Gun Shy (14 page)

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

I said, “I think I’m going to bring Hero to the Pet Fair Saturday. It’ll be good for him to be around noise and people, and I’d like to do as much socialization as possible with him before he’s taken back for evaluation.”

We talked in that vein for a while, and I let Sonny guide the conversation toward topics that had nothing to do with her disability or the frightening accident that afternoon. By the time I felt comfortable enough to leave her—in fact, she practically forced me to leave—it was almost dark. I loaded up the supplies I had come for and started down the mountain.

There was no sign of either Buck or my car in the parking lot when I arrived back at the sheriff’s department, but the lights were still on in my uncle’s office. I tapped lightly on the frame of the open door and stuck my head inside.

“Hey,” I said, holding up the keys to Buck’s truck. “Was he very mad?”

Uncle Roe looked up from the computer screen over which he was hunched. “Hey, Rainbow. How’s your friend?”

Naturally, they would have known about the 911 call, and probably had heard the radio transmission from the paramedics relaying that Sonny’s injuries were minor. “Okay,” I said. “It was just a scratch. But it was scary.”

He nodded and stretched one arm across his chest to rub his shoulder. In the harsh fluorescent lights he looked tired, almost haggard. “That’s what Ranelle heard on the scanner. Buck took your car. He said he’d meet you at home.”

“Whose home?” For some reason, I still felt compelled to point out at every opportunity that Buck and I were not, in fact, living together. “Mine or his?”

He looked surprised that I would ask. “Didn’t say.”

I shrugged it away, embarrassed. “Never mind, stupid question.” Then I said, “Are you okay? You look beat.”

“Damn computers,” he grumbled, “give me neck ache. Oh, say, that Mickey White’s father was in here today.” He rummaged in his desk drawer for something and came up with a card, which he held out to me. “Hell of a thing, having to tell a man he’s lost his daughter and his son-in-law all in one week. But he was asking about the dog. I told him you were taking care of that, but he left his card for you, just in case. He wrote his cell phone number on back.”

“Thanks.” I took the card. “I’ll call him. Did you get the message about Letty Cranston?”

He nodded. “We’ll try to track down a phone number for her, but the main thing we wanted to know was the identity of the renters, so it’s not really urgent.”

“She sounded like she knew these people. She might be able to fill in the background.”

“Speaking of background, guess who made a living buying and trading coins on the Internet?”

“Leo White?”

He nodded. “So it looks like the bag of gold might have been legitimate—assuming he was abiding by all the federal and tax rules governing that kind of thing. We’re still looking into it.”

“Maude thinks he might have been thinking about leaving the country.”

“That’d be my guess.”

“Which makes him look more and more guilty of premeditated murder.”

“Afraid so.”

I brushed my uncle’s cheek with a kiss. “Go home and get some supper. Really, you look awful. Take a break. The computer will be here in the morning.”

He sighed. “Ain’t that the truth?”

My car was, in fact, parked in its customary place when I returned home; the porch light was on and I could smell wood smoke coming from the chimney. I had to admit, it was a welcoming feeling to know that someone waited for me inside after the day I had had, that the dogs had been fed and supper was ready and all I had to do was to stretch out in front of the fire and relax.

When I opened the door, the air smelled like cinnamon and the room was awash in the golden glow of fire-light and dozens of candles. They were on the mantel, on the end tables, on the hearth, on the bookshelves, on the floor. The first thing I said was, “Where are the dogs?”

“In their crates, where they belong.” Buck, in silhouette, arose from tending the fire and came toward me. “It’s past their bedtime, you know.”

I shrugged out of my jacket. “Did the power go out?”

“You’re such a romantic.” Buck kissed me and pressed a glass of wine into my hand.

“Wine,” I said, surprised. We usually drank beer.

Buck said, “How’s Sonny?”

“It wasn’t serious.” I sipped the wine. “Nice,” I complimented him. “Where’s Cisco?” The other dogs might well be sleeping, but the only time Cisco remained quiet in a crate was in the car, and then only rarely.

