“Well, even if he doesn’t open up and talk to me about whatever’s going on with him, maybe he’ll learn something himself about staying out of trouble.”
A strident cry echoed through the house suddenly. “There’s Maddie.” Ginny rose from the couch.
Jesse stood, as well. “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”
“Would you like to stay for supper? We’re having fried chicken and mashed potatoes.”
The offer of some decent home cooking for a change had his mouth watering.
He used to drop by the family ranch two or three nights a week when Cassie lived there with Matt and Lucy. She was divine in the kitchen. But after Matt’s wedding, Cassie had surprised them all by taking a job at a dude ranch north of town and moving out. Since Jesse didn’t want to bug the newlyweds while they were busy setting up house, for the past month he’d had to make do with his own pitiful attempts at cooking.
As much as he wouldn’t mind staying for supper, he suddenly decided he’d much rather stop in to see Sarah McKenzie again. She was probably wondering what had happened with Corey.
And he had a powerful hankering to see if he could figure out what had put those shadows in her pretty green eyes.
Every muscle in her body ached.
That would teach her to spend two solid hours yanking weeds and hauling compost. Sarah winced at the burn in her arms as she tried to comb the snarls out of her hair. Even after a long, pounding shower with water as hot as she could stand, her muscles still cried out in protest.
She was so out of shape, it was pathetic. After the attack, she had become almost manic about trying to rebuild the damage that had been done to her body. Maybe on some subconscious level she had thought if she were stronger or faster she could protect herself. She had followed her physical therapy routine religiously, working for hours each day to regain strength.
Eventually, though, she had become so frustrated at the reality of her new, permanent limitations that she had eased off.
After she came to Salt River, it had been so exhausting at first just keeping up with her students she hadn’t had energy to exercise. Eventually, she fell into a busy routine that didn’t leave much time for anything but school.
Still, she should have made time. Working out in the yard shouldn’t leave her knee on fire and the rest of her throbbing muscles jumbled into one big ache.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She thought working in the garden after school might calm her nerves, just as it always did. But she was just as edgy and upset as she had been at the police station.
By now, Chief Harte had probably spoken with the Garretts. She should be relieved, and she was. She was. Whoever was hurting that child deserved to be punished. She knew that and believed it fiercely. At the same time, she couldn’t help the nervousness that had settled in her stomach and refused to leave, or the tiny voice that called her crazy for getting involved at all.
Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Hadn’t Tommy DeSilva taught her in savage, brutal detail what happened to nosy schoolteachers who didn’t mind their own business?
She pushed the thought away. Once more she had a child to protect—it wasn’t simply a case of turning in a vicious criminal. She had made the right decision, eighteen months ago and today. She had done what she had to do. The only thing she could have done.
She didn’t want to think about it. Any of it. After quickly pulling her hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face, she limped from the bedroom to the kitchen, her knee crying out with every step.
Dinner was the usual, something packaged out of the freezer and intended to be eaten in solitude. What was more pitiful than shoving a frozen dinner in the microwave, then eating it in front of the television set alone? she wondered.
She had to get out more, she thought as she finally settled on a low-fat chicken-and-rice meal. It was a vow she made to herself with grim regularity, but she never seemed to do anything about it. When was the last time she’d shared an evening meal with someone besides Tom Brokaw? She couldn’t even remember.
She never used to be such an introvert. In Chicago she’d had a wide, eclectic circle of friends. Artists, social activists, computer geeks. They went to plays and poetry readings and Cubs games together.
At first her friends had tried to rally around her, with cards and gifts and visits in the hospital. Unable to face their awkwardness and pity, she had pushed them all away, even Andrew.
Especially Andrew.
She had given him back his ring when she was still in the hospital, and he had taken it with a guilty relief that shamed both of them.
She didn’t blame him. Not really. That day had changed her, had shattered something vital inside her. Eighteen months later she still hadn’t made much progress repairing it.
She knew her friends and family all thought she was running away when she decided to take a teaching job in small-town Wyoming. She couldn’t deny there was truth to that. She had been running away, had searched the Internet for job listings in small towns as far away as she could find.
But escaping Chicago and the grim memories of that fateful morning had been only part of the reason she had come here.
She needed to be in a place where she could feel clean again.
The microwave dinged. Grateful to escape her thoughts, she reached in with a pot holder to pull out her dinner just as the doorbell chimed through the little house.
She’d heard the sound so seldom that it took her a moment to figure out what it was. Who could be here? Her heart fluttered with wild panic for just an instant, but she took a quick, calming breath. She had nothing to worry about, not here in Salt River.
Setting her plate on the table, she made her way out of the kitchen and down the hall to the door, careful not to put too much stress on her knee. At first all she could see through the peephole was a hard, broad chest, but then she saw the badge over one tan denim pocket and realized it must be Chief Harte.
Her heart fluttered again, but she wasn’t completely sure it was only with panic this time. Why did the man have such an effect on her? She hated it. Absolutely hated it!
The bell rang—impatiently, she thought—and with one more deep breath, she opened the door.
His smile sent her pulse into double time. “I was just driving home and thought I’d check in with you and let you know how things went at the mayor’s place.”
As much as she’d like to, she knew she couldn’t very well talk to him through the screen door “I…come in.” She held the door open, wishing she were wearing something a little more professional than a pair of faded jeans and an old Northwestern sweatshirt.
The small foyer shrank by half as soon as he walked inside. There was absolutely no way she could stand there and carry on a half-rational conversation with him looming over her, looking so big and imposing. The house she rented was tiny, with a living room only a few feet larger than the entry. Where else could they go?
“It’s a nice night,” she said impulsively. “We can talk outside. Is that all right?”
She took his shrug for assent and led him through the house to the covered porch, flipping on the recessed lights overhead as they went through the door.
The back porch had become her favorite spot lately. She hadn’t realized how closed in and trapped she’d been feeling during the harsh Wyoming winter until the relentless snow finally began to give way to spring.
As the temperatures warmed, she discovered she liked to sit out here in the evenings and look up at the mountains. Their massive grandeur comforted her, in some strange way she couldn’t define.
A few weeks ago she’d found some wicker furniture in the