4 Malice in Christmas River (11 page)

“Cin, of course things are going to change,” he said. “And of course I’m going to feel differently about you.”

I looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

He put down the mug he was holding and then rested his hands on my waist. 

“I mean, of course I’m going to be more in love with you next month than I am now,” he said. “Of course I’m going to love you more in a year than I do today. That’s only natural.”

“But what about… I mean, you’ve been holding things back. You haven’t been telling me everything that’s going on. I can sense it.”

“You don’t want to know everything, Cin.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Well, maybe one day soon we’ll revisit this,” he said. “But don’t mistake me not telling you the details of what I do as me feeling different for you. Those are two separate things.”

He pulled me close to him. I could smell the sweat of a hard day’s work on his skin. But it wasn’t a bad thing. It smelled right.

“I love you, Cin,” he said. “Nothing’s going to change that. Ever.”

He kissed me hard then. If I’d been less tired, I might have been slightly embarrassed, him kissing me in front of the open window so passionately.

But then again, nobody was out in the meadow tonight to see us.

“I love you too,” I said in between kisses. “And nothing’s ever going to change that either.”

I let him sweep me up in his arms and pull me away.

We left behind the half-loaded dishwasher.

It could wait.

Chapter 20

Daniel’s side of the bed was cold and empty when I got up the next morning.

Today was one of the busiest days of the year for the Sheriff’s Office. The Rodeo was a nightmare for law enforcement. Drunk driving, public indecency, medical emergencies… the whole thing took a lot of policing. And unfortunately, the organization of all that fell to Sheriff Daniel Brightman. Which meant an early morning, and an even longer evening.

I just hoped I hadn’t kept him up too late the night before.

I lay in bed, thinking for a few minutes about last night. About his assurances that he’d always love me.

This morning, in the light of day, I believed him with my whole heart.

And while Laurel had been trying to help, she could keep her advice.

She didn’t know our marriage. Or how strong our relationship was.

I rolled over to his side of the bed, wishing he was still there. I lay on his pillow, and breathed in the smell of his aftershave, thinking of the way he’d held me last night after we…

I let out a happy sigh.  

I was crazier than an old bag lady hoarding an army of kittens for my husband.

And nothing was going to change that.

After a few minutes of wallowing in the bliss of knowing just how deep our love ran, I rolled over, got out of bed, and then went to the kitchen.

He’d left me half a pot of hot coffee, a few slices of bacon, and a couple of flap jacks.

A handful of freshly-picked wildflowers from the meadow sat in a vase in the center of the table.

Even on a day as busy as today, he’d taken the time to make me breakfast and pick me flowers.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, sat down, and enjoyed the breakfast.

I glanced over at the dishwasher. It had just finished running.

I was luckier than sin.

Chapter 21

It wasn’t even 20 minutes after the fairground gates opened, and already, I was sweating more than a drug smuggler pulled over for expired plates.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hot or this smoky in September. But “supposed to” didn’t do me a whole lot of good now.

The sun beat down hard and unkindly on the pie stand.

A table fan I had plugged into one of the outlets hooked up to the generator pivoted back and forth but was too weak to do me much good. Beads of sweat rolled down the side of my temples as I waited on rodeo customers dressed to the hilt in cowboy garb. Big metal belt buckles, buffoonishly large cowboy hats, embroidered shirts, wranglers and cowboy boots that hadn’t been broken in yet represented the average rodeo goer. There were even several folks with Santa hats on, playing into the Christmas River Rodeo theme. Though how they stood the velvet pom-pom hats in this heat was beyond me. 

The line to the pie stand was getting longer and longer with each passing minute. The booming voice of the rodeo announcers echoed throughout the grounds and was often followed by wild cheering from the crowd in the stands. The general atmosphere of the fairgrounds was one of just barely controlled chaos.

And it was only one o’clock in the afternoon.

Poor Daniel was going to have his hands more than full today and tonight.

