But thinking about that reminded her that she was riding in a car with a chief of police. She wanted to yank her thoughts away from that as a wave of darkness threatened to descend over her once again. Instead, she forced herself to reach for a semblance of normalcy.
“So people in town call you now instead of the sheriff?”
He chuckled quietly. “It doesn’t make much difference to them. We share a switchboard. Whoever happens to have the closest car responds. Mostly that’s the sheriff. I’ve only got six of us, me included. That’s nowhere near enough for round-the-clock coverage, assuming the officers get time to sleep, eat and see their families.”
He swung the car onto a narrow road that led to his ranch. “You could say we cooperate fully. The difference is I have no jurisdiction outside the city limits. The sheriff continues to have jurisdiction in town. Like I said, I feel we’re more of an auxiliary.”
“Would have made more sense to hire more deputies with that money.”
“I won’t disagree.”
Yet he was doing this anyway. More money, he’d said. It troubled her to think of that when she remembered the days when that hadn’t been a huge concern for his ranch.
All of a sudden, panic struck her. No matter where she looked, she saw nothing but fences. Like when she’d staggered out of that ditch in the dead of night far outside Minneapolis. Nothing. There was nothing out here, and she was alone in a car with a man....
“Take me home!”
The panic in her voice must have been unmistakable. He jammed on the brakes, pulling to the grassy shoulder, and rammed the car into Park. “Nora?”
Her heart hammered so hard that she could hardly hear him. She was panting like a runner at the end of a long sprint. Her mouth turned as dry as cotton, her palms gripped the armrest, slippery with sudden dampness.
“Nora?”
She tried to grab on to his voice as the world seemed to shift dizzyingly from then to now and back again. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!”
“I won’t. I swear I won’t.”
She wanted to get out of that car, but a vast wasteland was all that lay out there, offering no safety, no help.
“Nora, can you look at me? Please?”
She knew that voice. Jake. Somehow she managed to turn her head one jerk at a time toward him. He had turned in his seat, one arm on the steering wheel, one on the back of his seat. He had moved as far away as he could get in the confines of the car. Giving her room. His posture unthreatening.
“Jake,” she croaked.
“Yes, Jake,” he said quietly. “I’m Jake. You’re safe with me. I won’t touch you. If you want to go home, I’ll take you right now.”
Home. The image of her father’s house, the emptiness inside it, made her shudder. Being alone wasn’t good. It was never good. “No,” she said finally, a mere whisper. “I don’t want to go back there.”
“Will you be all right? It’s only another mile or so to my place.”
She looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Sometimes...I remember.”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” He turned and put the car into Drive, resuming the trip. With each turn of the tires on pavement, her heart slowed down. Her mouth moistened again, and the tension seeped out of her.
She forced herself to think about riding a horse, something she hadn’t done since she’d left here. One of those promises she had made herself, that she’d find a Saturday and some money and go to a stable for a few hours, but had somehow never gotten around to.
As the panic slipped away, a sense of anticipation tried to replace it. Closing her eyes, she recalled the marvelous scents of stables and horses and leather. After all these years, they remained as vivid as just a few minutes ago.
The car turned and she opened her eyes to see the ranch house ahead of her. It looked like a haven—gleaming white clapboard in the bright autumn sunlight, a well-kept barn not far beyond and a paddock where a half dozen horses grazed.
“It hasn’t changed much,” he remarked.
No, it hadn’t. She’d been out here once before, for a hayride with a youth group. Once had been enough for her, but surprisingly she suddenly remembered how Jake had silenced the few who wanted to know why Nora had been invited. At least after that they’d left her alone.
For the first time in many, many years, she felt some warmth toward him.
He came around to open her door for her but didn’t offer a hand, as if he guessed that was too soon. She felt better with her feet on solid ground and looked around, taking in details—from the flowerpots that lined the wide porch, filled now with dying plants that struggled to hang on to just a little green, to the wooden porch swing.
The door opened and a matronly women with pitch-black hair streaked with gray stepped out, wiping her hands on a bib apron. A wide, warm smile creased her face.
“Nora, this is Rosa Gonzales. She and her husband, Al, work for me.”
Rosa came down the steps, her smile fading slightly. She offered her hand, then changed her mind and touched Nora’s shoulder. “You come inside. I have lots of food for lunch, and we can eat a little early.”
Nora didn’t argue, even though the horses drew her gaze again. Six meals a day was a pain, but an order not to be ignored. Right then she’d be more comfortable with a woman around anyway.
The inside of the house hadn’t changed much, either, from what she remembered, but it had been well maintained.
Rosa insisted they use the dining room, over Jake’s good-natured objections that the kitchen table would be fine.
“Not the first time you bring a lady here,” Rosa said firmly.
Sitting at the big polished table, with Jake at its head and her to his right, felt strange to Nora. As far as it would be possible to get from her past experience.
More, Rosa insisted on serving them plates loaded with saffron-flavored rice and pulled pork.
“She’s really putting on the dog for you,” Jake remarked. “She usually doesn’t object to Al and me standing in the kitchen in our work gear eating from the counter.”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Nora felt herself smile. It was hard not to, since Jake looked uncomfortable with this development. “Just tell me she doesn’t call you patrón.”
At that, a laugh sparkled in his green eyes. “Hell, no. She calls me Jake. Or other things, depending on my latest transgression.”
The rice was perfectly spiced, the best thing she had tasted in forever. The pork was so tender it practically melted in her mouth. “What transgressions?”
“Forgetting to take my boots off when I’ve been in the yard. I have a tendency to think floors are for walking on, but she seems to think we should be able to eat off them.”
“She sounds like a gem.”
“She and Al both are. I’d be lost without them.”
“Where do they live?”
“I don’t know if you ever saw the bunkhouse out