“Being a good dog for a change.” Buck took my hand and led me to the sofa, where Cisco was curled contentedly.He looked up at me and thumped his tail, but did not attempt to leave his perch.

“Now that’s what I call self-confidence,” I said. “Leaving a golden retriever in a ‘down-stay’ with all these candles around.”

“We have an understanding, Cisco and I. He gets to stay here while we have supper as long as he doesn’t set one paw off the sofa.”

“You brought food too?”

“I made beef stew last night. It’s warming on the stove.”

Buck’s mother had been one of the best cooks in Hanover County, and she was determined that none of her boys—there were three of them—was ever going to go hungry for lack of a woman to cook for him. Good thing too, because both Buck and I would have surely starved during our marriage if he had waited for me to cook.

“What smells like cinnamon?”

“Meg just made a fresh batch of apple pies this morning.” Meg owned a popular eating establishment that was known for some of the best pies in the state. “I’ve got one keeping warm in the oven.” He hesitated. “There might be a slice missing.”

I laughed and let him pull me down to the cushions he had arranged in front of the fireplace. “This is nice, Buck.” I lifted my glass. “The wine and all. Real nice.”

He smiled, toying with my fingers. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? It was nice just being here, waiting for you, taking care of the dogs, getting supper ready. Nicer now that you’re home. Like old times.”

I sipped the wine, my gaze lowered.

He said, “Look at me for a minute, Rainey.” His voice sounded serious.

Reluctantly, I raised my eyes. “Do we have to do this now, Buck? It’s really been a pretty rotten day.”

But his gaze was uncompromising. “I want you to tell me something. How come, do you suppose, we never got divorced? The second time, I mean.”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know. It just seemed kind of stupid, I guess. Like a waste of good money.”

“Well, I know.” His fingers laced through mine and closed. “For me at least. It’s because I’m crazy about you. I always have been. I always will be. But here’s the thing, Raine. I need to know where this is going. Where
we’re
going. Because I don’t think I can keep on like this any longer.”

I stared at him, puzzled. “Why?” I said. “Why do we have to go anywhere? Why can’t things be the way they are?”

His fingers left mine and reached into his shirt pocket. He said, “I’ve been keeping something of yours. I need to know whether or not you want it back.”

When his palm opened, he was holding a wedding band . . . his grandmother’s wedding band, the one I had returned to him on the day I told him that our marriage was over. For the second time.

I looked at the ring in his open hand. But I made no move to take it.

I said huskily, “You know I love you, Buck.” I tried to smile, gesturing with my wineglass. “Look at you. Look at this. What’s not to love? But . . .”

“But,” he repeated flatly. He lowered his hand.

At length I raised pleading eyes to him. “It’s been good these past few months. Why can’t we just keep things like they are?”

Slowly he shook his head. “Because I’m closer to forty than thirty. I’ve waited for you since I was sixteen years old. Sometimes I think waiting for you has gotten to be such a habit that I don’t know how to do anything else anymore.

“I know I made mistakes. I know losing you was my fault. My head was messed up back then, but it’s not anymore. I want to be married, Raine. I want someone to take care of, someone who cares about me, and I want to do it right this time. I want that someone to be you. But if it can’t be . . . I need to get on with my life. I’m tired of being alone. I can’t do this anymore, Rainey. And that’s the truth.”

I said, through lips that were suddenly dry, “I can’t go through it again, Buck. I just can’t. I guess I’m gun-shy. But I don’t trust you. I don’t think I ever will.” I swallowed hard, dreading to look at him, making myself. “That’s the truth.”

His hand closed over the ring. “So,” he said.

“So,” I said.

“I guess that’s it.”

I placed my hand, quickly and lightly, atop his. “It doesn’t mean things have to change between us, Buck. I mean, the way they are now . . . it’s nice. Nicer than when we lived together, even. Maybe this is the way it should be. Maybe this is the only way we’re good together.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. A regretful smile crossed his lips. “But it’s not enough for me.”

I didn’t understand what that meant. I didn’t
want
to understand.

He stood. I scrambled to my feet after him. “You’re not leaving, are you? Aren’t you going to stay and eat?”

