Lone Heart Pass

Brigman cleaned off a corner of his desk for Thatcher and set the food in front of him. “I need to check my messages. Go ahead and eat.”

Thatcher attacked his hamburger while the sheriff listened to his messages. Nothing much of interest. A lady’s voice shouted that her dog was missing and she thought someone had stolen it while she was at bingo. A man left a message that he thought the bridge south of Interstate 40 exit near Bailey might flood if it rained more than two inches. Some guy called saying he’d locked his keys in his car and complained that the only locksmith in town wasn’t answering either his office number or his cell.

One call sounded official; it was about drug traffic suspected on the interstate. That was no big news, Thatcher thought, there was drug traffic going on in the back hills where he lived. Folks called the rocky land that snaked along between the canyons and flat farmlands the Breaks. The ground was too uneven to farm more than small plots, too barren to ranch in most spots. But deer and wild sheep lived there along with wild pigs and turkey. And, Thatcher decided, every crazy person in Texas who didn’t want to be bothered. Outlaws had once claimed the place, but now it was populated by deadbeats, old hippies and druggies. If the sheriff even knocked on trailer and cabin doors in his neighborhood he’d need a bus to bring in the wanted.

Thatcher watched the sheriff making notes as he finished his burger. Rain pounded the tin porch beyond the office windows, making a tapping sound that was almost musical.

He saw the sheriff open a letter, then smile. It couldn’t have had much written on the one sheet of paper because after a few seconds Brigman folded it up, unlocked his bottom drawer and shoved the letter inside.

Thatcher decided it must be some kind of love note because if it had been a death threat then Brigman wouldn’t have smiled. Only who’d write a man like him a love note?

The sheriff was single and would probably be considered good-looking in a boring, law-abiding kind of way, but Thatcher still didn’t think the note was a love letter. Sheriffs and teachers in a little town were like the royal family. Everyone kept up with them. So maybe the note was a coupon or something.

Brigman glanced up as if he just remembered Thatcher was there. “Your mother will be worried about you. Wish she had a phone.”

Thatcher nodded, but he knew she wouldn’t be worried. His ma had a rule. The minute the first raindrop fell, she started drinking. When he got home, she’d either be passed out or gone. One of her boyfriends worked road construction, so any time it rained was party time for him.

While the sheriff made a few more calls, Thatcher unwrapped the second double-meat, double-cheese burger. After all, greasy hamburgers were no good cold. He’d be doing the sheriff a favor by eating it while it was still warm.

About the time he swallowed the last bite, the main door in the lobby flew open. Thatcher leaned back in his chair far enough to see a man and three kids rushing in past Pearly’s desk.

Brigman stood and stepped out of his office, but Thatcher just kept leaning back, sipping his Coke and watching.

“Sheriff,” the man said, his voice shaking from cold or fright, Thatcher couldn’t tell which. “We’re here to report a murder.”

The three kids, all wet, nodded. One was a boy about eight or ten, the other two were girls, one close to Thatcher’s age.

“Bring the blankets from behind my desk,” the sheriff yelled toward his office.

Thatcher looked around as if Brigman might be ordering someone else into action, but no such luck. He let the front legs of his chair hit the hardwood floor and followed orders.

By the time he got the blankets and made it to the lobby, the man was rattling off a story about how he and his kids were walking the canyon at sunset and came across a body wrapped in what looked like old burlap feed bags.

Thatcher grew wide-eyed when Brigman glanced at him. “Don’t look at me,” he said in a voice so high Thatcher barely recognized his own words. “I’m just collecting cow chips. I didn’t kill nobody.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Pass out the blankets, kid.”

While the man kept talking, Thatcher handed every dripping visitor a blanket. The last one, he opened up and put over the girl who was probably the oldest. She was so wet he could see the outline of her bra.

He tried his best not to look, but failed miserably. Her breasts might be small, but she was definitely old enough to fill out a bra.

“Thank you,” she said when the blanket and his arm went around her.

“You’re welcome,” he answered as he raised his gaze to the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen.

