Chapter Six

 

For the second time in a few hours I slipped into the passenger seat of Jack’s cruiser. What was going on? It wasn’t bad enough I was going to be forced into his company for the next week, but my own mother was encouraging it now?

Oh. Yeah.

The light went on. My mother was onto a matchmaking scheme to keep me in Sweetwater. Well, that’s not going to succeed. This man did not respect my work. No way would I ever, ever hook up with him.

Sure. I would do my part on the trip, but that was it. I had a firm barrier in place against anyone trying to control me or my love life.

“Where do you live, Daisey?”

“Over the Prairie Rose Café. Please, don’t feel you need to help me with the trunk. I’ll get Rose.”

“Daisey Winslow.”

I waited but no more words followed. I turned and looked at Jack. His expression was closed, like he was not too impressed with the proceedings. Well buster, me neither.

“What?”

He sighed. “So, what are your hobbies, Miss Winslow?”

“Hmm?” I wasn’t expecting the question.

“You know, the things you like to do when you’re not working.”

“I know what a hobby is. Just so happens I like to write songs.”

“Really. That’s wonderful. Care to share?”

“Not really.” I crossed my arms over my chest and wished the ride was over.

Would it be impolite to jump out while the vehicle was still moving? We were only going about five miles an hour. Likely I’d be just fine. Though maybe not a good idea to be taking a chance on breaking a leg at this juncture. Two working legs would be helpful in New York.

“To live happily is the inward power of the soul.”

Intrigued in spite of everything, I had to ask. “I don’t believe I’ve heard those lines before. Who wrote them?”

“Marcus Aurelius, from his Meditations. Just because I’m a cop doesn’t mean I can’t have other interests.”

“Aww, I didn’t say that.” Confused didn’t half cover it. A deputy sheriff who appreciated a man who lived two thousand years ago? It did kind of fit a lawman. Perhaps being a stoic philosopher could ease the burden of the difficult undertaking of service to the public.

“I also write a bit of poetry. I’ll save that for another time.”

“No, please, just a few lines. I would love it.” Did I really just say that?

“For you, Miss Winslow, I’ll come clean with a couple of lines. Then you owe me. Expect me to call the chit due when it’s my turn. Fair warning.”

“Of course, Scout’s honor.” I made the sign of the cross on my chest for emphasis.

He took a deep breath, his expression becoming almost otherworldly. I sat in wonder and suspense. No man had ever recited poetry to me, let alone a few lines of his own.

“‘Come fly with me across the Northern Sea. Be my love and stay with me’.”

I gulped and gave a half-chuckle of discomfort. I didn’t see this coming. “Wow, a police officer who’s a full-blown romantic. Are you for real?”

I saw the instant he shut down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—” I swallowed, feeling the lowest of the low.

How many times had people done the same thing to me? When I was at my most vulnerable? The shoe showing up on the wrong foot disturbed the worldview I had of myself, and I pressed my lips together to stop from making the situation worse.

“I take it you’re not a romantic then?”

“I’m sorry, sure, I can be. It was nice—the quote and the poem. Thanks for the ride.” And thank the heavens we were pulling into a parking space in front of the café. I jumped out and scurried inside. Enough already.

“What’s the matter?” Rose asked as I rushed past her in the upstairs hallway on the way to my rooms wishing the bowels of the earth would just swallow me up already.

“Nothing. Just didn’t expect it is all and I went and made a fool of myself.”

“Expect what?” Her brows knitted together.

“I just learned our new deputy sheriff writes poetry and reads Marcus Aurelius.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened. “Seems you two have something special in common.”

“No, we don’t. Say, you look nice,” I said, taking in her pretty lilac-sprigged summer dress.

She twirled around a bit, making the full skirt swing outward in soft undulating waves. “I’m headed to the dance. You about ready?”

“Sure. Just give me a sec.”

“Meet you in the café.” Rose headed down the staircase, her high-heeled shoes click-clicking officiously on the narrow wooden steps.

Closing the door of my apartment, I shook my head, wishing I could go back fifteen minutes in time. My six-month New Year’s resolution to work on becoming a better human had just gotten a failing grade in manners and composure. Time to regroup.

I glanced up at the old-fashioned oval photograph of my grandparent’s wedding day, which I’d hung over my saggy old couch. It looked out of place today for some reason. I took a good look around, taking in my lack of decorating flair.

All of a sudden, the space I called home filled me with dissatisfaction, from the battered coffee table to the lack of any personal items aside from the lovely photograph, and the dearth of comfortable seating. What did it matter what my place looked like? I was leaving soon anyway. Or just maybe I should be taking more of an interest while I still lived here?

I only had two treasures on the mantle over the small electric fireplace. A small crystal angel and a precious magical wand. On returning from a trip from New York many years ago, my dad had given them to me with the words, “Use your wings to fly, sweetheart.”

