bachelor Wyatt McCall. I’m surprised you didn’t bring bodyguards.”
Cassie had suggested that very thing, but Wyatt didn’t need them in Brody’s Crossing. He wasn’t exactly making news, he wasn’t one of those “bad boys” who attracted paparazzi, and besides, staying in and around Brody’s Crossing wasn’t easy due to the lack of motel rooms. But he needed to get this task done so that the follow-up story would reflect well on his foundation.
“Being famous sure beats being infamous,” he said.
“In your case,” Toni said, looking back over her shoulder as she grabbed her own brown leather jacket on the way out the door, “I’m not sure there’s a difference. At least, not here in Brody’s Crossing.”
“You’ll know soon enough. I’m going to be on my best behavior.” Despite the way Toni looked in that modest skirt and that beckoning blue sweater. She’d always had a figure made for sweaters. And short skirts.
“I sure hope so,” she said. “For all our sakes, please just do the work to finish your sentence and get back to the West Coast.”
“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” he said as he settled his sunglasses in place and followed her out the door. Of course, when had he ever followed someone else’s plan?
THE STATUTE OF LIMITATIONS had run out long ago on the crime of painting the water tower purple and gold, but the memories of most people in town were vivid, Wyatt learned as he walked down the sidewalk along Main Street.
“Wyatt! Good to see you back. You stay out of trouble, now, you hear?” Rodney Bell called out from across the street.
“Wyatt, you devil. What are you up to now?” Bobbi Jean Maxwell asked with a big grin as she parked her car in front of the bank on the corner.
“Wyatt, what devilment do you have planned this time?” First National’s president, George Russell, called out from the bank’s entrance, chuckling and waving as Wyatt, Toni, Cassie and Louisa walked past. Good thing the citizens of Brody’s Crossing only knew about a few of his misdeeds. The tip of the iceberg, so to speak.
They crossed Main Street and headed to the city administration building on the opposite corner. Hopefully, this meeting would be quick. He’d get his sentence and get this ordeal over with. He had no intention of doing anything to give the citizens of Brody’s Crossing any new fodder for gossip. He was a changed man, an adult.
Well, most of the time, anyway.
He got his assignment from a rather apologetic city manager. Decorate the community center lawn for the holidays, using some existing decorations. In return, in Wyatt’s honor, city officials were moving the annual chili dinner to the same weekend as the parade. They wanted him to make a few comments and attend the dinner, and then he was free to go back to California.
The new police chief—Daniel Montoya, according to the name tag and introduction—said very little. After all, this wasn’t a police matter. This wasn’t even a court matter any longer. As long as he didn’t get into any more trouble, Wyatt and the police chief wouldn’t have any reason to see each other except over a bowl of chili next weekend.
“That should give you some good opportunities for PR photos,” Toni told Louisa, then looked at him as if it were his idea to play up his return to town. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Toni blabbing to the reporter, no one would have known about the time long ago that he’d publicly shown his school spirit.
He agreed to the community center project, smiled and shook hands, then stalked back to the H2. He’d decorate the community center as it had never been decorated before. He’d show Toni Casale that he could be a model citizen, even when technically he didn’t need to do a single thing.
“Buckle up,” he told Cassie and Louisa as he pulled out of the parking space, heading around the block and back south toward their home for the next week or so.
“Do you have directions?” Cassie asked, glancing at the GPS installed in the H2.
“I know where we’re going without satellite assistance,” he told her. After all, he’d lived here for eighteen years. Although some new businesses had opened recently, most of the structures were the same, he noticed as they drove east on Main Street, just a couple of blocks from downtown.
Wyatt could have stayed with his parents, but since Cassie and Louisa were here also, he’d opted for the renovated Sweet Dreams Motel. The place looked much better now than he’d remembered from his youth, he thought as he pulled into the newly asphalted lot.
His parents had always referred to the place as “that rattrap” and made disparaging remarks about the people who stayed there. Transients and riffraff, they’d said. To Wyatt, the folks had looked more like hourly workers and poor visitors. Once, he’d ridden his bicycle over to see who was really there. He’d accidentally seen the former chief of police come out of one of the rooms, followed by a woman who wasn’t his wife.
That had started Wyatt’s brushes with the law. The old chief of police had never forgotten the nosy kid from the wealthiest family in town. The new chief, Montoya, seemed like an upstanding guy who wanted no part of the limelight. Smart man.
Wyatt parked between crisply painted white lines, then they went into the office. Before long they had their room keys and headed down the walkway that led to the ten or so doorways.
“So, your room looks comfortable,” Wyatt commented as he deposited Louisa’s suitcase in her room. She’d told him that each room was different. The one she’d chosen was sort of Hollywood glam, with old black-and-white movie-star photos and movie posters from the 1950s. The bedspread was silvery satin, the kind that you could imagine slipping off of at the worst possible time. A shiny aluminum Christmas tree sparkled with pink lights and black ornaments.
“My room is Old West,” Cassie said, poking her head in the doorway. “It is soooo Texas.”
Wyatt smiled. Neither of his employees had ever visited Texas before, so he doubted they knew much about what was authentic and what had been manufactured by Hollywood. He left Louisa’s suitcase on her floor and walked next door to Cassie’s room. Sure enough, there was knotty pine paneling, chunky wood furniture and an artificial pine Christmas tree with handcrafted ornaments. A vintage-looking red-and-black blanket covered the double bed.
“Were you a cowboy growing up?” Cassie asked, looking at a Remington reproduction print of cowboys racing after a stampede.
“No, not really, but I can ride a horse.” Although his parents owned a ranch, Wyatt didn’t know much about cattle. Most of his life, there had been more oil than cattle production on the acres. Plus, his parents had always said he was destined for bigger things than running a ranch.
He’d never thought that there was anything wrong with running a ranch, although the idea of doing only that day after day made him itchy. He needed new challenges. He’d always been drawn to technology more than nature.
“I’d love to ride a horse while we’re here,” Cassie said. “I rode a pony when I was a child.”
“That’s all? You’ve never gone riding since then?”
“No.” She grimaced again, and he couldn’t tell if there was a good story or a bad one behind the single-word answer. He hadn’t spent a lot of time around her, since she reported to Brian Peters, his jack-of-all-trades
