“I didn’t say marriage.” Marlene abruptly began to gather her papers into her handbag.
All this talk of spouses made her think. If she’d been a widow, would she have remarried? Would the pain have been this deep? Sometimes, when she was feeling small-hearted, she wished she were a widow. That her husband had died instead of divorcing her. In her low moments, she told herself that burying him would’ve been easier to bear than the shame of his leaving.
Pearl approached the table. The woman wore a contented smile—the meeting had been as dramatic as promised. “Are we leaving now?”
The other two Kidd sisters were close behind, still bundling up. Marlene’s elderly mother was having trouble with her coat sleeves, but before she could help, Billy appeared at the woman’s back.
“Let me get this for you,” he said, guiding Emerald’s arms into the sleeves. “You got all turned inside out.”
“What a gentleman,” Ruby exclaimed.
Edith met Marlene’s eyes, a significant question there. Was there something between Billy and Sorrow?
Marlene studied him. Whether or not he was a widower, whether it was Sorrow or somebody else, someday, some lucky woman would find herself turned inside out by this sheriff.
Twelve
Billy felt kind of awkward. He’d gone home to change—nobody wanted their guest to show up for dinner wearing a sidearm—but he worried he looked as though he were trying too hard. He refused to think on the fact that simply thinking on such things was the very definition of trying too hard.
Was he trying?
Of course he wasn’t. The last time he’d tried with a woman had been with Keri. For years, they’d been colleagues, then friends, and it was a slow courtship that’d turned them into lovers. He’d bought flowers. Symphony tickets. Dinners at the latest in restaurants. Things he didn’t necessarily enjoy but had thought his wife would. Sitting through a three-hour avant-garde opera? Now that had been trying.
No, this was a friendly visit, all part of small-town living. Sorrow’s mother led him into the lodge’s private living quarters. He’d never eaten in the lodge before—tourists and lodgers ate at the tavern—and he was looking forward to seeing how the family interacted.
“You’re looking handsome this evening,” Edith told him as they joined Sorrow’s father in the den. The man sat in his recliner, watching a college basketball game on mute.
Billy had settled on wearing jeans with a sweater, but seeing Bear’s scowl, he’d begun to regret the absence of that sidearm.
“Bear”—Edith nudged her husband—“say hello to Billy. If it weren’t for him, I’d have missed my meeting.”
The older man nodded a greeting then turned back to the game.
“Evening, sir.” Billy’s eyes went to the action on TV as he settled onto the giant sectional couch. Its old brown leather was as comfortable as it looked. “Kentucky came out strong this year.”
Bear’s eyes narrowed. “You a Kentucky fan?”
That seemed like a minefield if ever there was one. For all he knew, Kentucky fans weren’t allowed in the Big Bear Lodge.
“I went to Colorado State,” Billy said, sidestepping the question. A topic change seemed in order, so he added, “It’s where I discovered my love of the mountains.”
“Why go all the way there?” Bear was skeptical, obviously not the sort of man who thrived on travel.
“Football scholarship.”
Bear pulled his eyes from the screen to study him. “Really now?”
Billy sat up straighter, feeling a little uncomfortably checked out. “Running back,” he clarified.
“Ahh.” A smile spread across Bear’s face. He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I see it. You got that stocky sort of look of a man who played ball. I played ball, too, once upon a time. It was different then. We didn’t much bother with nonsense like pads.”
“You play in college?”
Bear was quiet for a second. Finally, he said, “Nah, didn’t go. Didn’t need it. I played high school ball, then played around here. Town stuff.”
They watched the game for a few minutes, then the older man surprised him, saying out of the blue, “I appreciate you driving Edith. I’m sure you got better sheriff duties to tend to.”
“Not a problem,” Billy said, and he meant it. It’d been a break from his routine and a pleasure to boot. In fact, small favors like that were how he kept it together these days. By being relentlessly friendly and occupying himself with the needs of others, he could keep the ghosts—one particular black-haired ghost—at bay.
When he’d doubled back to drive the women home, they’d invited him in and plied him with a lot of coffee and Danishes, but surprisingly few questions. He could tell they wanted to ask more and couldn’t blame their curiosity—a young widower like himself? He imagined the average Sierra Falls female retiree would view him as a project. Oddly, rather than mind it, Billy found it touching.