Walking over to it, I picked up the figurine, running my hands over its smooth texture, imagining following his directions, using my wings to fly away. That had to be what he meant. I set the precious angel back on the shelf, then picked up the ebony wand and gave it a flourish like I had so often done as a child to make magic happen. Embedded with golden stars, it cut a bright swath through the air as it always had. I believed then it could make magic, and I still felt its subtle powers of persuasion to help heal the universe.

Thoughts filled my mind of the old black journal lying on my night table. My ancestor had given up all she knew of this life to undergo an odyssey. Surely she could teach me something? I itched to open it, but I didn’t dare. I’d never get to the dance.

I hurried into the bathroom to clean up.

By the time I descended the stairs, the sounds of the bass guitar from the band starting up on Main Street pulsated a steady driving beat through the walls of the café, sending my toes to tapping.

I grabbed my cousin and whirled her around the kitchen, making her laugh out loud. We narrowly missed banging into the small table she’d pushed up against one wall for much needed, but seldom taken work breaks. My cousin is a whirlwind. The happy sounds she emitted now made me laugh as we danced our way outside.

“Where’s Henry tonight?” I asked, noting her fiancé’s absence in the crowd.

“Dental emergency. His patient’s going on the trek tomorrow so it needed to be fixed ASAP,” Rose said, her cheeks infused with color from our impromptu exercise.

I scanned the area. “Hmm, there’s Boyd again.”

Rose let out a deep breath. “Daisey, I swear, you’re going to be the death of me. Standing right up to Boyd like that earlier today. Where does a hundred-pound girl get the gumption to pull his strings?”

I snorted. “A hundred pounds! I wish. I may be petite, but the scales don’t agree.”

“You’re the perfect weight for your height. I’m the string bean. I’d give anything for your figure.”

I grabbed my cousin by the arm and led her closer to the stage. “You don’t need to change a thing, Miss Rose Winslow. Don’t you realize in forty years you won’t have to worry about sagging?”

She gave a delighted laugh. “You’ve got a point. Oh, doesn’t Holly look beautiful tonight!”

I glanced up at the temporary stage, set back from the plywood dance floor installed over the last couple of days by a small crew from Barnes & Sons Hardware. “She does look great,” I said, agreeing with Rose.

Holly did look beautiful in a short-fringed burgundy dress with white trim. The deep color set off her long blonde curls and porcelain skin. Holly was beyond gorgeous. She also played lead guitar and did most of the singing. Lily Michaels was blessed with shiny long dark hair and she played bass and harmonizes with Holly. Shelby Bucannon worked the drums, her wild, red curls continually bouncing on her shoulders, and Jessica Jones, or J.J., the cool brunette with the Madonna-like smile stroked a fiddle.

The Wild Roses made fabulous, unforgettable music, mixing the old with the new, creating their own perfect blend. Sometimes, when I could be coerced into it, I played piano for them. I didn’t want them counting on it because I would be letting them down by leaving town and that would be worse, in my opinion. Though in my heart, I envied them. Music was such a gift.

The crowd hushed its incessant noise when Holly stepped up to the mic, her guitar at the ready. It was an aqua-blue electric number, plugged into an amplifier, the black cord taped flat to the floor of the stage. The cord led to an electrical circuit situated under the stage that supplied the power.

“Evening all Sweetwater’s son and daughters. Welcome to the rodeo! I want to start off tonight with a new number with special thanks to my cousin Daisey.” She waved at me and the crowd cheered.

“It’s titled ‘Sweetwater Cowboy’. It’s a special song written for a very deserving man who shall go unnamed to protect the innocent.”

The crowd roared and then settled back down to listen. Rose and I rocked side by side arm in arm as Holly sang the ballad, her voice pure magic.

 

You promised me rainbows and gave me the rain.

You promised me moonlight and filled me with pain.

You left me for sunshine, your heart fueled by fame.

And I stand here waiting till I see you again.

Hold me my darlin’ make it all right

Kiss me my darlin’ and squeeze me tight

Sweet, Sweetwater Cowboy

Hold me tonight.

 

Holly was in fine form, singing the chorus again, her voice capturing so well the angst of broken hearts and hard times. A natural country singer, she deserved to make it big one day. Now, I could see her putting Sweetwater on the map.

Rose jabbed me in the ribs. “Oh, there’s our new sheriff.” Like I didn’t know. I’d felt his presence long before I spotted him in the crowd watching the band with interest. “You should ask him to dance.”

“I’ll do no such thing! You want to dance, you ask him. Isn’t it enough I’m going to be cooped up with him for the next week?”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’ve been assigned to his wagon?”

I gave a dramatic sigh. “Yes, but don’t be sharing it around. Last thing I need is for all the women in town giving me the gears over this. I didn’t ask for it, and I most certainly didn’t win the darn lottery.”

“This should prove interesting.” Her expression was too smug for my liking. “Never heard you in such a state over a man before.”