Until that moment, if you’d asked Thatcher Jones if he liked girls, he would have sworn he never would as long as he lived. When you’re the poorest and dumbest kid in school, no one has anything nice to say to you and most girls don’t even look your direction. During grade school he’d been kicked out several times for fighting, but now, since he was no longer in grade school, he’d decided to ignore everyone and skip as many classes as possible.

But this girl just kept smiling at him like nothing was wrong with him.

He didn’t want to move away. “Did you see the body?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I saw the sack. It had brown spots on it. Blood, I think. My dad didn’t let us get too close.”

Thatcher thought of all the blood he’d seen in his life. He’d killed animals for food since he was six or seven. He’d washed his mother up a few times when one of her “friends” beat her. He’d watched his own blood pour out with every heartbeat once when he’d tumbled out of a tree, but none of that mattered right now.

“I’m sorry you had to see such a thing,” he whispered to the green-eyed girl.

“He was murdered,” she said so low only he could have heard her.

“How do you know? He could have committed suicide. Folks have done that before, or died in accidents down there in the canyon.”

Her eyes swam in tears. “Do people who die from suicide or accident stuff themselves into sacks?”

Thatcher nodded. “Good point.”

Then the strangest thing happened. Right in the middle of the sheriff calling in backup and Pearly coming in to take statements, and the storm pounding so hard against the north windows that he feared they’d break...right in the middle of it all, the girl reached out and held his hand.

As if she needed him.

As if in all the chaos he was her rock.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, Thatcher stood in the drizzle and watched the sheriff working the crime scene. He’d been told, since he’d insisted on coming along, that he had to hold a big light down the trail toward where they found the body. Nothing else. Just hold the light, as though he was nothing more than a lamppost.

The county coroner had come in from Lubbock County to pronounce the dead guy dead. Which Thatcher thought was a bit of overkill. He stood thirty feet away and he could tell the guy was dead.

“I’m going to list the cause of death as undetermined,” the coroner shouted loud enough for Thatcher to hear him.

He thought of yelling down that the huge dent in the burlapped man’s head should be a pretty good hint as to how he died. What was left of his face looked more like the Elephant Man than anyone Thatcher had ever seen.

“Get back in the cruiser,” Brigman yelled as he started up the path.

“Yes, sir,” Thatcher answered without moving. This was far too interesting to crawl back into the car. He wasn’t sure he could do the sheriff’s job, but he decided to check into becoming a coroner. It didn’t look that hard.

As men lifted the body and began the slow journey back up the canyon, Thatcher watched and tried to figure out why someone would leave a body in Ransom Canyon. Wouldn’t any old bar ditch do?

A beefy deputy from Lubbock County stepped up behind him and flashed a beam of light in his face. “What you doing here, kid?”

Thatcher smiled. “I was called in to help with the investigation. What are you doing here, deputy?”

“You’re Thatcher Jones.” The lawman said his name as if he was swearing. “You got anything to do with this?”

“Nope. How about you, Officer Weathers?” Thatcher made a habit of always remembering any lawman he met. When he’d seen the tall deputy once in Brigman’s office, Weathers had been wrestling two drunks and hadn’t had time for an introduction.

About the time Weathers reached for him, the sheriff stepped between them. “You know Thatcher?”

The deputy nodded. “He...”

“Don’t tell me,” Brigman interrupted. “I can already guess and I’ve got my hands full right now.”

Thatcher grinned at the deputy and followed Brigman to his car. Once they were inside, he whispered, “I’m staying in your county from now on, Sheriff—that deputy scares me. I don’t mind cops who come in small, medium and large, but somebody supersized that guy.”

Brigman laughed. “It’s comforting to know you’re selective about where you break the law. Weathers is a good man. Anytime I need him, he’s always got my back.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Jubilee

February 24

THE RAIN STARTED an hour before sunset, just as it had the day before, and kept falling until full dark. The land, long dry, didn’t seem to know how to take in all the moisture. Tiny lakes formed for as far as Jubilee could see. Water was suddenly everywhere, if only an inch deep.

