The solution to his problem came to him at breakfast Friday morning. Sitting in his usual spot at Grizzly’s, Rafe picked up his coffee mug, stared at it for a second, then grinned. There was still one person concerned about Bobby and his friends whom he could approach without risking his health or his job. In fact, getting her on his side might raise his status around town, help him settle the Maxwell kid down and improve his personal life.
He made the call when he went home for lunch. A voice he didn’t recognize answered the phone. “Walking Stones Ranch, Beth Peace speaking. May I help you?”
Rafe cleared his throat. “This is Deputy Sheriff Rafferty. Could I speak to Thea Maxwell, please?”
A silence followed, and he didn’t think he was imagining the disapproval pulsing through the line. “Miss Maxwell is at work, Deputy. Can I take a message?”
“Sure.” His disappointment was way out of proportion to the situation. “Please ask her to call me at the office before six, or at home afterward.” He dictated the numbers. “It’s important that I talk to her. Not urgent.” No need to cause a panic. “But I’d like to get in touch as soon as possible.”
“I’ll tell her. Goodbye.” Beth Peace disconnected briskly. Secretary or housekeeper or whoever, she’d taken on the familiar Maxwell attitude.
The phone rang a total of eight times before he left the office that afternoon. Rafe jumped each time, picked up the receiver with his breath a little short…and dealt with two traffic complaints involving tourists, three questions about the start of deer season, a report of vandalism to an abandoned cabin in the woods, a hang-up call and a wrong number. No word from Thea Maxwell.
By nine that night, he’d decided she was going to ignore him. That realization, coupled with a message on his answering machine that said his furniture remained lost on the highway between Los Angeles and Paradise Corners, shortened his temper to the point where even talking to Jed was too much of an effort.
When the phone rang at nine-thirty, Rafe had just dropped his only coffee mug, which left a zillion pieces of pottery scattered across the kitchen floor plus one long and extremely painful shard embedded in his foot.
“Hello.” Not his friendliest tone. Receiver clutched between shoulder and cheek, he tried to ease the ceramic splinter out of his arch.
“Um…Deputy Rafferty? It’s Thea Maxwell.”
He jerked as she said her name. The splinter burrowed deeper. Rafe swore.
“I beg your pardon?” Glacier mode.
“Damn, here we go again.” Rafe gave up on the splinter. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.”
“That’s just your usual phone manner?”
“I have a piece of glass in my foot and was trying to get it out when you called.”
“Are you okay?” Her question carried a current of laughter. And maybe a hint of concern?
“I’ll live.” He dabbed gingerly at his bleeding foot with a paper towel. “I think.”
“I’m sorry, too, for calling so late. We worked past dark, bringing some cows down from the high country. A few of them spooked, detoured through a steep gorge, and the only way out was back into the mountains. That added about five hours to the process.” Weariness roughened her voice.
“I’ve had those kinds of days. You need a meal and a bath and a bed.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “So why did you call? Our housekeeper said it was important.”
Rafe pulled his thoughts back from a mental picture of Thea Maxwell soaking in a tub of warm, sweet-smelling water. “Uh…yeah. It’s about your brother.”
“Oh, really.”
“But I don’t want to get into anything tonight.” He’d expected the sudden change in her tone, but it bothered him anyway. “I wondered…is there sometime in the next day or two that you could come into town?”
“You want to interrogate me at the jailhouse?”
He sighed. “I want to buy you a cup of coffee, maybe a piece of pie, and talk this situation over like reasonable people.”
Thea recognized Rafe Rafferty’s exasperation. She couldn’t blame him—he didn’t have a clue that her question was purely defensive, an effort to get control of the excitement his invitation provoked. “I, um, I usually come in on Saturday mornings to pick up groceries. Do you have time…tomorrow?”
“Sure.” How could he sound so calm when she felt as if she was standing in the middle of an electrical storm? “How’s ten-thirty sound? Too early?”
“Th-that’s fine.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Was he hanging up? “Rafe, um, Deputy? Wait a minute. Deputy?”
“Rafe will be fine.” She practically heard him grin. “What’s wrong?”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“Oh, yeah. Good question. Is Grizzly’s okay with you?”
“Great. I…I’ll see you at Grizzly’s at ten-thirty.”
“Sounds good.” After a long pause, he said, “Well, then…good night. Get some rest.”
“You, too.” There was some kind of problem here, saying goodbye. “Um…good night.”
“Sure.” He pulled in a deep breath. “’Night.” After yet another hesitation, Thea heard the phone click off. Rafe Rafferty was finally gone.
Unless you counted the way she thought about him as she showered. The way he got between her eyes and the book she tried to read while eating the warmed-over plate of chicken and dumplings Beth had made. The way he got all tangled up in her dreams.
THEN THERE WAS the problem Saturday morning of what to wear. Nothing special, of course. Just the usual jeans and boots and a shirt, with a jacket against the cold wind sweeping down from the mountains. So what if the shirt was new, hanging in her closet since her trip to Denver last summer? The bright red would be cheerful on this gray day. And, yes, the black jeans were new, too. A woman didn’t have to look like one of the boys when she drove into town. There was such a thing as self-respect.
But she got a sharp glance from Beth. “You’re awful dressed up. What’s going on?”
Thea picked up her coffee cup. “Nothing. Just driving in for the groceries, same as usual.”
“What can I fix you for breakfast?” Saturday was short-order day—you could ask for strawberry waffles or ostrich-egg omelettes and Beth would do her best to oblige.
But Thea couldn’t imagine putting food on top of the jitterbugs in her stomach. “I ate late last night. I’ll just get something in town.”
“With that deputy?”
Trust Beth Peace to know everything. “He wants to talk about Bobby.”
The housekeeper puffed out like a threatened hen. “What’s there to talk about?”
“I don’t know.” It was too early to leave, but she couldn’t face any more questions. “I’ll tell you when I get home.” She put her cup in the sink and started out the back door. Her work jacket hung there—dusty worn denim with a tear in the sleeve from yesterday’s argument with a fallen branch.
Beth followed her as she reversed directions and headed for the coat closet in the great room. “You might want to put on some jewelry