Almost Heaven (8 page)

Tenderness flickered to life in his chest and glowed like a candle's soft radiance.
Lord, are you trying to tell me something?
“I'd best let you get to your supper. What are you making?”

“I'm clueless. I haven't browsed through my cupboards yet.”

“I don't imagine you have a lot of time for cooking.”

“I manage, since the other option is starving to death.”

“It's hard to cook for just one person. If I whip up something like lasagna on the weekend, then I wind up eating it all week.”

“You could freeze portions in those little freezer bags. The kind that lock out freezer burn. That's what
I do. Except then I run out of time to cook or shop, especially this time of year.”

She yanked open the secondhand appliance—it had to be a good thirty years old, since it was the shade of yellow popular in the seventies. “See? That's what I do with my hamburger. Make them ahead and freeze them.”

“That's a smart idea. I ought to try that.” He would—except that he wound up making a sandwich more often than not. He'd never gotten used to the quiet of the kitchen in the evening. He and Deb always used to cook together. “Well, I guess I'll head back to the stable.”

“Want to stay? I have extra patties I could defrost.” Now why did she ask that?

Because it made the loneliness that lined his face vanish. “They wouldn't be too much trouble?”

“Not if you want to start the barbecue for me.” After all, his gift had her feeling guilty.

“I'm a pro when it comes to barbecuing.” There was no mistaking the ridge of muscle that flexed and stretched his white T-shirt. No mistaking the power of the gun holstered at his hip. “Matches?”

“In the top drawer closest to you.”

The sheriff's step was light, his grin cheerful. She liked him this way—steady and as dependable as the Bridger Mountains, but buoyant, too. Maybe it was because he was stepping out of the last stages of his grief.

Her door squeaked shut. A sharp, punctuated
“Meow!” had her looking down at the cat still glaring with disapproval.

“Be nice,” she told him with a laugh. “He's not staying. He's just passing through.”

Pounce did not seem reassured, even after she forked his favorite salmon cat food into his food dish and broke it up into small chunks for him.

She'd never ever had a man in her house before, aside from her dad and brothers-in-law. Cameron's presence was tangible, although he was on the deck out of sight. She felt the masculine power of his being. It shrank the already too small kitchen, it filled her tiny house and made her feel vulnerable.

The grill's lid squeaked as he lifted it. She heard the strike of a match, smelled the flare of sulfur and the burn of residue from the grill. The scrape as he cleaned the metal rack. The
clink
of the lid lowering into place.

He was a big man. He filled the door frame as he strolled inside, replaced the box of matches and planted his hands on the edge of the counter. “Anything else you need done?”

“Nope.” She hit a button and the microwave began humming. She'd acted on impulse. When was acting on impulse the
best
idea? Never!

“Better make use of me while I'm here. I'm pretty good at making a salad.”

“Define salad for me. My experience with men is that they avoid vegetables as if they're poison.”

“Not true. Throw bacon on it, and I'll eat it. Even a heap of lettuce leaves.”

“Just what I thought. I'm not about to trust you with the single most important part of the meal.”

“The meat?”

She rolled her eyes. “Lettuce from my garden. Fresh carrots straight from the garden. I'm going out to pick a tomato.”

“I can do it.”

“I'm sure you can.” She had images of her father bumbling around her mom's garden before he was banned for life.

“You don't think I know what I'm doing?”

“What man does?” In a flash, she'd taken a plastic bag from the second drawer and was out the door. “Do you have to follow me?”

“I've got to prove myself. I can't have you thinking I'm a failure when it comes to picking vegetables. My reputation is at stake. I've got the election to think about.”

“Aren't you running uncontested?”

“Sure, but there's always the write-in option. I can't have a surprise last-minute candidate stealing my job.” He knelt down beside her in the soft earth. “How many carrots do you need?”

“Sixty. Maybe seventy.” She brushed away the loose dirt from a carrot's base, the feathery leaves tickling her forearm as she grasped and pulled.

