Read the book: «The Sheriff Wins A Wife»

Chapter Two

Trace strode away from Jenn, still trying to get his emotions under control. He wanted to put his fist through a wall.

Hey, Trace, how’s it going? What kind of a greeting was that after almost eight years? He jammed his sunglasses back on and stomped out of the swine barn into the blazing sunshine.

They had been as close as two people could be. He had loved her so much he’d ached with it. Was he the only one who remembered that? Had he been harboring the remnants of some adolescent crush all these years? Obviously his emotions had been deeply buried, surfacing to smack him unexpectedly now. Now he had no idea what to do about them.

He stepped into the judging barn and headed for the fair offices. He needed to find Stan, the 4H adviser. Trace had offered to help out with checking in the projects, but he wasn’t going to deal with Kelly’s pig—or Jenn–until he had some time to figure out what was going on in his head and how he was going to handle it. Stan would have to check in Kelly’s project.

Over at the stock pens, where animals waited for the vet, a child climbing up the slats had Trace changing direction.

The boy, his back to Trace, was on a pen that held a particularly nasty bull from the rodeo herd. He had a broken horn and a bad attitude, along with a habit of charging the fence.

“Hey, kid, get down off there!” Trace broke into a run as the bull turned and spotted the child.

When the boy didn’t respond, Trace hollered again. “You, kid, in the red shirt, jump down!”

The boy continued to ignore him. The bull’s head was down and Trace could hear him snorting from twenty feet away. Trace closed the distance in record time and snagged the little boy around the waist, jerking him off the pen.

The sound of ripping fabric was quickly drowned out by the bull crashing into the fence, his horns raking the wood with a splintering screech.

Trace backed up, set the boy down and spun him around. “What were you thinking?” he yelled. The boy’s terrified freckled face didn’t look familiar.

The child looked up at Trace, but said nothing. His whole body shook.

“Who are you here with?” Trace moved the child another few steps away as the bull readied himself for another run at the boards. Whoever was supposed to be supervising this boy was doing a bad job.

The child turned to bolt, then flinched when Trace reached down to keep him in his place. Just as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder someone called his name.

“Trace, stop!”

He saw Jenn ran toward them, looking as scared as the boy.

“Don’t hurt him.”

Hurt him?

She arrived panting and out of breath, and scooped the boy into a hug. His little arms went around her shoulders and his legs gripped her waist as he buried his face against her neck.

“What did you think I was going to do? Give him a beating?”

“No, oh, no. Sorry. I was scared.”

He nodded, but the notion that she thought he would hurt a child stung.

“Thank you,” she said, gulping air as she patted the boy on the back.

“Who is this kid?”

“My son, Zack.” She continued to stroke the boy’s thin little back.

For the second time that day Trace felt as if he’d been smacked by a two-by-four. Jenn had a child?

She smoothed a hand over Zack’s curly brown hair, as if to reassure herself he was all right. “He was supposed to stay with Kelly, but she came back alone.”

How come he’d never heard that Jenn had a child? Feeling as twisted up as old hay wire, Trace shoved his hands into his pockets. “I yelled at him to get down, but he ignored me.”

Jenn’s big hazel eyes filled with tears. “He didn’t hear you. Zack is deaf.” She lowered the boy back onto his feet, and used sign language to ask him something. Zack pointed to the front of his red shirt, where there was a big hole.

Jenn looked up at Trace. “He was trying to get down, but he got stuck.”

There was a piece of the boy’s shirt hanging from a splinter on the fence post. “He never should have been there in the first place.”

Jenn nodded, and had started to say something when Zack shook her hand to get her attention. He pointed to his shirt and then signed something.

Jenn laughed and nodded, signing back and speaking to him. The child watched her lips. “I know it’s your favorite. We can get you another one.”

Trace took another look at the boy’s red shirt and realized it had the Chicago Bulls’ mascot on the front.

The boy made some motions with his hands, and Jenn translated.

“Zack said he’s sorry. He wants to thank you.”

Trace nodded at the boy, then looked up at Jenn, still trying to absorb the fact that she had a child.

She gave him a wobbly smile and said, “I want to thank you, too. I’ll keep him with me in the future.” She took Zack’s hand and walked away.

