Had he really left the keys in the ignition? He looked inside and, sure enough, there they were, dangling from the steering column.
How had that happened? He remembered pulling up to his mother’s house for her birthday dinner, then rushing out to take care of business when Lucy started to squat on the floor mats. Maybe in all the confusion, he had been in such a hurry to find a patch of grass before his puppy busted her bladder that he’d forgotten his keys.
What kind of idiot left his keys in a ride like this, just begging for the first testosterone-crazed teenager to lift her?
Him. He mentally groaned, grateful at least that the boy hadn’t been hurt by their combined stupidity.
“What’s your name, kid?”
The boy clamped his teeth together and Seth sighed. “You might as well tell me. I know your last name is Boyer and Jason Chambers is your grandpa. I’ll figure out the rest.”
“Cole,” he muttered after a long pause.
“Come on, Cole. I’ll give you a lift to your grandpa’s house, then I’ll come back and pull her out with one of my brothers.”
“I can walk.” He hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.
“You think I’m going to leave you and your sticky fingers running free out here? What if you happen to find another idiot who’s left his keys in his ride? Get in.”
Though Cole still looked belligerent, he climbed into the passenger side of the pickup.
Seth had just started to walk around the truck to get in the driver’s side when he saw flashing lights behind him.
Instead of driving past, the sheriff’s deputy slowed and pulled up behind the GTO. Seth glanced at the boy and saw he’d turned deathly white and his breathing was coming fast enough Seth worried about him hyperventilating.
“Relax, kid,” he muttered.
“I am relaxed.” He lifted his chin and tried for a cool look that came out looking more like a constipated rabbit.
Seth sighed and closed his door again as he watched the deputy climb out of the vehicle. Before he even saw her face, he knew by the curvy shape that the officer had to be Polly Jardine, the only female deputy in the small sheriff’s department.
She dimpled at him, looking not much different than she had in high school—cute and perky and worlds away from his idea of an officer of the law. Though she still looked like she should be shaking her pom-poms at a Friday night football game, he knew she was a tough and dedicated cop.
He imagined she inspired more than a few naughty fantasies around town involving those handcuffs dangling from her belt. But since her husband was linebacker-huge and also on the sheriff’s department—and they were crazy about each other—those fantasies would only ever be that.
“Hey Seth. I thought that was your car. Man! What happened? You take the turn a little too fast?”
His gaze shifted quickly to the boy inside the truck then quickly back to Polly, hoping she hadn’t noticed. He found himself strangely reluctant to throw Cole Boyer into the system.
“Something like that,” he murmured.
She followed his gaze to the boy and speculation suddenly narrowed her eyes. “You sure that’s the whole story?”
He leaned a hip against the truck, tilted his head and gave her a slow smile. “Would I lie to an officer of the law, darlin’?”
“Six ways from Sunday, darlin’.” Though her words were tart, she smiled in a way that told him she remembered with fondness the few times they’d fooled around under the bleachers before Mitch Jardine moved into town and she had eyes for no one else. “But it’s your car. If that’s the way you want to play this, I won’t argue with you.”
“Thanks, Pol. I owe you.”
“That’s the new principal’s kid, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“We’ve had a few run-ins with him in the few months they’ve been in town,” she said. “Nothing big, breaking curfew, that kind of thing. You sure letting him off is the right thing to do for him? Today a joyride, tomorrow a bank robbery.”
He didn’t know anything except he couldn’t bring himself to turn him in.
“For now.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. I’m supposed to file an accident report but I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything.”
He nodded and waved goodbye then climbed into the truck. Cole Boyer watched him, his green eyes wary. “Am I going to jail?”
“No. Not today, anyway.”
“Friggin’ A!”
“Don’t be so quick with the celebration there,” he warned. “A week or two in juvie is probably going to look pretty damn good by the time your mother and grandfather get through with you. And that doesn’t even take into account what you’ll have to do to even the score with me.”
She was late. As usual.
In one motion, Jenny Boyer shoved on slingbacks and shrugged into her favorite brocade jacket.
“Listen to Grandpa while I’m gone, okay?” she said, head tilted while she thrust a pair of conservative gold hoops into her ears.
“I always do.” Morgan, her nine-year-old, going on fifty, sniffed just like a society matron finding something undesirable in her tea. “Cole is the one who doesn’t like authority figures.”
Didn’t she just know it? Jenny sighed. “Well, make sure he listens to Grandpa, too.”
Morgan folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll try, but I don’t think he’ll pay attention to either me or Grandpa.”
Probably not, she conceded. Nobody seemed to be able to get through to Cole. She’d thought moving to Idaho to live with her father would help stabilize her son, at least get him away from the undesirable elements in Seattle who were leading him into all kinds of trouble.
She had hoped his grandfather would give the boy the male role model he had lost with his own father’s desertion. So much for that. Though Jason tried, Cole was so angry and bitter at the world—more furious with her now for uprooting him from his friends and moving him to this backwater than he was with his father for moving to another continent.
She glanced at her watch and groaned. The school board meeting started in ten minutes and she was scheduled to give a PowerPoint presentation outlining her efforts to raise the elementary school’s performance on standardized testing. This was her first big meeting with the school board and she couldn’t afford to blow it.
The therapist she’d gone to after the divorce suggested Jenny’s chronic tardiness indicated some form of passive aggression, her way of governing a life that often felt beyond her control.
Jenny
