When he climbed into the driver’s seat, she was busy rummaging through her tiny purse that couldn’t hold more than three or four things. She didn’t look at him.
For some reason, he thought he’d won a round, but Charley had a feeling it would be a long time before they knew each other well enough to even be friends. They were as different as two people could be.
Ten minutes later when she asked for the vegan menu at Dorothy’s Café, Charley had to fake a coughing fit to keep from laughing.
Thatcher
February 27
LAUREN BRIGMAN, the sheriff’s daughter, stared at him with those sky blue eyes, as if he was toad-level in her world. She was all dressed up in her Texas Tech University jacket with silver buttons and he looked as though his whole body served as the tester kit for paint samples. Somehow in two hours he’d managed to drip more paint than he got on the walls. The sheriff would think long and hard about hiring him again.
But he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop looking at Lauren’s beautiful long hair. Something must be wrong with him. He couldn’t think of five girls’ names at school but all at once he was aware, first of the girl in the rain the other night, and now of the sheriff’s only child. At least the girl whose father found a body in the canyon was his age. Lauren was way too old for him.
But Thatcher didn’t care. A guy his age didn’t get to talk to a girl in college very often, so he was happy to be in the sheriff’s office with her even if she didn’t appear to be.
He felt smarter just being in the same room with Lauren. He heard someone say she’d never even got a B in her school career. Neither had he, but Thatcher knew he was coming from the other direction.
She might be six or seven years older than he was, but she’d never been mean to him. That meant something to him. Since grade school, every time he saw her, Brigman’s daughter had at least nodded at him. Most of the other kids treated him as if he was a pound dog who’d escaped.
He did his best to act as though he barely noticed her while he painted the far wall of the sheriff’s office. This was his job for the morning and the sheriff must have assigned her duties, as well.
Every now and then she’d glance up as if she’d just remembered that she was supposed to be watching him while she filed. He didn’t accept the idea of having a babysitter. Hell, he’d been his own man since he was six or seven and his mom started making a habit of disappearing every weekend. Sometimes the weekends seemed to run together before she came home. He never minded being alone.
But this morning Lauren’s silence was starting to bug him.
“How old are you, Lauren?” he asked without stopping his work.
She didn’t look up from her computer. “Twenty-one. That must sound pretty old to you.”
He ignored the fact that she thought of him as still a kid when he was taller than she was and almost fifteen. “I guess that’s not too old to still be minding your old man. I was just wondering how many days of school you missed to be stuck here in your dad’s office on a Saturday.”
She smiled. “I didn’t miss any school. In fact, much as I hate to think about it, I’m almost finished with college. It’s a place where no one makes you go to class—you just go because you want to. Whole new concept for you, Thatcher.”
He groaned, feeling a lecture coming on. He figured all the Brigmans must share some mutant gene that made them give advice the minute their mouths opened.
She laughed as if she’d read his mind. “I just came in this weekend to help Pop with the filing. My dad’s a great sheriff but somehow the folders never move off his desk and into the right filing cabinet. County said they’d hire him a secretary, but he’s always saying he’d have to clean up and organize first.”
Thatcher set his paintbrush down and took his third break of the morning. “You know, come to think of it, twenty-one is old. My mom was married and had me by then.” When Lauren didn’t answer he added, “You’re real pretty so I’m guessing it’s the fact your dad meets everyone at the door wearing a gun that keeps men away.”
Lauren nodded. “That’s it. How about you, Thatcher? At the old age of almost fifteen you’re probably looking for a girlfriend, right? Maybe already have the lucky future Mrs. Jones picked out?”
Leaning on the corner of the desk, he crossed his arms. She was probably talking down to him, like a lot of townsfolk did, but he needed a few answers and she might know enough to help him. “I thought that girl whose dad found the body in the canyon a few days ago wasn’t so bad looking.” He shrugged. “Or she might have been cute if she hadn’t been all wet and shaking like a coyote with his ear shot off.”
“You see a lot of coyotes with their ears shot off?”
“I seen a few.”
Lauren closed her laptop looking as if she didn’t believe him. “The girl with her father that night is named Kristi Norton. Her dad took over as the new high school principal on Monday. He and his wife grew up around here. I think Kristi is your age, so you should have seen her in school.”
“I ain’t been to school lately. That’s why I’m here today. I made the mistake of telling the sheriff that I was too embarrassed to go to school because I didn’t have lunch money. I was thinking he’d loan me some, but instead he offered me a job. If I’d turned it down, he’d know I was lying and there weren’t no telling what he’d do. I swear the past few years I seem to have my own guardian cop and I ain’t sure if he’s from heaven or hell.”
“Tough life, kid,” Lauren said as she went back to filing. “I’m basically here for the same reason. My father doesn’t believe in loaning money, not even to his only daughter. For once, before I get out of college, I’d like to go somewhere for spring break besides Crossroads, Texas. Maybe a beach.”
“What about your mom?” Thatcher moved over to the coffee pot and mixed half coffee with half milk. “Did she run off or something?”
“My folks are divorced. Mom would give me money, but it comes with strings. She’s in that do-I-still-look-like-I’m-in-my-early-thirties stage. If I told her I wanted to go to the Gulf for spring break, she’d probably buy the exact same bathing suit and go with me.”
Thatcher nodded but had no idea what she meant. He wasn’t even sure what she meant by divorce. “My mom has been common-law married four times—all the guy does is move in and she starts calling him her husband. Then, when he moves out, she considers herself common-law divorced. She claims it’s cheaper that way, but I never called a one of them Dad. I figured, judging from my mom’s taste in men, that I’m better off not knowing who the bastard was that fathered me.”
Lauren’s light blue eyes stared at him. “You’ve got to go to school, Thatcher. I think, somewhere beneath all the dirty hair, there just might be a brain.”
No one had ever said that to him. He wanted to tell her that he made two thousand three hundred and fourteen dollars last year selling snakes, and almost eight hundred selling eggs to farms too lazy to bother with chickens.
But he didn’t say anything because one of his mother’s boyfriends told him if he told anyone he was selling snakes or eggs the government would come after him for taxes.
“Lauren, could I ask you a question?”
“If it’s about how to impress Kristi, I’d say start with a haircut, a bath and clean clothes. You’ve already got the brains and that cute smile.”
“No, it’s not that,” Thatcher said as he stored the information away for later. “Could you tell me where the grid is? Mr. Fuller told me once that I lived off it.”
Lauren