All in One Place (13 page)

This, however, was something different. Something that tied in with what Father Sam had talked about. It was unsettling and
made me think. Something I tried to avoid doing these days.

I grabbed the strap of my purse, turned around, and carried on carrying on.

A breeze teased my hair out of its ponytail, giving me, I was sure, that artfully tousled look that models spend hours trying
to perfect.

I slipped my hands into the pockets of my jean jacket, enjoying the freedom of the moment. No rain pelted down from the sky.
I was walking downhill into Leslie and Dan's valley. Shadows of white, puffy clouds drifted across the valley floor and up
the sides of the mountains.

As perfect a day as they come.

I heard the growl of a truck engine and spun around, hope mixing with wariness. Diesel engines meant guys, which could mean
either a good ol' boy who was willing to pick up a woman, or a guy who was looking to “pick up a woman.”

A fine distinction, but a world of difference.

The vehicle slowed, the tires crunching over the gravel as it came to a halt beside me. The passenger window slid down, and
the driver draped one arm over the steering wheel, his face shielded by sunglasses, a half-smile curving his lips. He wore
a black shirt, rolled up over his forearms.

Jack DeWindt, channeling Johnny Cash.

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” I said, beating him to the punch line as I walked over to the open window.

“I'm guessing you need a ride.”

“Are you on official business, or do you policemen take time off between arrests?”

“You going to get in, or do you want to come up with a few more cynical comebacks first?”

I held up my hands, my expression mirrored in the dark lenses covering his eyes. If I didn't know him, I would have walked
away from the offer. “I surrender. I don't suppose you're going anywhere near Leslie and Dan's place.”

“Right to the doorstep.”

“Is this my lucky day or what?” I said with a note of irony as I pulled open the door and climbed into the truck.

“I think you might prefer ‘or what,’” Jack said, hitting a button. As the tinted window slid upward, I felt as if the outside
world was cut off, underlining his slightly ominous comment.

I slid my purse off my shoulder and set it on the seat beside me, a fragile barrier that was definitely more show than substance.

“Seat belt,” Jack commanded as he pulled onto the road.

“If you had asked me politely instead of coming across like a cop, I wouldn't be resenting the fact that I'm doing what you
told me to,” I said as I slid the buckle into place.

“An obedient narrator,” he said, leaning back in his seat, steering with one hand. “I like that in a girl.”

“You sound like your dad.”

“He likes you. He says you speak your mind. High praise from him.”

“Why don't people ever say I'm coy and discreet?”

Jack shook his head, still smiling. “That would be out of character for you.”

“And how do you know what my character is?”

“I think I'm a pretty good judge.” Jack glanced from the rearview mirror to the road to the dashboard as he delivered this
very definitive statement.

Don't ask. You don't need to know.

I should listen to that rational, reasonable voice. I should just smile and nod. But the fact that Jack thought he had me
figured out sat wrong with me.

“And… what's the conclusion?”

Jack's sunglasses flashed my way. “You're spontaneous. You like to make people laugh but use jokes to keep people at a distance.
You try to come across like an open book, but you have secrets that you keep to yourself.”

I wanted to hold his gaze as he ran through this list. Hard to do when faced with that barrier of tinted lenses.

“All this after a few chance meetings?” I said, feeling as if he had laid me open and found me wanting. “You're in the wrong
business.”

“As a policeman I have to make snap decisions all the time. I'm thinking I'm in exactly the right business.”

“So you admit that this was a snap analysis?” I said, trying to get my bearings again.

“I'm guessing, from the way you've gotten all prickly, I hit the nail on the head.”

“Now he's a carpenter,” I said to no one in particular.

“Again she's using jokes to deflect.”

I was losing ground fast, and the only graceful thing I could do to save myself some dignity was look out the window.

I should have kept walking when he stopped to offer me a ride. Jack made me uncomfortable on too many levels.

