“Six o’clock?”
“I’ll be there, Dad.”
The traffic had dwindled to a few cars. It was then that she saw Luke Beaumont exit the courthouse and walk to the lot.
He waved to her and she walked toward him.
“What luck, huh?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“That you had to ask those three guys to leave because of the fire code.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“I found out that they were going to bid on the ranch. I’m not sure I could have outbid them. That was a close one.”
“Good.” Amber nodded. “I’m very happy for you.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t know that the Beaumont Sheriff’s Department were sticklers for fire code violations.”
“Oh. We are. Absolutely. It’s very important to enforce all codes as that are on the books.”
That sounded pompous, but she didn’t want Luke to think that he was receiving special treatment from her because he was a Beaumont.
Nor did she want him to think she had helped him because she was some kind of devoted fan.
She did it for the town.
“I’m off duty, Luke. Do you need a ride?”
“Since I taxied right from the airport, I was going to hitchhike to visit my father in rehab, but I’m not ready to deal with him yet. Would you mind driving me out to the ranch? Hopefully my truck is there and working, and I can drive up and see my dad later, but, yeah, I’d appreciate a ride home. Thanks.”
She radioed Dispatch that she was off duty and pointed to her cherry-red Honda CRV. “That’s my car.”
They walked to her car and Amber clicked open the locks. “Hop in.”
It was about fifteen miles to the ranch; most of it was highway except for the last five. They made small talk about the weather, bull riding and the town in general. Amber was careful not to talk about the condition of his ranch. Luke would see it soon enough.
“What happened to the entry arch?” he asked as they arrived.
“Hurricane Daphne. The storm is responsible for pretty much everything.”
“Hmm...the entry arch is the first thing I’m going to fix.”
It contained the logo of the Beaumont Ranch, five ornate B’s in a circle for Big Dan, Valerie Lynn and their three boys. It was made of wrought iron, from what Amber remembered, and every vehicle and pedestrian passed under that arch.
Obviously, it bothered Luke that the symbol of his family was on the ground.
“Hang on.” He got out of her car and pulled the arch to the side of the driveway.
He got back in and she started up the long drive to the homestead. Luke stuck his head out the window as they passed by several outbuildings in need of repair.
“Dammit!” he shouted. “Look at those wrecked buildings.”
“I’m sorry, Luke.”
The homestead came into sight. The roof had collapsed in the middle and the land that used to be around it was either bare or choked with weeds. Amber remembered beautiful flowers around the home—Valerie Lynn Beaumont had had a green thumb—but whatever had once bloomed had vanished. The portico had collapsed, twisted, and was hanging on by a couple of thick boards someone had propped up against the main portion.
“That has to be replaced,” Luke said.
Two of the big picture windows had also blown out and were covered by sheets of plywood.
The whole place was in need of paint, but that was probably the least of his problems. He had yet to look inside. There was no need for a key. The door was half off its hinges.
“Let’s go in, Amber. I might as well see inside.”
“That’s okay. I’ll stay here.”
“C’mon with me. Please.”
She got the impression that he didn’t want to be alone when he saw the condition of the homestead that had been in his family for generations.
“Okay,” she finally said, feeling like she was intruding on something private. Something that was strictly reserved for the family that belonged there.
Too bad she didn’t have the same feelings about the sad little bungalow in the middle of a junkyard. That was just a place where her parents fought about everything from rusted car parts to illegal moonshine.
When she looked around at the inside of the Beaumont ranch house, she wanted to cry.
Magnificent Stickley furniture had warped and was unsalvageable except as firewood. Fabulous blankets and baskets were covered in mud. Actually, the whole floor was warped and muddy. The beehive fireplace in the middle of the room had cracked and the remnants had fallen to the ground. Black mold crept up the walls.
It broke her heart to see family treasures destroyed. Some might be able to be saved, but most of what she’d seen would have to be trashed.
There were pictures and portraits of some long-ago Beaumonts. Some were intact, some had watermarks and were bulging out of their frames.
Amber turned to Luke, whose mood seemed to be alternating between sad and mad.
She wanted to hug him, but felt that was too forward. They’d only been high school acquaintances, nothing more. She hoped he didn’t know that she’d had a crush on him since Mrs. Maloney’s first grade.
So here she was at thirty years old without having a serious boyfriend at the present.
Most of the time, she was too focused on her career. She was devoted to keeping Beaumont a safe place for everyone to live, in which children would thrive.
To that end, she coached mixed teams of soccer, softball and basketball, and led the Beaumont children’s chorus and drama club.
She divided her marriage “close calls” into three categories, although there were probably more. The cops were too full of themselves and moved on to their next conquests; the adventurers were too hyper and moved on; and the playboy types found younger women.
They all left her about when they figured out she was more devoted to the job than to them. But they always parted as friends, having mutually enjoyed themselves.
It would only take four steps to walk in Luke’s direction and wrap him in a comforting hug.
Sergeant Amber Chapman, who had arrested some of the worst criminals in the county, had to decide if she was woman enough to embrace Luke Beaumont or stay rooted where she was like a big blue chicken with a badge.
* * *
OH!
Luke took a step back in pure shock when he saw Amber’s face and noticed her arms move. It seemed like she was about to cry and hug him at the same time.
No way. He had to be wrong. She didn’t even like him. But maybe she was feeling sorry for him.
That was it!
But he didn’t want any pity. Not from Amber Chapman; not from anyone.
The Beaumonts would pick themselves up by their bootstraps and put things right, even if they had to ride every rank bull from here to Australia and everywhere in between to get the money to rebuild.
The Beaumont Ranch would be restored to its former self.
“I’m