At Home in Dry Creek

There must just be a draft in that old bakery building and a tingle of cold air must blow through now and again and hit her on the back of the neck, she decided. That must be what that tingling sensation was all about.

Or, she thought to herself, maybe the tingling had just been her nerves reminding her of the upcoming wedding. She’d certainly had reason enough to dread the event.

But now that the wedding was over, the nervousness would stop and that would be it. She could get on with earning the acceptance of the people of Dry Creek.

It was too bad that she couldn’t begin with the sheriff. Of all of the people there, he suddenly looked like he would be the hardest to win over.

Chapter Four

The wedding reception was still going strong. Laughter and chatter filled the old barn. Barbara watched the sheriff while she sat in a folding chair beside where the children were playing.

The sheriff seemed to be intercepting anyone who was walking toward Barbara. One would think she had a big C for “criminal” branded on her forehead. The sheriff took one man by the arm and pointed him in a different direction. He whispered something in the ear of another. She couldn’t imagine why he cared if the ranch hands talked to her. They certainly didn’t have anything she could steal.

Well, no matter what his reasons were for keeping people away from her, today was supposed to be a happy day and Barbara was determined to keep looking happy even if she had to change her view to do so.

Since no one was going to talk to her inside the building with the sheriff blocking the way, Barbara decided to go outside. Barbara looked down at the bridal bouquet she still held. Was it just her, or did the flowers look a little wilted?

Sheriff Wall watched Barbara walk back over to Mrs. Hargrove and say something before heading toward the barn door and going outside. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t need to follow Barbara everywhere, but if anyone was going to make contact with her, they would do it at some event like this. Strangers stood out in Dry Creek on an ordinary day, but tonight a dozen strangers could wander around and no one would pay much attention to them as long as they held a plastic cup filled with Mrs. Hargrove’s special raspberry punch.

Of course, he wasn’t worried about Barbara seeking to contact her ex-husband’s criminal partners. The sheriff had talked with her enough in the hospital and then later in Dry Creek to know she wasn’t likely to turn to crime. She’d seen first-hand what crime did to a person, and she knew it wasn’t good.

But that didn’t mean Barbara might not unwittingly receive a message from her ex-husband and not realize what it meant. She’d said she hadn’t heard from him, but she might be hoping for some message anyway. After all, the two of them had been married for a long time and had children together. They probably still had business to settle between them.

Yeah, the sheriff told himself, he’d better go outside and stand in the dark with her just to be on hand if anyone came up to her with a message. It could be something as simple as “look in the tool chest for the key to the safety deposit box” or “dig up grandma’s favorite rosebush and see what you find.”

The sheriff wished again that he had some of Pete’s charm with women. At least Pete could go out and stand there without looking like a fool with nothing to say.

Barbara took a deep breath the minute she stepped outside. She looked around and was relieved no one else was close by. It did look as though someone was sitting in one of the pickups parked by the barn, but that was the only sign of life. Most of the cars were over by the church. The moon was out, but it was still dark enough that she couldn’t see much beyond the vehicles.

Whoever was in the pickup seemed to be taking a nap, so Barbara felt alone enough to relax.

After living through a cold winter here, she knew she’d never get tired of Montana spring nights. They were such a relief after the snow. It was a warm March, and the sounds from inside the barn were muted enough that she could almost hear the sounds of the outside. Now that spring was here, there was no snow to muffle the night sounds. She heard the sound of a coyote off in the distance. And a dog barking closer to town.

Someone had lined up some folding chairs along the side of the barn, and Barbara stepped over to them and sat down. She set the bouquet down on the chair next to her and slid her shoes halfway off her feet. She wasn’t used to wearing high heels any more and they pinched. Barbara leaned back in the chair. Now she almost felt good enough to smile for real.

She heard the sound of a pickup door being opened. Apparently, the man was finished with his nap.

Right then, the door to the barn opened and light spilled out into the darkness.

“Trouble?” Barbara asked when she looked up and saw the sheriff. She’d given it some thought and had almost decided that the reason the sheriff had been frowning so much was because he had official business somewhere. Maybe his mood had nothing to do with her. Maybe she’d just grown so distrustful of men that she saw betrayal and censure everywhere she looked.

Yes, that must be it, Barbara told herself in relief. Someone must be in trouble and the sheriff was passing the word along to others who could help. The sheriff seemed always to be working. Even though he was wearing a regular black suit and not his uniform tonight, he was probably still on duty. She supposed a lot of his social evenings were interrupted like this.

“Trouble? No,” the sheriff said as he let the door close behind him. He stood still for a moment. “Unless you’ve seen something?”