Trace watched them leave, and slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets. He wasn’t very good at guessing ages, but the boy looked as if he could be about seven.

The same age the child they had supposedly lost would be.

Trace started after them. He needed answers. Now.

His phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket, saw the “911” designation and swore under his breath. As much as he needed to confront Jenny, his job called. He flipped open the phone and barked, “What?” He didn’t take his eyes off Jenn or Zack until they disappeared from sight.

There was a moment of silence and then his dispatcher, Henrietta, said, “Sheriff?”

Trace ran a hand over his face. “Sorry, Henrie. What’s up?”

“Accident on the highway, four miles south of the fairgrounds. Butch thinks one driver might be drunk.”

“Any injuries?” Trace glanced at his watch. Geez, it was ten o’clock in the morning.

“Doesn’t look too bad, but one of the passengers is trapped in the car. I already dispatched an ambulance, but Butch needs help. And there was another vandalism call, but that can wait until you get in.”

Henrie had managed the sheriff’s office since before Trace was born. He trusted her judgment completely.

“Tell Butch I’m on my way.” Trace shoved his phone into his pocket and headed to his cruiser.

Gripping Zack’s hand, Jenn hurried away from Trace and the feelings he awakened in her.

For so long she had tried not to think about him or any of the memories that went with him, but seeing his concern for her son brought those unwanted emotions flooding back. She tried to push them away into the back of her mind where she’d locked them. They didn’t seem to fit any longer.

Zack made a growling noise tugged and tugged free of her grasp. “Are you angry with me?” he signed.

She shook her head. “No. Why do you think that?”

He rubbed the hand she’d been holding. “Because you were smashing my hand.”

In her agitation she’d had too strong a hold on him. She scooped him up, reveling in the little-boy smell of him. He wiggled out of her grasp as she set him down again. “I’m not angry at you.” But she was furious at Kelly. Jenn had given her niece strict instructions to keep an eye on Zack.

Zack signed again. “The man was angry.”

“He was frightened for you.”

Zack shook his head in disbelief. “Policemen don’t get scared.”

She nodded, amused by Zack’s childlike view of the world, and took him more gently by the hand. She didn’t want to talk about Trace. Or why, if Trace was angry at anyone, it was her. Instead, she walked Zack back to the pigpen.

Kelly was sitting on a stool beside Petunia, talking on a cell phone. She didn’t look up at them.

Jenn pointed Zack to the empty pen opposite them, where he had been playing earlier with his assortment of action figures. Once he was absorbed, she said. “Kelly, I need to speak to you.”

Kelly rolled her eyes and pointed to the telephone.

Jenn barely resisted the urge to rip it out of her hand. “Tell them you’ll call them back.”

Kelly turned away and said something Jenn couldn’t hear, then disconnected the call. When she turned back she had a sullen look on her face. “What?”

Jenn wondered briefly what had happened to the sweet girl who had stayed at her house in Dallas last summer. Kelly had changed from a sunny child to a sullen teenager in the course of a few months.

“I told you how important it was to keep an eye on Zack. He’s not like other children.”

Kelly shrugged. That insolent lift of her shoulder was becoming a familiar thing. “It’s not my fault. I thought he was right behind me.”

“Well, he wasn’t. He wandered away and was almost gored by a bull.”

Kelly glanced over at Zack. “But he wasn’t.”

“No. Thanks to Trace.”

“He should stay with you. I can’t talk to him.”

“Yes, you can. He’s getting good at lip-reading.

“I didn’t want him to tag along.” Kelly’s pretty face got red and blotchy.

“This summer really sucks. I don’t see why you even had to come. I can take care of myself.” The girl stood up so quickly she knocked her stool over. “It is, like, so disgusting.”

Jenn didn’t know what she was referring to. “What is?”

Kelly did the eye roll that was becoming annoyingly familiar. “Mom having a baby. She’s, like, so old. And just because she has to stay home doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”

Jenn could tell Kelly was trying hard not to cry. Poor kid was having a rough time since her stepfather had walked out on them, but Jenn couldn’t let Kelly take it out on her or Zack. “Well, Kel,” she said gently, “it would be tough to haul a three-hundred-pound pig to the fairgrounds on the city bus.”