The only sound in the cab of the truck was the ping of gravel on the undercarriage, the tick of Jack's key chain on the steering
column, and the faint whistle of the wind from behind my head.

The trouble was, the silence made me even more aware of him.

I heard his fingers tapping out some unknown rhythm on the steering wheel, noticed how the sunlight glinted off the hairs
on his arm, off the face of his heavy watch.

His cheeks and chin showed the beginnings of stubble, giving him a slightly unkempt look, so different from the last time
I'd seen him. He looked appealing.

This was the second time that word had sprung up in the recesses of my mind in connection with this guy. What was my brain
made of? Broccoli? Would I never learn? Men equal problems.

“How long has it been…?”

Jack's sudden question stabbed the air and I jumped.

“Sorry,” Jack said.

“It's okay.” I took a slow breath. “Try that again.”

“I was just wondering when was the last time you saw Leslie. Before this trip,” he clarified.

My first inclination was to ask him why he wanted to know. But that would make me sound defensive, which would make him suspicious,
which would make me even more defensive.

“I went to see her in Seattle shortly after Nicholas was born.”

“Is that where your mother lives?”

I so did not want to go there. The next question would be “Where did you grow up?” followed by the obligatory family history
and genealogy, none of which I enjoyed delving into. Dad? Who knew? Home of my youth? Apartments in various cities or small
towns—depending on where our mother decided she would stop for a while. Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Nonexistent as far as either
Leslie or I knew.

“I give up,” I said, tempering the joke with a smile. “Does she live there?”

Jack gave me an oblique look. “It's perfectly healthy to have a serious conversation from time to time.”

“Okay. I'll try.” I folded my hands in my lap. “So, Lieutenant DeWindt, how long have you lived in Harland?”

“I've been back for about six years.”

“And why did you come back?”

“My dad is still here, plus it's home. I love the area and the community.”

“That's nice. Did you always want to be a policeman?”

He shook his head. “I originally wanted to be a rancher, but it costs too much to get started, and neither of my parents came
from a ranching background.”

“Is your mother still alive?” I figured that was a safe question. Jack's father was very much present, and plain ordinary
biology required a mother to be somewhere.

“No. She died when I was sixteen.”

“Siblings?”

“A sister in Cleveland and two brothers who decided that San Jose had more to offer than Harland.”

“Do you get along?”

“Usually.” Jack's mouth curved up in a smile. “See? Painless.”

The slight reprimand in his voice should have made me feel guilty about asking him so many questions. But it didn't.

“Well, you know I have a sister, so you didn't need to ask me that. And the rest”—I lifted my hands—“superficial and boring.”

“My family history is hardly movie-of-the-week material.”

“No. But it is the kind of life that has launched many a television series.”

Jack's laugh brought out an answering smile in me. Though the sunglasses still gave him that shielded look, from the side
I could see the crinkles fanning his eyes. “I suppose. I know in my line of work I've seen lots of other variations of family.”

“Like the family of those little girls you took from their home. Do you think they miss their family?”

Jack's sunglasses flashed toward me. “I'm sure they don't miss being hungry or having dozens of drunk people stumbling around
their house.”

“Did you ask them where they'd rather be?”

“I could say I was only following the orders given to us by Social Services, but considering those little girls were all alone
in a house that looked like Beirut, I'm sure they made the right call. And my first priority is always the safety of the children.
Always.”

Much as I wanted to keep the discussion going, we were veering a little too close to personal territory for my liking. So
I kept my big mouth shut.

After a few miles of silence, he switched the radio on. Classical music filled the cab. Another surprise. “Do you mind?” he
asked as his fingers adjusted the volume.

I waved his question off. “I'm just the passenger.”

We drove on for a while, the scenery slipping past us, the music adding an elegant sound track to the beauty that changed
with each curve we went around, each hill we came over.

The tension holding my shoulders eased away, and I relaxed against the seat. No wonder Leslie stayed. My eyes followed the
sweep of the land to the purple-hazed mountains standing guard.