Barbara refused to be disappointed that the sheriff wasn’t worried about someone else. “Me? What would I see?”

“Oh, you never know when someone sees something out of the ordinary.” The sheriff walked over to the folding chairs where Barbara sat and stretched out on the chair closest to the barn door. It was six chairs away from Barbara.

“No, nothing out of the ordinary here.”

Maybe the sheriff was just worried from habit, Barbara decided. She was glad she had nothing to worry him further. She had noticed that whoever was getting out of the pickup had changed his mind and settled back into the seat. But there was nothing unusual about one of the men around here deciding to take a bit longer with his nap. A lot of them worked hard and were tired. The only thing that was unusual lately was that strange tingling sensation she’d had at the back of her neck. “Has anybody thought of getting a big streetlight around here?”

“A streetlight? We only have the one street.”

“I know, but it’s a very dark street—especially at night.”

“People like it that way. If they get a streetlight, they worry they won’t be able to see the stars.”

“It could be a small light.”

The sheriff shrugged. “The county is voting next month on all the business. Bring it up at the town hall meeting we have. See what people think.”

“Me? Would I go to the meeting?”

“I don’t see why not. This is where you live, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” Barbara had never voted in a local election before. She’d never been in one place long enough to qualify for anything like that. She’d gotten a library card once, but that was all.

“There’ll be a vote for sheriff coming up,” he added. “If you’re interested in voting, that is.”

Barbara was relieved. Whatever was troubling the sheriff, he must not suspect her of anything. He was asking her for something that implied she was almost one of the citizens of Dry Creek. “Well, you can count on my vote—I mean, if I don’t need to own property or anything.”

“Nope. No property. Just show up at the barn here and vote.”

Was it really that simple? It wasn’t pouring coffee, but voting had to count for something. Maybe becoming part of life in Dry Creek was possible after all. Barbara felt a rush of enthusiasm at the thought. “I suppose you have a campaign team already lined up?”

She knew the sheriff was reliable and did a good job. He’d saved a life or two and he’d even tracked her down last fall. She’d heard enough talk around to know he was well thought of in Dry Creek.

“Campaign?” the sheriff looked startled.

“Yeah, you know, your campaign to get peoples’ votes. I’m just wondering if you have anyone working on the campaign. I could help pass out flyers or something if you need someone else to help. Just let me know who to talk to about it.”

There, Barbara thought. It was the perfect place to start. A flyer was worth less than even a plastic plate, so no one needed to trust her with anything. Unless, of course, the sheriff thought she wasn’t good enough to hand out his flyers. Maybe since she’d been married to a criminal, he was afraid that she would taint his campaign.

Barbara held herself still. “That is, if you want me to work with you?”

The sheriff felt his collar get tight and he swallowed. He should have worn his uniform instead of this suit. He’d never given any thought to a campaign. People around Dry Creek didn’t need a campaign to know to vote for him for sheriff. For one thing, there was no one running against him. But Barbara didn’t know that, and if she was working on a campaign with him, she’d have to spend time with him. That would keep her away from guys like Pete.

It would also be easier for him and the FBI to keep an eye on her. Now that he thought about it, it was almost his duty to spend as much time as possible with Barbara Strong.

The sheriff took a deep breath. “Sure. We could get together for dinner tomorrow night at the café and work out a campaign strategy.” His voice sounded a little strained, but he hoped Barbara wouldn’t notice. He seldom asked a woman out on a date. Not that this was a date. At least, he didn’t think it was. “I’d buy, of course.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t let you buy—”

“No, it would be official campaign business.”

Barbara pinked up for a moment and then she nodded. “Well, then, yes—I’ll ask Mrs. Hargrove to sit with the children while I step over to the café. But she might not be able to since it’s Saturday night and she needs to get ready to teach Sunday school the next morning.”

The sheriff couldn’t help but notice how pleased Barbara looked. He could hardly keep his mind on Mrs. Hargrove. He sure wondered if this was going to be a date. But in any case, Barbara was right. They needed someone to watch the children.

“I’ll talk to Mrs. Hargrove,” the sheriff said.

“That’s right—I forgot you know her pretty well. She said you fixed her roof a couple of weeks ago.”

“Just a few shingles. Nothing much,” the sheriff said. He didn’t want to derail the conversation by talking about Mrs. Hargrove’s chores. He knew there had to be a chore on her list that was worth a night’s babysitting even if it was a Saturday night. “Linda has a great steak special going on Saturday nights.”

“She might agree to let us put some of your flyers in the café, too,” Barbara said.

