Starting Over at Lane's End (Harlequin Heartwarming) (3 page)

Chapter Three

“G
O
, L
IONS
!”
THE
cheerleaders yelled in unison. “Go, Lane’s End!”

The crowd roared to life as the team came on the court. Hoots and hollers abounded as everyone leaped to their feet. But though he’d been looking forward to the game, suddenly all Cary wanted to do was stare at Gen Slate. She looked cute in a sweatshirt and jeans, her long black hair tied in a ponytail.

“How’s Sadie?”

“Rotten,” she said with a grin. “The day I saw you, she escaped from her kennel, nudged open the pantry door and ate two boxes of cereal before I came home. What about Sludge?”

“He’s the same as always. Last night he attacked the football I was throwing and howled at the mail carrier.”

Recalling how harried Gen had looked when she’d left the café, he said, “Was everything okay after your call? You left in a hurry.”

“More or less. A semi had collided with a car on I-275 and the department needed some support.” Eyes clouding, Gen shook her head. “It was touch and go for a while, but everyone involved ended up okay.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Gen gestured to Sam. “I heard you and Sam know each other.”

“We do.” Cary laughed. “I think everyone here pretty much knows each other. And their mothers, fathers and grade-school teachers.”

“He said your father was with the church.”

“Yeah. A minister.” Interested in finding out why she was asking, he said, “Are you looking for a church or something?”

“Oh my goodness, no.”

Her tone took him off guard. “Okay,” he answered, drawing out the word.

“Sorry, I guess that came out wrong. I meant to say I’ve never had time for that kind of stuff.”

Though her tone was light, Cary caught the edge of steel in it. “I see.”

She glanced his way again, all big blue eyes and wariness. “Hey, I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Not at all.” He wasn’t offended...just disappointed. Gen Slate seemed covered in a hard shell, giving him little idea about what she was really like.

Did he really want to become involved with another woman who wasn’t honest about her feelings?

As he spied Dave and saw that his brother was now sitting with him, Cary stood. “Well, it was good to see you. I’m going to head on back and let Sam reclaim his seat.”

“Oh. All right.”

Cary’s heart softened as he noticed that same touch of confusion in her eyes he’d spied at the pet store. “Hey, be careful on patrol, Gen.”

A flash of humor—and vulnerability?—crossed her face before she tamped it down. “Don’t worry, Cary. I never let work stress me out.”

He was about to ask if she ever took time off when the crowd around them grumbled again.

“Mr. Hudson! You’re six feet two. Go play or move!” Kyle West called out from three rows up.

“Wish you cared as much about independent variables as this game, Kyle,” Cary retorted. “You blew yesterday’s quiz.”

Kyle paled. “Don’t tell my mom.”

As the crowd around them laughed and a wad of paper flew toward the freckle-faced junior, Cary made his way down the stands. Catching Mrs. West’s eye, he couldn’t resist winking at her. “I’m guessing she already knows,” he murmured, just as the referee called another time-out.

* * *

A
WEEK
LATER
, M
ELISSA
rapped two times on his door before barging in. “Uncle Cary? You home?”

Cary glanced at his watch. It was seven o’clock. Usually Melissa was either doing homework or talking on the phone at this time of night. “You okay?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m so glad you’re home. Dad’s working late and Brian’s still at practice.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly concerned. Melissa looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Come see my car,” she said, her lip trembling. “Someone ruined all my tires! I don’t know how it could have happened.”

“Let’s go see.”

“It’s bad,” she said.

Grabbing a jacket and a cell phone, Cary followed her down his walkway and out to her trusty blue Civic, practically lying on the curb in front of her house, its tires completely flat. “Those tires are ruined all right.”

As if relieved that he finally believed her, her light-blue eyes filled with tears. “I was about to go out when I found it like this!”

Though his knee-jerk reaction was to ask where she’d been headed, he focused on the car. “Did you drive through a new neighborhood or something?” he asked, even though he knew a few stray nails wouldn’t cause this much damage.

“No, I drove straight home from school.”

After checking the tires for nails or other debris, he finally saw a jagged cut near the rim of one. “These have been slashed.”

“Dad’s going to be so mad.”

With his thumb, Cary wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “No, he won’t.”

She hiccuped. “You think?”

“I know. He’s my brother, remember? Have you called him yet?”

“Not yet.”

Pointing to the cement curb bordering her lawn, he said, “Let’s have a seat. Missy, I think we ought to call the police. Slashing tires is serious stuff, so we should report this. It could just be someone’s idea of a prank, but we should be careful in any case.”