She swore a storm had never roared like this one. Lightning so strong she felt the whip of fire in the air. Thunder rumbled, shaking the earth and sky. Nature seemed to be running full blast to tell the world that the months of drought were over.

Jubilee had spent the day listening for the sound of a truck, hoping her boxes of clothes, favorite books and office supplies would arrive today. Since her first year of college she’d always kept a home office. No matter what a mess her world was in, everything had its place in file folders or drawer organizers.

Only between noon and the storm she’d only seen one car, a sheriff’s cruiser, driving down the road in front of her place. She wasn’t sure if it made her feel safer to know her ranch was part of his route or not. Surely very few vehicles headed her way, except the moving truck that was supposed to come today, of course.

Jubilee never realized how little she had worth moving. The old pots and pans she’d had since her freshman year in college had gone to Goodwill a year ago when she moved in with David and he had a fully stocked kitchen. He’d furnished every room of their apartment except for one table. The used dining table she’d bought fit perfectly in the corner. It was so wobbly she had to prop it up with a book under one corner, but he’d thought it rustic.

When she’d left Washington, it simply went to the trash.

In the end, she’d had fewer than a dozen boxes to move.

The memories of a life she’d thought mattered lingered in the shadows of her mind like gray ghosts. If she could have she would have tossed them out, as well. How could she have lived twenty-six years and had so little worth keeping? For the five years since college, nothing mattered but her job, and in the end, it didn’t really matter, either.

She was one of those people whose name could be wiped off the whiteboard of life and no one would notice. David hadn’t called since he moved out months ago. Her parents hadn’t bothered to check to see if she’d made it safely to Texas. If she disappeared, there would be no one to fill out a missing person report.

Jubilee guessed if she’d been able to mark her growth with lines on a doorframe, her chart would be heading down, not up. When she’d left what she’d thought would be a brilliant career, not one person had dropped by to shake her hand. No farewell cake. Not even a card.

As she stood in the doorway of her great-grandfather’s house that was now her only home, she wondered if things could get much worse. The man she’d hired as foreman on the place had said at breakfast—cereal and milk—that he’d finish moving in today and they’d walk the land tomorrow. But, with the downpour turning everything to mud, she doubted they’d be able to start for a week.

Not that it mattered. She’d planned her last life and look how it had crumbled. Why bother to plan this one?

Maybe she should take the opposite of her mother’s parting advice and go goalless for a while. She had forty thousand dollars in her bank account plus what she’d inherited. She could coast, at least for a while. Maybe she’d simply wait until a goal bumped into her for a change.

She had no idea what she was doing out here in Texas. For all she knew the foreman, Charley Collins, was the local serial killer. He might not have stolen her card; murder might be his thing. Think about it, Jub, she almost said aloud. What are the chances that the man delivering groceries and working at the local bar knows how to run a farm? Correction, he’d called it a ranch.

He did have his own horse, though. She had no idea if that was good or bad. What was a guy doing with a horse when he lived over a bar? Logic probably wasn’t his strong suit. He was easy on the eyes, though. The kind of guy who broke every heart he passed.

Only not hers. Three of her four serious boyfriends had told her she didn’t have a heart. Majority vote.

After breakfast, her new foreman disappeared for most of the day, then drove up midafternoon with his pickup full of boxes. He was pulling a trailer filled with a huge horse and a cute pony.

Since she had nothing else to do, Jubilee interrupted her breakdown long enough to watch him move into the little house by the corral. He had an easy way of moving, like a man comfortable in his own body.

She’d thought of going outside to stare at him or even help, but all her clothes were three wearings past dirty. The man in worn boots and a patched shirt had actually frowned when she’d greeted him at breakfast wearing a clean pair of old Levy’s socks and one of his long-sleeved shirts tied at her waist. Just to be proper she used a pair of her great-grandfather’s brand new boxer shorts as her shorts.

Charley looked as though he’d never seen the fashion.