The sheriff swallowed. “We sort of need to make a flyer before we can pass it out.”

Barbara brightened even more at that. “You mean no one’s done a flyer yet? Would it be okay if I worked on that, too? We’ll need a slogan. Something catchy. Something that sets you apart from your competition.”

The sheriff felt his mouth go dry. He couldn’t not tell her. Not when her face was getting so excited. “About my competition…so far I don’t have any.”

The sheriff closed his eyes.

“Well, surely someone will run against you,” Barbara said. She frowned a little. “They probably just haven’t put in their name yet.”

The sheriff sat up straighter. She was right. Someone could decide to run against him. It wasn’t likely, but it could happen. Maybe there’d even be a write-in campaign. One or two people usually wrote in a name on the ballot instead of voting for him. The name was usually Daffy Duck or Santa Claus, but legally it was a vote for another candidate. That had to mean something. He moved a couple of chairs closer to Barbara without even thinking about it. “It’s a good thing we’re going to do a campaign then.”

Barbara smiled. “It’s always good to get out the vote. It helps the whole community. We need to think of things that would rhyme with Sheriff Wall.”

“There’s all,” the sheriff said, noticing that Barbara had picked up the bouquet she’d caught and was holding it in her lap. He slipped over onto the chair next to her.

“And a button, we’ll need a button,” she said. “Something in blue. People trust blue. Or maybe red. Red is power.”

The sheriff nodded. He didn’t care if Barbara decided to dress him up in a clown suit and have him pass out suckers in front of the café. She was sitting next to him and talking and her hands were going a mile a minute.

Saturday night was definitely going to be a date if the sheriff had anything to say about it. He smiled his best smile. “I appreciate anything you can do—for the campaign, that is.”

“I’m handling the bakery while Lizette and Judd are gone on their honeymoon, but I can think about the slogan while I work.” Barbara held up the rose bouquet as though she was seeing it for the first time. “And, another good thing about this campaign is that it will help people forget I caught this thing.”

The sheriff couldn’t ask what the first good thing was. He had a bad enough feeling in his stomach about the second good thing. “Why is that?”

“Everyone talks during a political campaign. There’ll be issues and answers. People will forget I caught the bouquet and that I’m supposed to be the next one to marry. People think Lizette knows I’m hoping to get married again and that’s why she tossed me this bouquet. But I’ve told Lizette it’s just the opposite. I’m never going to get married again.”

“Oh.”

Barbara stood up. “I’m going to be a good citizen though.”

“You can be a good citizen and married at the same time.” The sheriff thought he should point that out.

It was too late. Barbara was already opening the door to go back inside the barn.

Barbara looked around when she stepped back inside. She felt better than she had since she’d come to Dry Creek. This was the perfect solution to her problem. If she campaigned for the sheriff, people would surely see that she took a firm stand in favor of law and order.

Granted, it wasn’t like being asked to do a fundraiser for the school or anything that involved money, but it was a start. The next thing she knew, she’d be asked to join the Parent-Teacher Association. Then maybe they’d ask her to pour coffee for the town at some event.

She was so excited. She really was going to make a home for herself and the children here in Dry Creek. And, maybe while she campaigned for the sheriff, she’d mention to people that the town needed a streetlight. That showed even more civic spirit. Eventually, she’d have a normal life with a house of her own.

And, just so she’d know the real house was coming, she’d work on getting herself that kitchen table for her and the children. It was time she learned to cook something besides sandwiches, and time they started having Sunday dinners at their own table. Fried chicken would be good. Or maybe a pot roast. Having Sunday dinners together was something Dry Creek families did, just like they hung their sheets on the clotheslines in the summer to dry.

Barbara had noticed a clothesline behind Mr. Gossett’s old house. It had fallen down, of course, just like most of the things around the house. The good thing about the Gossett house, though, was that it had a picket fence around it. The boards weren’t white any longer and they weren’t all standing straight, but a coat of paint and a few well-placed nails would change that. She didn’t know what she’d do if Mr. Gossett wrote and said his nephew wanted the house so he couldn’t rent it out.

No, that wasn’t true. She did know what she’d do. She’d just keep looking. She was going to make a home here or, at least have the satisfaction of knowing she’d done everything possible to make it happen.

Chapter Five

Meanwhile, in the pickup truck parked in the night shadows outside the barn, Floyd Spencer had been watching Barbara and the sheriff and muttering to himself. His timing had been lousy ever since he’d robbed that bank with Neal and Harlow.