Because she still looked worried she’d get in trouble, he added, “Your dad’s going to want to contact the insurance agency, and they’ll likely want the police to look at the damage, anyway.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay. Your dad will know this wasn’t your fault.”

Her cell phone rang. “Brian! Oh my goodness!” she said as soon as she clicked on in that dramatic way of hers that Cary knew so well. Cary stretched his legs as Melissa quickly summarized to her boyfriend what was happening.

A much calmer Melissa turned to him after she clicked off. “Brian said you should call the police.”

“I guess we’d better then,” he said, his sarcasm completely wasted on his niece. Funny how teenagers never changed. Cary vividly remembered always putting his friends’ advice in the forefront years ago, too.

After dialing Information, he called the police station. Recognizing the voice, he said, “Hey, Amanda, this is Cary Hudson. Any chance you could send Gary or Sam out this way? Melissa has a slight problem here.” After telling her about the tires, he turned to his niece. “Someone will be here shortly.”

Next he called his brother and filled him in. Luckily Dean was already on his way home.

Within minutes, a stream of cars approached.

Out of the first vehicle flew Brian, who rushed toward Melissa. Next came half the basketball team, three girls from Missy’s cheer squad and assorted other seniors who were looking for a party.

Cary waved hello to everyone but stayed seated. He’d known most of the kids for years and had taught nearly every one of them. They were good kids and were doing their best to give Melissa emotional support. Already his petite niece was standing a little straighter now that her hand was firmly encased in Brian’s.

Finally a police cruiser appeared.

Cary stood motionless when he saw who’d come to help them out. Officer Gen Slate.

* * *

T
HE
SCENE
THAT
greeted Gen was oddly familiar. Here in Lane’s End—just as it had been in Beckley—everyone’s business was cause for discussion. A whole crowd of kids gathered in front of a row of fifties-style ranch houses. Cary, a diminutive blonde and a really tall kid in sweats were in the middle of it all. Everyone looked to be talking at once.

Just as she was about to approach them, yet another car pulled up. An attractive man in a button-down shirt, jeans and the same dark-brown eyes as Cary’s got out of his sedan. After hugging the girl, as well, he slapped the tall kid on the shoulder. Then, they all turned to Gen.

“Glad you’re here, Officer,” the man—likely Cary’s brother considering the resemblance—said after examining the Civic. “Someone really did a number on my daughter’s tires.”

“It definitely looks that way,” Gen said as she quickly jotted down a record of her first impressions. “Any idea why someone would deliberately do this?”

The girl glanced at her friends before turning to Gen. “No.”

Just as Gen was wondering how to send the kids home without alienating the lot of them, Cary stepped forward.

“Guys, if you don’t have information to contribute, you all better get on home.”

“I’m not leaving,” the tall kid—Brian—said.

“I can stay, too,” a freckle-faced boy added, casting an almost wistful look toward Melissa.

Gen watched Cary’s niece meet the boy’s gaze before turning her head away, pink staining her cheeks.

“Go on home, Jimmy,” Brian said. “Melissa’s fine with me.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Listen—”

Just as Gen was going to step in, Cary took control. “Brian, go ahead and stay. Melissa needs you. Everyone else, why don’t you let Melissa call you later?”

Miraculously most of the kids listened and, with a few parting words to Melissa, went on their way.

Gen tapped her pen again. “Let’s start from the top. I’ll take your statements and some pictures. If I need anything else, I’ll stop by tomorrow. It’s getting late and I’m sure everyone’s ready to go inside.”

As Gen had hoped, her calm, direct manner soothed the girl’s nerves. Melissa stepped away from Brian and answered Gen’s questions, only pausing once or twice for her dad to add information.

There wasn’t much to go on. Genevieve suspected Melissa’s Civic was just a victim of a random prank, but she would look into it.

Within the hour, Brian went home, Melissa and her dad headed inside and Gen and Cary were left alone.

“Thanks for coming out,” he said as she started toward her car. “Melissa was pretty upset.”

“Don’t thank me—it’s my job,” she quipped before she realized just how unfeeling she sounded.

His mouth tightened into a fine line. “Oh. Well. I guess it is.”

“Well, um, like I said, I’ll file this report and call back if I find out anything.” She opened her car door, feeling stupid for being so uptight.

“Call Dean. He’s her father.”

“I...I was planning on it.”

She was about to add more, anything to recreate the warmth in his gaze from the coffee shop. A howl directed her attention to Cary’s fence, where a tricolor beagle, almost the exact replica of Sadie, watched them both.

She stepped forward. “Is that Sludge?”

After a second, Cary grinned. “Yep.”

Sludge howled again.