She’d tried to explain that almost everything she owned was packed, but she doubted he’d like her navy suits any better. Three pairs of jeans and half a dozen tops were all the casual clothes she owned. And they were spotted with drippings from meals on the road or wrinkled beyond wearing.

Tomorrow morning she planned to ask him to turn on the water to the washer out back. Levy probably turned it off every month after he used it, and who knew where the dryer had run off to? Jubilee had a faint memory of the old guy hanging his laundry on a line somewhere.

She’d watched Charley unhitch his trailer and park it beside the barn, and then he’d left again just before the rain started. Jubilee finally moved out on the porch and studied the storm. At this point in her day of doing nothing, she wasn’t sure her life was afloat. No career. No friends. No family who would speak to her.

She wasn’t even sure if this ranch was a blessing or a curse. If she hadn’t inherited it, she would have had to pull herself up and start over. Now, she could just hide out for a while.

Slowly, her mind began to dance with the storm as the sky darkened, and her troubles started to drift away. She watched the rain form tiny rivers in the ruts that Charley’s truck had made. The sound of the horses in the barn blended with the tapping of rain falling off the roof into dead flowerbeds. Even as the world grew black except for the one light in the house by the corral, she refused to move or turn on a light.

She needed the night to surround her. For once she wanted to wrap up in the nothingness of her world. She wanted to be invisible for a while.

The rain finally slowed to a silent dribble. The storm was over. But still Jubilee didn’t move.

Truck lights turned toward her place. The white pickup her foreman drove rocked back and forth as it moved toward her on a road in desperate need of repair.

When he stopped beside the corral and cut his lights, she knew he couldn’t see her even if he looked her direction.

She watched his tall frame unfold. He stood in the lingering rain and raked his rust-colored hair back before putting on his hat. Within seconds his shirt was plastered against his body. Even in the low light she could tell there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man. Just from the way he moved around the truck told her he was solid rock-hard muscle. Tall and lean and beautiful as only a cowboy can look.

She smiled. He’s definitely not too bright, she decided. No raincoat. No umbrella. Hopefully he’d know more about running a ranch than he did about coming in from out of the rain.

He opened the side door to his truck and reached in.

For a moment she wondered what one last thing he’d carry inside. What had he gone back into town for on this rainy night?

He lifted something out slowly, carefully, wrapped in his work coat. The bundle leaned over his shoulder, molding against his form.

In wide, slow steps he walked through the mud. One hand tucked beneath the bundle. One hand placed in the middle as if holding his treasure close to his heart.

Jubilee stood and watched, surprised and touched as she saw thin pale arms slip from beneath the coat and wrap around his neck.

He’d mentioned a daughter when he’d asked if a school bus passed her place.

In the last blink of faraway lightning, Jubilee saw Charley Collins in a whole new light. He might not have much. His clothes were worn. His pickup old. But the man obviously had one thing he treasured. His daughter.

Charley

THE HOUSE OVER by the corral was dusty and completely empty except for a stove and old refrigerator Charley was surprised still worked. The place looked as if no one had lived in it for years but the bones of the house were solid. At one time someone had loved this place. The molding was hand carved around the doors, and cabinets were crafted carefully. The place was solid. He had a feeling it would stand any storm.

Charley worked into the night cleaning out the four-room house while Lillie slept. Ike, his old boss, had helped deliver what little furniture he had while his crazy new boss was probably taking her morning nap. The bar owner kept telling Charley that he was making a mistake accepting a job from a woman who wouldn’t last six months on the land, but at this point in his life Charley figured one more mistake wouldn’t matter.

With a free place to live and twice the money he usually made, he could build his savings. He could plan for someday.

He’d put up the bed before dark so Lillie would have a place to sleep when he picked her up. Charley didn’t want her to see the place dirty. When she woke, their new home would be clean and her tiny play kitchen would be set up in one corner of the living room.

Finally, about 3:00 a.m. he had everything stocked and put away. The house was so sparsely furnished it didn’t look like much of a home. One couch. One bed. An old dresser someone had given him a year back. A card table and four chairs for a dining table. A rocker painted white that he’d bought the day his baby girl was born.