“I don’t know what it is with women and meetings,” Bear said. “You meet the Kidd sisters yet? All I know is, you driving my wife saved me from having to deal with those old birds. They’re going to use our letters, though. It’ll turn this town around, you’ll see.”
“Thanks to Sorrow,” Billy said. At Bear’s questioning look, he added, “I mean, thanks to your daughter for finding them in the first place and seeing their worth. Not everyone would appreciate such a slice of history. Most folks would’ve dumped the lot of them straight into the trash.”
Bear shrugged. “I guess.”
“Can I get you a beer?” a voice asked from behind him.
Billy turned to find Sorrow standing in the doorway. Her blond hair hung loose and wavy at her shoulders, and the light coming from the fireplace made her eyes sparkle.
The world stilled around him. Sorrow had the sort of looks that demanded his attention. She had some meat on her bones, and her snug sweater clung to that spot between the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip. His mind went to an image of his hand tucked just there.
He swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am, I think I could use a beer.”
He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time. He’d indulged in one or two mindless hookups—outside town limits, of course. He was a man after all, and thirty-five was far from dead.
But this was Sorrow. There was no mindless hookup with Sorrow. And anything more would feel like…cheating.
He needed to stop looking at her curves so he dragged his eyes back to her hair. It was different. He realized she mostly wore it tied back. Not that he didn’t like it that way. She was a natural beauty, with a peaches and cream, fresh-faced complexion that looked as good with makeup as without. Though tonight, in the warm firelight, her hair loose and her sweater tight, Sorrow was quite stunning indeed.
She gave him a perplexed smile. “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”
Billy realized he’d been staring. “You look…” Edible. His eyes went to the oven mitt in her hand. “Like you could use some help.”
Was that disappointment that flashed on her face?
He stood abruptly. Get a grip. “Tell you what. Let’s get that beer, and I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen.”
Bear shot him a look that Billy caught from the corner of his eyes. It’d probably never occur to her father to lend a hand with the dinner prep.
They went into the kitchen, and she handed him a bottle of Bud from the fridge. “Sounds like a good trade.”
“Give me a job,” he told her, cracking it open. Because if he stood there staring at her, he might be tempted to find out just how soft the sweater—and what lay under it—really felt.
She looked around, deciding. “We’ll ease you in slow, how about? Want to set the table?”
“Table setting? Child’s play.” He pulled out the cutlery and plates. “What does a man have to do to get respect around here? You’d have thought I proved my worth helping strain that sauce of yours. And I didn’t even get to taste it.”
“You’ll have to settle for my salmon. It’s better for you anyway.”
He breathed in deeply. “Wow, that’s like no salmon I ever smelled.”
“It’s with bamboo shoots and green curry.”
“I love green curry,” he said, genuinely impressed. He went into the attached dining room to set the table, and she joined him, taking the napkins from his hand to spread them around the table. He caught her eye from across the table. “One question, though. Is Bear going to go for that?”
She laughed. “He’ll go for it, or go hungry.”
“A rebel, huh?”
“I’m making up for my teen years.”
They ended up side by side at the head of the table. He said, “Well, I’m just happy I’m the one who gets to benefit.”
She opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to say something, but didn’t quite know how to phrase it. He waited patiently, curious to see what this woman might say.
“Did your wife like to cook?” Her question surprised him, and she quickly added, “I hope you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Oddly, it was always a relief when people asked him about Keri. So many folks tiptoed around the issue, but what they didn’t know was that Billy longed to talk about her. He missed her terribly, and it was the sort of grief that made him feel set apart from everyone else. But talking about her always brought him one step closer, back among the living.
He leaned against the dining table. “My wife—Keri was her name—she wasn’t much for cooking. She was a lawyer. That’s how we met, in court. Anyway, between her long hours in the DA’s office and me being on the force, we spent more time at our local sushi bar than we did at the corner market. Then, when she did cook, it was always some fancy salad. They were good…she’d use crazy ingredients, like goat cheese, or blood oranges, but truth be told, they always left me hungry.”