He was scowling at her. “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.” He twisted a plump red tomato off
its rambling vine. “Is it just me, or do you treat all your boarders like this?”

“Boarders aren't allowed in my yard.”

“Guess I'm just special.”

“Nope. I haven't given you the printout with all the rules on it yet.”

“I'm breaking some kind of law being up here?”

She shook loose dirt off the carrot and plunked it into the sack. “I suppose there's exceptions to every rule, Officer, but as you know, that comes with a price. I guess you owe
me
a plate of cookies.”

“You play tough but fair.”

“I'm only kidding. You don't owe me any cookies. My house and yard are off-limits. I'm hardly ever here. I'm almost always down at the stable or riding most of the day, but when I'm here I just want a few quiet minutes.”

“I know how that is, since I'm always on call.” He added a tomato to her bag. “It's not so bad. Frank and I split weekend duties. You know, patrolling the roads, keeping an eye out for mischief, making sure no one's driving drunk, as far as we can tell.”

“I never gave it much thought.” She plucked a fat, sweet cuke from the vine and, taking the bag with her, rose to check the tassels on the corn. “You must have to give up a lot of evenings.”

“It's an honor, serving the people of this fine town.” He didn't know how else to say it. It sounded hokey, and he was embarrassed, but he was proud,
too. Proud of the difference he made in people's lives every day.

“Even if it's just lending a hand with a trailer tire, or making sure a mother with two little kids isn't stuck in bad weather when her car breaks down. There isn't a lot of crime in these parts, but I'm there if anyone needs me.”

Would Kendra understand? She had to know, more than most, what he was prepared to do to serve and protect. He dug his thumb into gold tassels and smiled at the bright yellow husks beneath. “How many do you want?”

“You pick what you can eat.”

“Got any real butter to go along with this? I can eat a lot.”

“Real butter. I just might let you use the salt and pepper, too.”

“Pepper? Uh.” He winked at her as he snapped off two ears of corn, followed by two more. “How many are you picking? Five, no, six. You can eat that much corn? A little skinny thing like you?”

“Half of this is for Colleen. I'm going to give her a jingle and ask her to join us.”

“Don't trust me enough to be alone with me, is that it?” His heart drummed as if he'd run his usual seven daily miles all uphill. He was teasing, but he wasn't.

Something crossed over Kendra's face, a shade of emotion that made her eyes darken. “We're not alone, Officer.”

As if in answer, her big plump cat curled around
his ankles. A horse's nicker lifted on the wind. There, looking at him with a stare of unveiled assessment were two horses, the ones he recognized from the stable that one day, and the pretty golden mare she'd ridden on the trail.

She kept her animals in the paddock closest to her house, did she? They were watching his every move with great interest as he trailed Kendra over to the board fence.

“I'll leave you to do this. Just toss the husks over the fence and let them duke it out.” Kendra rolled the corn ears gently to the ground. “I'll go start the salad, check the meat and give Colleen a call.”

“Sure thing.” Here he'd been hoping this would be a supper for two. The least Kendra could do was to stay and husk the corn with him, so he could watch her sparkle in the sun and try to charm a few more smiles out of her.

She tapped away down the flagstone path, wound through the pleasant tangle of bright roses flowering every which way and color, then disappeared into the house.

Without her, it seemed as if the daylight had dimmed. He waited for a glimpse of her while he husked corn. The horses jockeyed closer, stretching their necks eagerly over the top rail.

He caught sight of Kendra at her kitchen window, washing vegetables while she chatted with the phone tucked between her shoulder and her cheek.

Disappointed wasn't the word he would use to describe the rake of pain in his heart. It was much worse.

 

Night wrung the last of twilight from the sky. The last traces of magenta and purple brushed the under-bellies of nimbus clouds and then retreated into darkness.

Kendra tapped a few numbers on the keyboard and double-checked them on the screen to the numbers scribbled in her green columned ledger. She was halfway through her accounts receivable posting, and her eyelids kept drooping.

