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The truth was that Ryan had intended to go to dinner with Polly, if for no other reason that he had nothing better to do. During the afternoon, he felt restless and decided to go to a sports bar hoping to meet some people he knew. After ten years of absence, he found a lot of changes in town, some good like the restored buildings downtown, some unexpected.
The few customers at the bar were looking at a motorcycle race on the screen up on the wall and the barman was polishing the glasses. Ryan grabbed a beer and went in the back where he’d seen a pool table.
He was playing by himself, pondering his next move when he heard a voice behind him. “Do you mind if we join in?” The man was about Ryan’s age, early thirties, and had a friendly smile.
“Please do. It’s no fun to play alone,” Ryan answered and placed the cue on the table.
“I’m Jeff, and these are Steve and Maddox,” the newcomer said introducing the two men who came with him.
Steve was about the same age, and had a permanent smirk on his face that hid his real thoughts. Ryan didn’t like his shifty eyes, but he was willing to keep an open mind about him and not to be prejudiced. The third man was somewhat younger, maybe in his late twenties and was looking from one to the other, trying to make sense in what was going on around him. He was the classic follower, permanently needing someone to show him the way.
“Are you new in town?” Jeff asked, studying the position of the balls, before striking one, expertly sending them flying across the table.
This was no beginner, Ryan thought, enjoying the idea to have a worthy opponent to play pool with. “I arrived yesterday after a long absence. But I was born here, raised on a ranch,” he explained.
Jeff passed the cue to Steve although he was winning. “Just passing through or do you intend to stay longer?”
Ryan watched Steve accidentally pushing one ball more to the center, in the path of the cue ball and easier to send into the corner pocket. No one protested. Maddox was looking at Steve, not at the table and Jeff only shrugged, sipping his beer.
“Let me show you how it’s done, Maddox,” Steve boasted, rubbing his cue stick.
Ryan disliked cheaters and having seen enough, he raised his half empty glass and returned to the bar. He took a seat at the counter and looked at the motocross race on the screen. He pulled his chair to the side to accommodate another customer who took the seat next to him. He saw it was Jeff.
“Do you like bikes?” Jeff asked him.
Ryan hesitated before answering. He liked Jeff, but not his companions and he liked to keep his life private and was reluctant to start a conversation that was bound to get into personal details with a stranger. Still Jeff’s question was not intrusive so he answered. “I do. I have a vintage Harley-Davidson, restored by a man who knew what he was doing.” He looked at the screen and winced when a wrong maneuver sent a racer flying and hitting the dirt. “This is not my idea of fun.”
Nodding, Jeff smiled his understanding. “Nor mine. Not motocross. When I was younger, I competed a few times in flat track racing. I was a daredevil then.”
“What happened?”
“A badly broken bone cured me of the thrill of facing danger at every turn. But I still like to ride my bike. How about you?”
“My idea of fun has always been to ride my bike fast on an open country road, to feel the wind blowing in my face and the freedom of just riding alone, one with the bike,” Ryan answered. He raised his glass only to see it was empty. The barman hastened to refill it from the tap.
“A bike? Why not a horse?”
“I guess my genes fell far from the family tree. I like horses, but I’m no rancher. My brother is. I’m the black sheep of the family.”
“Is this why you left home?” Jeff asked him.
“Yeah. This and my sense of adventure.” There was more to his reasons for leaving home almost twelve years ago, but he was not ready to confess the truth and the family secrets to a virtual stranger.
“It’s amazingly similar to my own story. My father was, and still is, a dentist in a small town in Colorado. He had a good practice and hoped one day I’d take over. The thought of spending all my life with my hands in other people’s mouths gave me the creeps. I mean there is nothing wrong with being a dentist, but it was not for me,” Jeff explained.
“So you left,” Ryan concluded looking up at the TV screen on the wall. The motocross race ended and now the sports channel was presenting a hockey game. Not something Ryan was interested in. “Why Laramie?”
Jeff pushed his empty glass away. “I like it here. It’s a nice western town. My great-uncle, my Grandpa’s brother, owned a lumber yard here and several years back he retired. He put the business in my name and I discovered that I loved it. I added hardwood and laminate floors installation to it and now it’s in pretty good financial shape.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Oh, yes. He’s eighty-seven and very much active. Marvin O’Shea is quite a character in this town. He has friends, plays cards with them, and he’s active in a literacy program at University of Wyoming. One thing he doesn’t do, he doesn’t interfere in the business any longer. It’s mine now, to run it as I see fit.”
“Does he live in a retirement center?”
“No. The old house is in my name with the provision to let him live there till the end of his days. We live together. Two crusty old bachelors and we get along just fine. In fact, much better than I got along with my father.”