It’d been his first robbery and he’d since decided that he just didn’t have the stomach for crime. Everything had turned out badly. His two partners were behind bars and they were likely to turn informant on him next week if he couldn’t get a message to them and let them know that he needed more time to get their money into those off-shore accounts.

He had buried his own money in his backyard so deep that even his dog couldn’t find it. He was too nervous to move it inside under his bed. He didn’t know when he’d ever have the courage to dig it up.

But it was the other men’s money he had to worry about first.

Floyd had been watching Neal’s wife off and on over the past two weeks to see if she ever went to the prison to see Neal. If she did, Floyd would try to get her to take a message to her ex-husband about the additional time he needed to open those off-shore accounts. The message couldn’t be anything obvious, of course, or the people at the jail would stop it from getting to Neal.

Floyd couldn’t spend too much time watching the ex-wife, however, because he didn’t dare call in sick to his job at the bank. He hadn’t planned on the whole thing taking so much time.

It had all sounded so simple when Harlow had planned it. But, these days, Floyd couldn’t even take a long lunch at the bank. It hadn’t been his bank that had been robbed; Floyd wasn’t that stupid. But it had been the bank in a nearby town, and the jittery nerves had spilled over to his bank. He hadn’t thought about that happening.

Everyone was watching everyone these days, and Floyd sure didn’t want to make anyone suspicious enough to remember that he’d called in sick on the day the other bank had been robbed. He had thought it would be easy to do everything Harlow had asked. But it wasn’t as easy as Floyd had thought it would be to transfer money into those accounts without anyone knowing about it. He’d found the instructions to make the transfer, but he didn’t see how it could be done secretly. Harlow and Neal had each set the accounts up in partnership with another person so, even in jail, they said they would be alerted when the money was in the accounts.

Floyd didn’t know how all of that was to happen. He was a bank cashier, not a thief—well, until now, that is. All he knew was that Harlow was clever enough to do whatever he said he was going to do and Neal followed the other man’s directions. Harlow had been the one who’d talked Floyd into helping them rob the bank. He would never forgive Harlow for that. Robbing that bank had been the worst mistake of Floyd’s life.

But there was nothing to do about it now except to go forward and try to find some time alone with Neal’s wife. If she wouldn’t help him, Floyd thought he’d take a day off work and try to impersonate a clergyman going to visit Neal. It was a long shot, but who else would care about Neal except someone who was paid to care, like a minister?

Floyd didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t take time off work. Maybe he should leave some money for Barbara Stone at the bakery just in case he needed to go to his back-up plan.

Floyd vowed that if he got out of this mess, he’d never break any laws ever again. He wouldn’t even cross the street against the light. He’d come to the conclusion that his nerves just weren’t good enough for a life of crime. He couldn’t sleep. He’d barely eaten since he’d helped rob that bank. Once he got the money into those offshore accounts, he planned to go to a hypnotist and try to get the memory of what he’d done wiped out of his mind.

Chapter Six

Barbara’s alarm clock went off at five o’clock in the morning and she groaned as she reached over to turn it off. It was dark and her children were still asleep. Fortunately, it wasn’t cold inside the room she now called home. Not that it was warm either. She sat up on her cot and pulled a blanket around her shoulders.

Her alarm clock gave off a green hazy light so Barbara could see the two lumps in the bed next to her cot. Both Amanda and Bobby were curled in on themselves as they slept. They’d been tired enough last night that they would sleep another few hours.

Barbara yawned as she remembered last night.

The wedding reception had become more enjoyable after she had asked to work on the sheriff’s re-election campaign and she’d spent more time talking with Mrs. Hargrove about local politics. Mrs. Hargrove had gotten so involved in the conversation, she hadn’t seemed to notice that Barbara was helping clean up the refreshment table.

The two of them had cleared off the cake crumbs and picked up empty punch cups while they talked. Barbara had learned enough about local politics to know that she probably didn’t need to campaign for the sheriff to win the election.

Of course, Mrs. Hargrove encouraged her to work on the sheriff’s campaign anyway.

“Campaigning is more like fun than work, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hargrove had anxiously asked her for the second time as she looked over to where the sheriff stood.

Barbara had nodded.

“Well, then I guess it’s okay—it’s a great way for you to meet people. Besides, it never hurts to remind people to vote,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she turned her attention back to the table and scraped some white frosting off the cake knife before wrapping the knife in a wet paper towel.

“I’d enjoy it,” Barbara said. “Really I would. I want to do something for the community.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “We’ve become a little lazy around here when it comes to voting for the sheriff. And it’s an important job—we can’t have just anyone as our sheriff. I’ve known Carl Wall since he was a teenager, and he’s a good man.”

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