A yawn nearly split her in two. She hit Save and left the cursor blinking. Steam from her cup of vanilla red tea invited her to take another sweet, spicy sip. Over the top of the rim she could see the twin beams of headlights pulling out of the gravel parking area down below.

Colleen's pickup, it looked like, ambled a few yards and then hesitated. Was a horse out? Kendra wondered and just as quickly realized a SUV's dome light flashed on. She recognized the faint profile—Cameron.

Colleen and Cameron were talking. During supper at her small table, Cameron had regaled them with funny tales about his last fishing expedition and the last time he'd been shopping in the mall, how he got lost in a department store he couldn't get out of. He'd had them laughing too hard to eat.

Had he been trying to charm Colleen? Maybe so. Kendra took another sip and watched as the pickup
rolled ahead, lumbering down the roll and bends of the driveway and out of sight.

Cameron's dome light died. The lights flared on and he drove away into the darkness.

Why did it seem as if something were tugging at her soul? She couldn't describe the sensation, her protective shields were up and fully functional so she couldn't feel what was behind those steel walls.

Cameron was a widower. Colleen was alone, too. Maybe it was Providence that had a hand in their coming together. Cameron would be coming often to visit his horse, to take lessons and to ride the trails when he was more accomplished.

Maybe she could make sure that Cameron wound up in Colleen's classes. Who knew where that would lead? Maybe the two of them would find they had a lot in common. Maybe they'd begin dating. Fall in love.

Wouldn't that be great for them? Why did that make her ache, when she'd vowed not to feel anything at all?

The hum of the computer fan in its casing sounded noisy. As loud as the window unit in the other room. She set her cup onto the ceramic coaster with a clink that sounded as jarring as a gunshot.

The quiet echoed around her. The emptiness inside her echoed, too. She was tired, that was all. Some nights the solitary life she'd chosen weighed on her heavily.

But it was a safe life, she reminded herself as she
gathered the daily checks together, stamped the back of them and tucked them into an envelope for tomorrow's deposit.

Shadows moved in the gathering darkness outside. Her horses came to check on her before bedtime, crowding together to try to get a look at her through the window. Three horses and the shorter, limping gait of her old pony. Their silhouettes pushed at the rail fence. A sharp neigh was a welcoming sound in the stillness.

“I'm coming, Honeybear.” She left her tea and computer, squeezed along the narrow space between her bed and the wall, for the room was small, to the doorway.

Pounce opened his eyes a slit to follow her progress through the living room to the back door. She grabbed a handful of candies on the way out, the heat of the summer's evening a shock on her skin as she loped out to meet her best friends.

Her sweet gray-and-white pony, the one she'd learned to ride on, as had all of her sisters, crowded the fence. They'd always had a close bond. She gave him a peppermint first, the poor old guy, and he nudged her hand in affectionate thanks.

Jingles snorted, shaking her head as if she was in command, demanding a candy next.

“Oh, you think you're all that, don't you?” The quarter horse knew she was, and Kendra wasn't going to argue with her. She doled out the candy, ran her
fingers through Jingles's mane and through Honeybear's forelock before giving Sprite the last mint.

Deer were daring to make their way through the field grasses, cautiously moving with the darkness. The sounds of night coming—the hoot of an owl, the sharp, high cry of a distant coyote, the whoosh of a horse exhaling as it settled down in its stall for the night drifted on the warm, temperate breezes, buoying her spirits.

This was her life. It wasn't the one she'd always thought she would have. She could almost hear the echoes of that life—the warm rumble of a good man's voice in the kitchen behind her, the distant laughter of happy children—but then the memories weighed down her heart.

Her life was a good one, and she was thankful for the peace of the evening. Maybe she'd head down to the barn and check on Willow. Make sure everything was settled for the night.

Night chased the last of the shadows from the earth. Kendra climbed through the fence, greeting her friends, and they accompanied her through the darkness, following the worn dirt path by feel and by memory. She didn't mind the coming night or the darkness surrounding her, for it made the stars shine all the brighter.