Gen was charmed. Beagles, she could relate to. Approaching the fence, she held out her hand. “Hi, Sludge.” When Sludge tilted his head to one side and watched her, Gen knelt down, the edges of her long scarf grazing the grass below her.

Sludge eyed the wool with interest.

“I wouldn’t—” Cary called out.

But it was too late.

In a lightning-fast move, Sludge chomped down on the wool and pulled hard.

Gen landed on the grass just as a good three-inch square was ingested by Sludge. “Sludge! Cary, my scarf—”

“Is ruined,” Cary muttered in disapproval as Sludge chewed his prize without a bit of shame. “Sorry, he’s a menace.”

“He certainly is.” Bending down to pet the dog, Gen scratched his ears. “Be careful, Sludge, or you’re going to get my reputation for eating anything and everything that’s unhealthy for you.”

Cary’s lips twitched before pointing to the frayed, wet wool she now held in her hand. “Sorry about your scarf.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, wiping the grass from her thighs as she strode to her car. “Sadie’s done crazy things, too.”

“Thanks again for coming out.”

“No problem. Remember, it’s why I’m here.” Gen tried to lighten her words with a smile, but neither came out the way she’d intended. Though she’d spoken the truth, she’d also been genuinely glad to try to help. “Please tell your brother I’ll call him soon.”

After a few parting words, Cary went inside and Gen got in her car.

As she backed out, she shook her head in dismay. Someone had slapped a Lion Pride sticker smack-dab in the middle of her rear windshield while she’d been taking Melissa’s statement. Looked as though basketball fever was going to catch her whether she wanted to be caught or not.

Chapter Four

“I
T
’
S
CONTRACT
DAY
,
Cary,” Christy Pardue said from Cary’s doorway. “As your department head, I’ve been informed to tell you to either sign the thing and turn it in or write a letter of resignation and let us hire someone else.”

“Glad to feel so needed.”

“Any time. It’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

Cary laughed. “So...I’ve got to make a decision, huh?”

“Yep. The school board is crunching numbers. Since Michael just announced he’s leaving to take that job at Lakota, Evan’s going crazy. He wants to know how many of us are coming back, pronto.”

Looking at the contract that had been sitting in a folder on his desk for a month, he sighed. “Tell Evan he’ll have my answer by two.”

Christy’s playful expression sobered. “You aren’t really thinking of leaving, are you? You were going to help me teach that continuing-ed class this summer and give me a hand ordering new textbooks. You can’t leave me with just Dave and Linda.”

“Dave’s easy and Linda is...okay.”

“Linda’s twenty-two years old—I could be her mother. Please sign your contract.” Her eyes narrowed. “You
are
going to sign it, right?”

“I’ll let you know by two.”

Christy turned on her heel, leaving Cary to stare at his contract again.

Why was committing another three years such a big deal? He loved teaching at Lane’s End. Surely he hadn’t gotten so hurt by Kate that he was willing to change his whole life just to avoid her?

No, it was more than that.

Signing meant accepting how his life was. As long as he held off committing to the job, Cary could play with the idea of moving somewhere different, of
doing
something different.

Growing and changing. Taking a risk. As Gen had said at the café, change was a good thing.

That stopped him in his tracks.

Now there was a person who obviously didn’t mind starting over. She was as independent a woman as he’d ever come across, giving off “I’m self-sufficient” vibes like nobody’s business. He admired her for that.

At the moment, he was stuck in Drive and his road was straight farm country. Nothing of interest for miles and miles. He’d taken it a hundred times.

But yet...

Closing his eyes, Cary thought of Dean and Melissa. The guys he went running with. Dave. Christy.

Lane’s End. This was where he belonged. Cary knew it the way he knew Sludge would eat his Nikes if given the chance.

Deciding not to put the inevitable off a moment longer, Cary signed the contract and placed it in the folder to take down to the principal.

* * *

O
N
S
ATURDAY
MORNING
,
Gen knew something had to be done. She’d tossed and turned all night, plagued by dreams of basketballs and lions and kids screaming like banshees.

Her first thought when she awoke had been about work. Again. Obviously she needed some balance in her life, stat. But how?

Padding to the bathroom, she flipped on the light and grabbed her brush. As Gen fixed her hair, she examined herself in the mirror. She looked the same as ever. Boyish figure. Lean and muscular, thanks to the frequent workouts at the gym. Her long, dark hair had always served her well. It was easy to pull back and was her best feature, in her opinion. Of course, not even really good hair could keep a man’s attention.

Thinking once again of her former partner, she wondered what had gone wrong. Why weren’t she and Keaton together, as she’d hoped? Was it because she wasn’t girlie enough? Chatty enough? Interesting? They’d gotten along well and had been good friends, but obviously he’d wanted something—someone—else.