Ah, family life, with its secrets and discord. Ryan knew about it very well. He was not prepared to open his heart as freely as Jeff did. It was still painful to remember some of it, and the details were embarrassing and very personal. Perhaps too personal to be told even to a good listener and friend. “What about your partners?” he asked Jeff pointing at the pool table in the back.
“They are not my partners. I’ve met those two a year ago when they were hired in construction. Temporary work. Now, they are hanging around in the bar all day. I don’t think they have a job, but it’s not my business if they do or not, as long as they don’t disturb the others. Until now they didn’t.” He looked at his watch and hopped down from the bar stool. “It’s time for me to go. The old man is waiting with dinner and it’s already 8:30. Usually, I call him when I’m late.” He pushed the chair back and smiled at Ryan. “Nice meeting you. Come to the lumber yard and look for me when you feel like racing our bikes out on the country road.”
“I’d like that,” Ryan answered shaking his hand.
After Jeff left, he didn’t feel like returning to the pool table. Besides, he was hungry. It was past 8:30 and... he slapped his forehead. He had a dinner date. At 7:00. What were the odds that the woman, Molly or... Polly, yes, this was her name, Polly had waited more than an hour and a half. How could he have forgotten about the date?
After asking the barman directions to the bistro restaurant, he ran outside to his truck and drove at fast speed. It was too late now, and he had no idea what he expected to find at the bistro, but he knew he had to go and talk to the woman.
His fast driving took him only beyond the next intersection when he saw red and blue flashing lights behind him. Wasn’t he a lucky guy today? He pulled at the curb, stopped the engine and frustrated, he hit the wheel with his hand.
“Your ID and registration.”
He couldn’t believe his eyes when he handed out the papers. The deputy sheriff looking back at him was none other than Brett Lockhart. “You?” Ryan asked in disbelief. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”
Brett frowned confused. “Are you drunk, Calhoun? I’ve been on the honeymoon for three years, since I married Kathleen. This doesn’t stop me from doing my work.”
“Haven’t you married Taryn recently?”
“Taryn? You mean Taryn Bowman, the lawyer?”
“Yes, she’s the one. I was told she’s on her honeymoon.”
The deputy shook his head. “Not with me. My Kathleen would cut my... throat and other valuable parts if I only looked at another woman. And why should I? She’s all I ever wanted or needed to be happy, my fiery Irish girl.”
It was becoming clear that the deputy was besotted with his wife and he never looked in Taryn’s direction. Had the haughty ice-queen in the law office lied to Ryan? But why and for what purpose? “The woman at the Bowman law office said clearly that Taryn married Deputy Lockhart and she’s on her honeymoon.”
Brett Lockhart laughed good-naturedly, although Ryan saw nothing hilarious to laugh about. “Taryn Bowman married my little cousin, Cole, who is now a recent addition to our department. After years of successfully competing in rodeos, and winning a lot of trophies, the All-Around Champion at nationals included, Cole decided to join us. He is Deputy Lockhart now.”
It made sense, but when the reality sunk in, Ryan was not any happier. “Another Lockhart to chase us and ticket us. Like one was not enough,” he scoffed.
The deputy nodded smugly. “Yes, indeed. You remember that next time when you feel like racing through town. And this reminds me - you were speeding.”
“Sure I was,” Ryan admitted readily.
Used to people’s protests and denials in such cases, the deputy was surprised by Ryan’s frank admission. “Was there any reason, an emergency or such, for your speeding?” Because if it was, the deputy was ready to help. It was his duty.
“I had a dinner date and I was late,” Ryan told him.
Breathing easier that there was no emergency, Brett closed his notebook. “It happens. Your date will understand. What time were you supposed to meet her?”
Talk about being caught in an embarrassing situation. And by Deputy Lockhart no less. “At around seven at the bistro.”
The deputy blinked, then looked at his watch. “In that case, I’m afraid you’re about one hour and forty-five minutes too late. No date, no matter how patient and understanding, is waiting that long. Why were you speeding? Did you think she’d be there?”
Ryan grimaced. The deputy was right. “I was hoping to find her or maybe she left me a message or a number to call and to explain why I didn’t show up. I don’t know what I hoped,” he said discouraged.
“Do you have a serious reason for not going?”
“No. I talked to someone at the bar and lost track of time.” Another embarrassing admission. “I need to find her and tell her that it was not on purpose I didn’t show up. It just happened.”
“Don’t you know her address or telephone number?”
“No. I just met her today.”
“What’s her name?”
“Molly. No, wait, Polly,” Ryan said. The deputy looked at him askance. “It’s Polly Moore,” he remembered.
Deputy Lockhart nodded. He gave Ryan the papers back and turned to go. “Good evening.”
“Wait. I feel that you know her. Aren’t you going to give me her address or tell me more about her?”
“Possibly I know her. But I’m no matchmaker and I’m not going to make your life easier. As Kathleen says, a man needs to sweat a little to get a prize.”