comment about the police force being a kind of power grab by the city council and realized it almost managed to amuse her to think that he was right. As she recalled, the council had been nearly a nonentity when she grew up here. Basically they had taxed and licensed businesses and put up some cheesy Christmas decorations on the light posts. Had they ever done anything else? Not that she was aware of. So, yes, they’d probably feel a whole lot more important running a police force, however indirectly.
But thinking about that reminded her that she was riding in a car with a chief of police. She wanted to yank her thoughts away from that as a wave of darkness threatened to descend over her once again. Instead, she forced herself to reach for a semblance of normalcy.
“So people in town call you now instead of the sheriff?”
He chuckled quietly. “It doesn’t make much difference to them. We share a switchboard. Whoever happens to have the closest car responds. Mostly that’s the sheriff. I’ve only got six of us, me included. That’s nowhere near enough for round-the-clock coverage, assuming the officers get time to sleep, eat and see their families.”
He