The house was bigger than the apartment they’d been in. Two bedrooms, even though one was empty. The house had a front porch where Lillie could play and a back porch where he could watch the sunset.

After he checked on Lillie, he stood out on the back porch and smiled. Fresh air. Open space. Silence. Someday, he’d have a place like this, but for now, working here was about as good as he could hope for. No more smelly bar or worrying whether he’d have enough odd jobs to make the bills. Now, with luck, he could save most of his salary. Maybe in a year he’d have enough to pay down on a place of his own.

He’d talked things over with Sharon’s parents. Now that they were both retired, they wanted to keep Lillie a few nights during the week, at least until summer. On the other days they promised to pick her up from school if the weather was bad or the school bus’s rural route wasn’t running.

He didn’t like not tucking her in every night, but on those two days she stayed in town he could work here until dark. Putting in a couple of fifteen-hour days would make the rest of the week lighter.

The Lees had turned Sharon’s old room into Lillie’s playroom. Here she only had a few toys, but at their house Lillie had a roomful. This time, he’d make her room more like a little girl’s room. He might have no idea how to raise a little girl, but he’d learn.

This ranch didn’t have much of a chance of making it, but he planned to give it his best shot. If they could make it through the summer, they might survive, but he’d need to think of a way to have money coming in now to help cover expenses.

As he stared out into the night, he swore he saw an army green raincoat marching across the open field between the main house and the end of the corral. For a moment he thought it was a flash from an old World War II film, then he saw long white legs and what had to be white socks.

Jubilee Hamilton. Taking yard-wide steps across the mud as if she were measuring it off.

Lightning flashed. The promise of more rain scented the air. His insane employer marched on, her damp blond hair plastered to her skull as the coat flapped in the wind.

He thought of going after her, but decided to just watch. Who knows, her kind of crazy might be catching. It was three o’clock in the morning and she was out walking. If she got hit by lightning, Charley decided he’d simply bury her and keep working the ranch.

Finally, exhaustion from a long day of moving from one kind of life to another got the better of him and Charley slipped inside, closing out any thought of his boss, as he closed the door to his new home.

An hour later in the stillness of his bed on the couch, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Something drew him to Jubilee even if he didn’t want to admit it. She seemed so lost. So alone. She wasn’t the kind of woman he’d ever be interested in, but deep down he wanted to help her make this place work. He’d taken this job to save himself, but he had to make it work. Not just for Lillie and him. For her, too.

Jubilee Hamilton needed to believe in something. Maybe the dream of this place working or maybe just herself.

One line she’d said earlier kept swirling in his mind. She’d said this was her last chance. Then, she’d closed up as though she hadn’t meant to say so much.

He understood last chances. He’d been living in that valley so long he thought he owned the place.

Charley closed his eyes. Who was he kidding? He was no knight in shining armor. But maybe just this once, he’d give it a try. If he failed at this quest, it wouldn’t be from lack of trying.

The next morning, by the time he drove back from taking Lillie to Sharon’s folks’ place, he’d decided not to mention having seen Jubilee Hamilton out walking. If she was crazy, she’d deny it. If she wasn’t, she might think he was spying on her.

He rushed into her kitchen, in a hurry to get started working. He was surprised to see that she’d made oatmeal and toast. The coffee even smelled drinkable today.

“Morning,” he nodded as he waited for her to sit down. She was dressed pretty much the same as yesterday, but she’d added a moth-eaten sweater. She’d also combed her hair and tied it in an ugly little knot that looked like a bulldog’s bobbed tail. It crossed his mind that she must have to work at it to look this homely.

She handed him his coffee and sat down across the table. “So before we get started, I have a few things that need doing.”

He leaned back, sipping his coffee.

“Can you turn on the water to the washer out in that little shed behind the house? I need to do laundry.”

“I can show you how,” he answered. “It’ll need to be turned off if there is any chance of freezing.”