Kelly glared at Jenn. “You’re as bad as Mom!”

Ah. A truly teenage insult, Jenn thought as she watched her niece turn and run toward the sunlight streaming through the stock-barn doors.

Kelly had been through so much during the past few months. Her stepfather, the only father she remembered, had run off with another woman. According to Miranda, Roger hadn’t even said goodbye to Kelly before he moved out, nor had he talked to her since. Add all that to a raging case of hormones, and this was not shaping up to be Kelly’s finest summer.

Jenn had nothing but sympathy for her niece’s situation. She suspected this was not going to be her best summer, either.

“Jennifer?”

A male voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up at a vaguely familiar face.

He held out a hand. “I’m Stan. Stan Donnely. I was in Miranda’s class.”

She hadn’t seen him for years, but she remembered him. He had been a close friend of Miranda’s first husband. When Rob had died, Stan had helped with the arrangements. “Of course. Stan. How are you?” She shook his hand.

“I’m fine. How’s Miranda?”

Jenn didn’t miss the look of genuine concern on Stan’s face. “She’s on bed rest.”

“I’ll stop by later and see if she needs me to do anything around the place.”

Jenn nodded. “Miranda would appreciate that.” Stan had always been a nice guy. He’d never married, and Jenn had suspected he’d had a crush on Miranda since high school.

“Where’s Kelly?” He motioned with his clipboard to Petunia. “I’m here to check in her project.”

Stalling, giving herself time to think, Jenn said, “Are you the 4H adviser?”

He nodded and smiled. “Yup.”

Jenn decided to cover for Kelly. “I sent her to get me a soda. Does she need to be here, or can you do this without her?”

“She needs to be here. I can get started, but I’ll bet she’ll want to be here for the birth.”

Jenn looked at him blankly. Miranda was not due for weeks. “Birth?”

He gestured toward Petunia, who lay on her side panting. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s in labor.”

In the wake of everything that had happened in the past hour Jenn had forgotten the pig was pregnant. What did you do for a pig in labor?

Stan chuckled and said, “Relax. She knows what to do.”

“I hope so.” Jenn glanced at Zack, who was still playing across the aisle, then dug her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Kelly’s number, praying the girl would pick up.

On the fourth ring Kelly answered, with a rude “What?” Obviously she’d recognized her aunt’s number on the incoming call.

Jenn said cheerfully, “Kelly, sweetheart, you’ll have to forget my soda. You need to hurry back. Mr. Donnely is here to check Petunia in and he thinks she’s in labor.”

She heard a yelp and then the line went dead. Jenn smiled up at Stan. “She’s on her way.”

As they waited for Kelly they chatted about her job in Dallas and how hot the weather was getting. Then the conversation, as it tended to do with old acquaintances, turned to the past.

“You used to go with Trace McCabe, didn’t you?”

Jenn tried not to wince at the question. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Trace. “Yes, for the last two years of high school.” People in small towns never forgot anything, Jenn thought.

“Have you seen him since you’ve been back?”

She nodded and struggled to keep her tone light. “Sure did. He stopped by just a bit ago.” She actually managed to make it sound as if it had been no big deal.

She wanted this conversation to be over. It was hard enough to keep her thoughts away from Trace without any reminders.

Stan droned on about the sheriff and the great job he was doing while Jenn kept a pleasant look plastered on her face.

After all, that is what her mother had taught her, she thought with a feeling of rising panic. Self-control. No matter what was going on, keep your face composed and don’t give anyone “something to talk about.” As if being talked about was the worst thing that could happen to a person.

Jenn’s pleasant expression was about to crack when Kelly finally ran toward them, straw and dust flying as her feet pounded the dusty corridor.

Breathless, she said, “Mr. Donnely. I was just getting my aunt a soda.” She threw Jenn a grateful look and let herself into the pen.

Jenn led Zack to the end of the pen, and they settled down on a bale of hay to wait for Petunia to get through her ordeal.

Her son, always full of questions, was bound to be asking some interesting ones today. Jenn sighed and put her arm around Zack. Her quiet summer in Blossom had developed into a whole lot more than she had anticipated.