“I’m not in a state. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Better prepare yourself. Here he comes.” She placed her arm around my waist and held on. Good thing because I was about to exit stage right.

“Ladies.” Jack touched his fingers to his hat.

“Deputy Sheriff Samson,” Rose said.

“Please, just Jack. How are you this evening, Daisey?”

Like I hadn’t just seen him a short while ago? Well, two could play this game. “Fine. You?”

“Very well, thanks for asking. Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Winslow?”

I swallowed, hesitating. Rose pinched me, making me remember my manners.

“I’d love to dance.” I spoke under my breath to my dense cousin, “I’ll get you for this.” But at the same time, I was gratified she’d helped me do the right thing.

The band broke into a new song and Jack swung me out onto the dance floor, taking my breath away. Whoa, the man could dance.

Round and round we went, my feet hardly touching the ground. In the spirit of the moment, I found myself going the extra distance, adding my own special moves to our quick-step. He bent me over at the waist and I followed through with a dramatic wave of my free hand like they do on ballroom dancing videos. A spattering of applause only spurred me on. A few minutes later, the song changed to a slow waltz, and I started to pull away.

Instead, he held me tight, tucking my hand in his. The press of his warm flesh drew my complete attention. “Just one more tune, beautiful. You dance so well.”

My heart slammed into my chest. Had he just called me beautiful?

The dance was a romantic ballad, “Lady in Red” by Chris de Burgh, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard my cousin sing it better. Time slowed down. My hand in Jack’s, his arm around me, the beat of my heart became my whole world.

The music stopped. “Thanks,” he said, leading me off the dance floor.

I nodded, still caught up in the magic.

“Would you like help with that trunk?”

I hesitated. It would make things easier. Rose looked happy, busy talking with some friends over by the refreshment stand. The booth was supplied and supported by the Sweetwater Arena Board to make money to keep our ice rink going for hockey fans and the winter carnival. “Can you do it now?”

“Of course.” We walked side by side back into the café.

I led the way upstairs, finding his large presence at my back both comforting and yet disturbing on another level. I shook the feeling off and wished I had fixed up my place long before this. Never thought about it before, and now twice in one day. Beyond weird.

Speaking over my shoulder, I opened the door. “Please excuse the mess. I’m not home much.”

“No need to apologize. I take things as they come.”

“Good attitude. I just have a few things to toss in and we’ll be all set.” I hurried to add the last items to the trunk, keeping out one set of clothing to wear in the morning.

“There.” I grabbed the leather strap on my end of the huge beast, waiting for him to grab the other. Instead, he gently pushed me aside, hefted the trunk by both handles, and bore it up to his chest.

“Work out much?” I asked, impressed in spite of myself.

“A little. Lead the way, beautiful.”

I swallowed and scrambled to open the door again. Taking the steps two at a time, I preceded him to the main floor.

“I’ll put this baby in the trunk of my cruiser and haul it over to the wagon in the morning. Work for you?”

“Sure. Where are you parked?”

“In the alley, nearby.”

Hmm, that was awfully convenient. I gave him a speculative look but wasted no time in opening the back door of the café and letting him outside. Strong or not, that sucker had to be heavy. He was indeed parked just a few feet away from the building.

“Reach into the vehicle and pop the trunk lid, please.”

I did as he requested and watched him dispense with all my worldly eighteen-hundreds belongings in the trunk of the police vehicle. The lid wouldn’t close so he went around and retrieved some elastic tie downs from the pocket of the driver’s side door.

“A man who comes prepared, I see.” The compliment was earned.

“A skill my father taught me.”

“How are your parents?” I was suddenly curious about Jack Samson. He was tying down the trunk and spared me a quick glance.

“Fine, but we’ll have an entire week of getting to know each other. No need to share now or we might not find enough to talk about.”

“True.” I wasn’t certain how I felt about that, but I wasn’t quite as annoyed by it as earlier in the day. I mean, we have to try to get along, right?” I smiled and added, “Thanks for taking care of the trunk, Deputy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I just want to say one thing. About your wanting to go to New York after you sell your land?”

“Yes? What about it?” What was it to him?

“A warning. Don’t think that you can speak to a man there, like you did with Boyd Nolan this morning and walk away. Outcomes are unpredictable in New York.”

My body stiff with sudden fury, I stared him right in the eyes. Of all the annoying, unwelcome, and unasked-for advice! What did he think I was, a stupid country hick who needed direction from the likes of him?

Infuriated, I said, “I have a plan, Deputy, and I don’t need you or anyone else for that matter telling me differently! I know darn well how to keep myself safe!” I punctuated my remarks with a warning finger I wanted desperately to poke into his chest.

I whirled away from him and into the kitchen, knowing I was overreacting while seeming powerless to stop it. I kicked the door shut and continued my stomping right up the stairs. The morning would be here far too soon and I hate rising early.

Zombies have nothing on me woken before seven AM I’d need to set at least two alarms and pray I’d hear at least one of them.