Remembering their frequent meals together, all she could remember Keaton commenting on was her love of junk food. That wasn’t good. Maybe she’d been too aloof and afraid of showing him who she really was. She was already repeating that behavior with Cary, after all.

She remembered their meeting the other day. She hadn’t felt so tongue-tied around a man since Keaton. Could she actually pursue another man after that fiasco? Did she even know how? Gen had to admit she’d never been good in the romance department.

Quickly she braided her hair, then padded into the kitchen, getting a bowl of Froot Loops as she poured another cup of coffee.

The only truly feminine person she knew was her sister. Margaret had also never been one to shy away from giving advice—and she’d had no trouble winning over her husband.

Before Gen chickened out, she picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hey, Genevieve! This is a surprise.”

Gen was caught off guard by the exuberant greeting. “Hey, Meg. How are you?”

“I’m good. Oh—hold on a minute,” she said as Gen heard cereal rattle on a tray. “So did I surprise you, me knowing it was you right away? Shane got me caller ID.”

Gen grinned. Some things made their way more slowly than others to Beckley, West Virginia. “I’m glad you finally have it. How are Will, Jackson and Emily?”

“Happy. Crying. Driving me crazy. The usual.” Her tone turned thoughtful. “So why are you calling? Have you been injured again? Are you in the hospital?”

It was humbling to realize the only time she reached out to her family was on holidays or during medical emergencies. The last time Gen had called her sister out of the blue was after she’d sustained a knife wound during a gang altercation.

“I’m fine, Meg,” she hastily replied. “Actually, I called because I need some advice.”

“What’s going on?”

Gen opened her mouth but couldn’t say it. How could she admit to her beautiful, oh-so-together sister that she didn’t know how to step out of her shell? “I need a hobby.” She winced at the lame excuse for the call.

“Huh?”

“Okay. I know to a mother of three kids under five it sounds silly, but...got any ideas?”

“I thought you had that awful dog.”

“Sadie’s still around,” Gen admitted, nodding to Sadie as she thumped her tail.

“And don’t you work out like crazy?”

“Not as much as I used to. I was thinking I need some variety in my life. Maybe something a little more crafty.” Gen closed her eyes as she heard what she was saying. Really, could she sound
any
more backward?

But Margaret wasn’t laughing at all. “What? Like knitting? Crochet?”

Gen would rather stab someone with a knitting needle than try to figure out how to use one. “No.”

“Hold on.” Once again Gen heard her sister talking to all three kids, followed by another onslaught of cereal being poured. “I’m not fooled by this hobby talk for a second, Genevieve Slate. What’s really going on?”

It was scary how Margaret could sound just like their mother. “Nothing.”

“It is so something. It’s a man. Right?”

It was more like a lack of one. But who was she to split hairs? “Kind of.”

“Gen...just tell me.”

“This morning it occurred to me that all I’ve been doing is working and taking care of Sadie. Maybe I need something to get me out more, give myself a reason to put on some lipstick and just relax once in a while.”

“I get it.”

“I doubt it. I don’t think you’ve ever had to worry about being seen as just a friend by any guy.” Although Gen said this with horror, she had always been impressed—and a bit jealous—that boys had always loved Margaret.

“Stop that talk,” Margaret admonished. “Momma never gave you credit, Gen. Just because you weren’t interested in prom dresses or lip gloss didn’t mean you weren’t attractive. You are, you know. You’re beautiful.”

Margaret’s words were like a soothing balm, coating over a lifetime of old hurts and imagined slights. Once again Gen wondered if maybe the world hadn’t pushed her away as much as she’d been pushing.

After her sister settled yet another argument with her children, she came back on the line. “Gen, I’ve got the perfect hobby. It’s not quite crafty, but it’s more your speed. Gardening.”

Didn’t that involve plants? Keeping things alive? “Seriously?”

“Gardening would be perfect. It’s physical and you’ll get to sweat. I know how you like to do that,” she teased.

Now wait a minute! “Margaret—”

But all her sister did was speak a little louder. “You’ll get to
nurture
something. Be outside. Be around other people.”

“I’m around a lot of people with my job.”

“Giving them tickets! That’ll make you a lot of friends! Gardening is different. It’s calm.”

Calm did sound good. “How is gardening going to improve my love life?”

“Everyone who gardens talks about gardening. Maybe you could join a club,” Margaret continued. The way she was rushing her words told Gen she was getting more and more excited by the suggestion.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said sarcastically.

As the kids started going crazy in the background, Margaret said, “Ugh, these three are driving me batty today. I’ve gotta go. Did I help at all?”