But I didn’t have much time to dwell on the staffing problems of the Sheriff’s Office. With Chrissy on vacation, I was having some staffing problems of my own at the moment. The line to
Cinnamon’s Pies
was beginning to reach out into the middle of the
Grub Walkway
, and it seemed like I couldn’t scoop heaps of ice cream onto slices of pie fast enough for the hot and bothered crowd.

I kept my head down, taking money and pushing plates out. I wished I had more time to watch people as they savored my pie – call it vanity – but there was no time for that either.

Smile, take the order, scoop the ice cream, push the plate out. Brush away the sweat. Repeat.

It was going to be a long, long day.

I took a $10 bill from one customer in a Stetson. I got him the change, but the man just shook his head.

“You just go ahead on and put that in the tip jar, there, honey pie.”

I shrugged, then nodded gratefully.

On the bright side, at least it was going to be a very green day too.

Chapter 22

“I hate pie.”

The line had almost disappeared as we approached the dinner hour. Sweet tooths gave way to cravings for hot, savory fare. Lines to places like the Christmas River Fry Shack and the Holiday Dumpling Cart stretched out far, full of customers fanning themselves with the Rodeo catalogue, standing impatiently.

I’d been rejoicing in the short break. Tiana had made another shop run, and was on her way back to deliver some more Blueberry Cinnamons and Mountain Cherries for the desert crowd. I was sitting down, resting for a spell, propping my feet up on the small refrigerator under one of the tables.

That’s when the man approached me, saying something I hadn’t ever heard anybody say.   

I looked up from the Rodeo catalogue I was reading, squinting at him.

I didn’t recognize him. He was in his mid-50s or early 60s, and looked to be sort of a grizzled, mountain man kind of character. He had a long, overgrown beard, and he was wearing a cowboy hat. He had a pair of clear blue eyes that gazed out from beneath it.

He was holding an empty plate.

“You hate pie?” I said, standing up. “What kind of thing is that to say?”

“I didn’t finish the thought,” he said. “The rest of it goes something like ‘I hate pie…
usually
.’”

“Does that mean my pie changed your mind?” I asked.

“Changed my mind? I wouldn’t go that far. At least not yet.”

He handed me the empty plate.

“I’ll try that cherry one this time, if you would,” he said. “You see, I’ve got to have all the facts if I’m going to make an informed decision.”   

I took his plate, sliding a large slice of the cherry onto it and adding a heap of ice cream on top.

“I’m all for informed decisions,” I said, giving him his plate back.

I took the crisp five dollar bill from his hand and put it in the cash register.

“Quite an event, isn’t it?” he said.

“Sure is,” I said, nodding in agreement. “Is this your first time to the Christmas River Rodeo?”  

“It is,” he said, taking a bite. “I haven’t been to a rodeo in 20 odd years.”

“Really?” I said. “That surprises me. I’d think a cowboy like you would be a regular at these kinds of events.”

He shrugged.

“I’m not much of a cowboy,” he said. “Just one of them urban cowboys, I guess. I couldn’t tell the difference between a filly and a steer if it came down to it.”

He took another bite of his pie. A coy grin crossed his lips.

“I could be wrong, but I think I might’ve won the battle,” I said.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “There might be a round three in order later. We’ll see.”

I laughed.

“So, what are you doing later, pie lady? You want to see the bronco riding event with this old urban cowboy?”

I gave him a half smile, then held out my left hand for him to see my ring.

“Aw, well,” he said, letting out a little sigh. “I should’ve known.”

“I appreciate the compliment, though,” I said. 

“Your husband is one lucky man, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

He let out a belch and then pat his stomach.

“Though if I were to guess, I’d say his doctor probably isn’t too happy with him. I’m sure the man wants for nothing in the food department.”

“Well, he’s the Sheriff,” I said. “So that keeps him in shape most of the time.”

“Give it a few years,” he said.