Surprise jolted me when I saw that he was looking my way.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

I nodded. “It is.” Scenery was a very safe topic of conversation. No controversy there.

“I always feel closer to God here.”

The way he spoke God's name—so easily and casually—created an indefinable shift in the atmosphere. I wasn't sure where to
put this new part of Jack, and it disoriented me for a moment. So much for safe.

“It… it is rather awe-inspiring,” I conceded. And as if to heighten the moment, the music playing in the background swelled,
the violins and brass creating a triumphant counterpoint to what he said, what we saw.

“I think this is what I missed the most when I left,” he continued, his voice softening as he stacked his hands on the steering
wheel.

“I'm sure Cor will be disappointed to find out that you didn't miss him.” I needed to lighten the atmosphere.

“Real men don't admit to missing their dads,” Jack said with another smile.

The admission, the smile on top of the previous moment, created a chance to give something in return.

“Jack, when you asked me about my mother…”

“It's okay,” he said, anticipating my apology.

“No. I'm sorry. It's just that my mother wasn't a textbook case of maternal bonding. I know she had a lot to deal with, and
I'm sure she tried. She was around when we were younger, but we were pretty much left to fend for ourselves at a young age.”

To his credit, Jack said nothing. Which made me want to say more.

“I mean, I know in your line of work you probably see a lot of bad situations, some probably worse than ours and, well, Mom
was around most of the time when we were growing up. It's just that as a rule she didn't work a lot, spent a lot of time at
home… and somebody please stop me before I start sounding like I should be on
Oprah.
”

“You and Leslie have had a fair bit to deal with, then,” was all he said.

“I'm sure our mom did the best she could, and even if she didn't, it's done. There are better mothers out there; we just didn't
get one, and I'm not going to turn into the kind of person who has ‘issues’ with her mother or ends up blaming her for the
mess her life is.” A sliver of panic hooked into my heart at my oblique admission, and I clamped my lips together. Looked
away.

Too close. Too close.

“How much farther to Leslie's place?”

“A couple of minutes yet.”

My reflection stared back at me from the window, superimposed over open fields bordered by mountains. The rest of the ride
was quiet, and thankfully Jack got the hint that I didn't want to talk.

A
few minutes later, just as he'd promised, he drove up to Dan and Leslie's house, parking beside a strange car and leaving
the truck running as he got out. I didn't think Leslie was expecting company. She hadn't said anything about guests when I
phoned to tell her I was coming.

“Shouldn't you turn the truck off?” I said as he walked behind me to the house.

“I'm heading down to the barnyard,” he said, slipping off his sunglasses. Uncovering his eyes gave him a defenseless look.

I realized that I hadn't even asked him why he was going to Leslie's place when I took his offer. I'd just jumped into the
truck.

“What do you need to do there?”

“Dan's training a horse for me.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage as an unwelcome mental image of Jack on the back of a horse slipped into my mind. So very Montana.

I knocked on the door and heard the thumping sound of feet running toward us. Then the door was yanked open, and I looked
down into Anneke's delighted face. “Auntie Terra is here!” she shouted over her shoulder as another, younger girl came running
up behind her.

Anneke threw herself at me, just as she had at the diner, and I let her hug me hard, glad for the contact, the connection.
I hugged her back, stroking her tangled hair. “Hey, little girl, how are you?”

“I missed you so much,” Anneke said, breathless with drama. “You're my best friend. Carlene is here, but her brother, Cordell,
is with his daddy. They're at an auction. We're helping my mommy.”

The younger girl, Carlene I guessed, hung back, watching me with slightly suspicious eyes. I didn't blame her. I was pretty
sure she saw me as a usurper.

“Terra, hey. So glad you came.” Leslie came out onto the porch, her smile wide. But as she came closer, her eyes flicked from
me to Jack.

“Jack gave me a ride,” I said quickly.

“But I told you I could easily come and pick you up.”

“I was heading out this way anyway,” Jack said, forestalling any explanation I might have to offer.