She sounded so enthusiastic Gen couldn’t say no. Although Gen wasn’t great at asking Meg for help, she wanted a better relationship with her sister. Perhaps the gap wasn’t quite as one-sided as Gen had always thought it to be and Meg had just been waiting for Gen to make the first step. Maybe—just maybe—one day they could be a whole lot closer. “Some,” she said.

“Easter’s coming. Grow a lily. It might be fun.”

One plant. She could do that. “Maybe I will. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you—I won’t be coming home for Easter. I’ve gotta work.”

“I kinda figured that since you’ve never been able to make it home for many holidays.” Will, Meg’s baby, was now crying hard enough to wake the dead. “Sorry. I really gotta go. Bye!”

After Gen hung up, she turned to Sadie. “I have a plan. One day soon I’m going to grow lilies and think about something else besides work, Cary Hudson or industrial-size bags of peanut M&M’s.”

Sadie rolled to her side and groaned just as Gen’s cell phone rang. “Slate.”

“Gen, I’ve got a problem,” Sam said. “I can’t find the report about Mrs. Bodwell’s car break-in. Any idea where you put it?”

“Yep.” As Gen told Sam where she filed her paperwork before going off duty, then volunteered to help him find it, Sadie opened one eye and blinked.

Gen had a pretty good idea what the beagle was thinking. Her new hobby might not come about quite as quickly as she hoped.

* * *

“I’
M
ON
TRAFFIC
DUTY
?” Gen asked late Monday afternoon. “
Again?
It’s raining.” Directing traffic in the rain meant wet feet and annoyed drivers. She’d be soaked to the skin in minutes.

Gen didn’t really mind the duty, but since she’d been asked to direct traffic the last two times it rained, the assignment felt like a game of “let’s haze the rookie.”

She’d already gone through this ritual with the Cincinnati Police Department and she wasn’t eager to do it again. “Who decided the new girl needed this job?” she said out loud to the nearly empty rec room.

“This old guy,” Sergeant John Conrad called from the far corner, and her heart jumped into her throat. “I thought you could take a shift,” he said in his trademark scratchy voice. “You know, do your part?” As he stepped out of the shadows, he added, “Unless you got a problem with that, Slate?”

She stood at attention. “No, sir. I have no problem with the assignment. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you over by the coffeemaker.”

“I figured as much.” Sergeant Conrad grinned, causing the creases around his eyes to deepen. “At ease, Gen.”

She attempted to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to complain. It was more like good-natured griping.”

“I hear ya. I do the same thing about the bran flakes my wife makes me eat every morning.” He cleared his throat. “Since we’re chatting and all, the lieutenant asked me to check in with you.” Conrad sat down, gingerly resting his back against the back of the plastic chair. “So, you, uh, doing okay in Lane’s End? Getting used to the place? Getting used to the department?”

“I am.” Gen sat down across from him, noticing Sam Clark sitting nearby reading a magazine.

“Good. Good. Things are different here than in the CPD. Our community expects you to take time to get to know them.” Tapping a beat-up ballpoint pen on his clipboard, he added, “It makes your job easier, by the way, if you’re familiar with everyone.”

Gen knew what he was trying to say. It had been hard to get used to the new department’s way of doing things. In Lane’s End, the cops worked together, not competitively as they had in Cincinnati.

Gen had also been trying to choose her words more carefully, since she’d been fool enough to let all the cops in her old department witness her jealousy of Keaton’s new girlfriend. But as Gen realized she’d just been openly complaining about traffic duty, she knew she needed to work on that.

“I did go to a basketball game,” she said, eager to at least prove that she’d been trying to get out in the community more.

Sam snorted from his seat, showing he wasn’t that engrossed in his reading, after all—and reminded Gen that she’d fought the excursion to the school last week tooth and nail.

Sergeant Conrad nodded. “That’s the way. I thought I’d heard you went to the Lions game the other night. I missed it—grandkids.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t make it.” As she recalled the way the Lions had fought after slipping by six points, she added, “It was pretty exciting. Half the town was there.” Including Cary Hudson.

“Lieutenant Banks recommended we assign additional officers for the next game. If the Lions keep winning, things could get out of hand.”

Recalling how loud and vibrant the place had been, Gen attempted to imagine it even more jam-packed.

“I heard through the grapevine that the high school wants to do a parade if we go to state,” Sam interjected, his magazine now closed.

“That’ll be fun,” the sergeant said, sarcasm coating his voice. “A third of the town’s going to be in the parade, another third is going to want to watch the thing and the last third is going to raise enough Cain about the traffic and congestion that we’ll wish the game of basketball had never been invented.”