He smiled crookedly.

“Well, I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your break,” he said. “But just know that you might’ve picked yourself up a convert here.” 

He threw the empty paper plate in the trashcan near the stand, and then left, heading toward the arena.

It was nice to see civility at an event like this. So many times, people got hot and frustrated and drunk at the Rodeo, and acted as though they forgot their manners at home. If they even had any to begin with.  

A moment later, a long line suddenly formed, seemingly from thin air, and I was once again swamped and sweating.

Just a few more days
, I thought to myself, repeating my mantra of the month.
Just a few more and we’ll be home free.

Chapter 23

Before packing up and leaving the chaotic, teeming, fairgrounds for the night, I met Daniel at the front entrance ticket office. I’d packed him a little pick-me-up in the form of a large slice of Peach Blueberry Pie.

Daniel’s collared sheriff’s shirt was practically soaked through with sweat. He looked tired and overworked. The way standing out under a hot sun all day would make you.

I was sure I didn’t look much better.

“Thanks, Cin,” he said, taking the paper bag from me. “This is a life saver.”

“How’s everything going?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“About how I expected it to be. But so far, nobody’s blown chunks over my boots yet. So I guess you’d say I’m still in the black.”   

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and told him I’d see him later when he got back home.

“It’s fixing to be a long night,” he said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“We’re almost there,” I said. “Just think of those cool trade winds of Maui. I can almost feel them. Can’t you?”

He smiled.

But the smile quickly faded as Wyatt Rasmussen, the drunk who’d coincidentally been the one to blow chunks all over Daniel’s boots at last year’s Rodeo, stumbled over an electrical cord connecting to one of the generators. He came a few feet away from taking a face plant.

The plastic cup he was holding went flying, and beer spilled out across the dusty ground.

“Tarnation!” he said. “
Der
goes six dollars and fifty cents right
der
!”

Daniel looked at me and just shook his head.  

“Just think of those winds,” I said.  

“They seem a little far away right now,” he said, going over to Wyatt and grabbing the man’s arm, helping him to his feet. “But I’ll try, Cin. I’ll try.”

I watched as he walked away, talking to Wyatt. Saying something along the lines of “You think you might want to call it a night, Wyatt? Get a head start on getting rid of that hangover?”

Wyatt was nodding his head like he was actually considering the proposition, but we all knew that he was going to be at the Rodeo for the long haul tonight. As long as there was beer flowing from the taps, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Luckily, I was.

I headed for the parking lot, and left the madness that was the Christmas River Rodeo behind in the dust.

I hadn’t seen a single rodeo event.

But there was still tomorrow to look forward to.    

Chapter 24

I sat outside Kara’s house in my car, feeling like a creeper extraordinaire.

A normal person would probably walk up to the house, knock on the door, and give Kara a chance to explain what was going on.

But instead of doing any of that, I just sat there, watching through the open window.

Despite being a wreck of tired legs and aching feet, I had decided to stop by Kara’s house anyway after I packed up the pie stand for the night.

Normally, she wouldn’t pass up the annual Christmas River Rodeo. She’d gone every year since I’d known her. She loved breaking out her pink cowgirl hat and watching the cowboys do their best against the livestock. Just like the rest of the folks in Christmas River.  

But this year was different. She had told me she wasn’t feeling up to the crowds, and that instead, she was going to spend a quiet night at home in the bathtub reading a romance novel.

Expect that wasn’t what she was doing tonight.

An unfamiliar black Mustang sat in her driveway. The lights were on inside, and I could see them sitting close together on the sofa in the living room, watching television.

I bit my lip.

Bradley Houston looked a lot different than he used to, but I still recognized him right away. He still had that raven dark hair, only instead of it hanging shaggily around his face, it was now styled and slicked off to one side. He’d changed his look a little in the years since leaving Christmas River. He now sported large-framed hipster glasses, and wore a tight flannel shirt.