“Nah.” His voice was casual, but the slight movement he made to tuck the wedding ring back into his pocket broke my heart. “I think I’ll go on home. You enjoy it, though. Bring the dishes back sometime.”

“Buck.” I hurried after him to the door, and I couldn’t believe how selfish the next words sounded. “Are you still going to help set up for the Pet Fair Saturday?”

He smiled and brushed my hair with a kiss. “Six a.m., okay?”

He held out his hand, and it took me a minute to realize he was waiting for his keys. I handed them over.

A blast of cold air entered the room when he opened the door, and it lingered long after he was gone. I snuggled up on the sofa with Cisco and even put another log on the fire. But I couldn’t seem to get warm.

There is nothing more exhilarating than a mountain fair on a crisp cobalt day. The entire downtown area had been cordoned off and was filled with colorful booths. The air smelled of boiled peanuts and hickory-smoked barbecue, and a bluegrass band played on a truck-bed stage. There were caramel apples, caramel corn, corn on the cob and fried pies. A booth sold homemade pies, cakes and breads, and another sold sparkling mason jars filled with red pepper jelly, bread and butter pickles and strawberry jam. There were handcrafted birdhouses, laurel tables, painted signs and exquisite jewel-toned quilts. But most of all there were tourists, oohing and aahing over our quaint mountain crafts and peeling out folding cash to take home souvenirs. The Hansonville Fall Festival was the biggest event of the year.

The Pet Fair had taken over the entire town square, thanks to the charm and determination of Dolly Amstead. This highly desirable piece of real estate—almost a half acre of grass shaded by a giant oak tree whose reddishorange display made it the most attractive feature at the fair—was now decorated with yellow and blue agility equipment, white PVC jumps and festive white lattice ring gating.

A bright blue canopy shaded animal pens where adoptable kittens and puppies romped amidst cedar shavings, and another housed the ticket and donation booth, where for two dollars you could take your pet through a modified agility course—under my supervision, of course—enter a variety of pet contests or sign your dog up for any number of games. For absolutely free you could receive a stack of literature on our proposed new animal shelter and make a donation to the cause. Dolly manned the loudspeaker, announcing upcoming events and rallying enthusiasm for the homeless pets. In between announcements she zipped back and forth among adoptions, ticket sales and events, straightening flyers and tweaking displays and making certain that there was absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind as to who was in charge.

“That woman,” muttered Maude, “is giving me a headache.”

“Well, you’ve got to hand it to her,” I replied absently. “She does know how to organize.”

Maude gave me an odd look. I knew it wasn’t like me to miss an opportunity to complain about Dolly, but I really wasn’t in the mood. My eyes kept scanning the crowd for Buck. It wasn’t that I had anything to say to him, in particular. I don’t know why I kept looking for him.

He had helped me load and set up the equipment just like he promised, and he was his usual easygoing self. But things were awkward and strained between us, and he seemed distant. Or perhaps it was just me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen,” Dolly squawked from the loudspeaker. “Three minutes until the agility demonstration! Gather round the square, everyone, for the agility demonstration!”

Maude said, “Looks like you’re on.”

Cisco was lying under the table with his leash clipped to my chair, panting happily and observing everything that was happening. Hero, on the other hand, lay in a covered crate with his head on his paws, giving absolutely no indication that he had the slightest bit of interest in his surroundings. I would have loved to have given a demonstration of his extraordinary skills for the crowd, but I didn’t want to risk stressing him.

So I unsnapped Cisco’s leash and led him inside the gated agility ring. Since I had designed the course, it was easy to make him look good. I took him through only the obstacles that he did well and at lightning speed, and we finished with one of his favorite tricks—a victory leap through a circle that I made of my arms. The crowd loved that, and we took a bow.

“Raine Stockton and Cisco, everyone! Wasn’t that great? Buy your tickets at the table under the blue tent and Raine will show you and your dog how to do the same thing! Don’t forget, all the proceeds from your tickets go to help Hanover County’s homeless animals, so line up!”