Montana Sheriff

Didn’t she have them anyway? Not having Cole in her life had made for a very large, very painful regret. But then, nobody had ever said that life was perfect and any choices she made of necessity came with consequences.

Besides, she was happy.

Or had thought she was, Ronnie amended. Until she saw Cole again.

“You still did the right thing,” Ronnie said out loud to herself, her voice echoing about the inside of the sedan.

If she’d told Cole that she was pregnant, there was no question that he would have married her. The question that would have come up, however, and would continue to come up for the rest of her life was would he be marrying her because he loved her—really loved her—or because it was the right thing to do? The right thing to give his name to his child and make an honest woman out of her so that there would never be any gossip about her making the rounds in Redemption?

Ronnie knew she wouldn’t have been able to live with that kind of a question weighing her down.

What she’d done was better.

Not that Cole would ever see it that way.

But that was his problem, not hers, she thought, pushing down on the accelerator.

COLE WATCHED HER CAR BECOME smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely, then he went back to his office on the next street.

He’d barely sat down at his desk after muttering a few words to Tim—the overly eager deputy he’d hired last year after Al St. John retired—before the door opened again and his mother walked in.

Midge James was a lively woman, short in stature but large of heart. Over the years she’d gone from being exceedingly thin to somewhat on the heavyset side. But each time she tried to make a go of a diet, her husband Pete, Cole’s father, would tell her that she was perfect just the way she was and that he really appreciated having “a little something to hang on to.”

Eventually she stopped trying to get down to the size where she could fit back into her wedding dress. She figured if she was lucky enough to have a man who loved her no matter what her size, she should just enjoy it. And him. So she did.

As she walked in now, Cole saw that his mother was carrying a basket before her. A very aromatic basket that announced it was filled with baked goods—muffins most likely—before she even set the basket down and drew back the cloth she’d placed over the top.

“Something wrong, Ma?” Cole asked as he started to rise to his feet.

“Sit, sit, sit,” Midge instructed, waving her hand at her son in case he hadn’t picked up on her words. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured him. “Why?” she asked. “Can’t a mother visit her favorite son without there being something wrong?”

Cole’s lips curved in a tolerant smile. “I’m your only son, Ma.”

“Makes the choice easier, I admit,” Midge responded, punctuating her statement with her trademark cherubic smile. Crossing to his desk, she placed the basket smack in the middle. “Just thought you might like a snack.” She pulled the cloth all the way back. Beneath it were at least two dozen miniature muffins. “They’re tiny. Makes it kind of seem like you’re eating less,” she explained, one of the many diet-cheating tricks she’d picked up along the way.

Glancing at the deputy who was eyeing the basket contents longingly from where he sat, she assured him, “There’s enough for you, too, Tim.”

She didn’t need to say any more. Tim was on his feet, his lanky legs bringing him to Cole’s desk in less than four steps. And less than another second later, he was peeling paper away from his first of several muffins. His eyes glowed as he bit into his prize.

“Good,” he managed to mumble, his mouth filled with rich cake and raisins.

Midge beamed. “Glad you approve, Tim.” She pushed the basket closer to her son. “Have one, Cole,” she coaxed him.

Cole eyed the contents and then selected a golden muffin. There were also chocolate ones and he suspected several butterscotch muffins in the batch, as well. His mother never did do things in half measures.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you trying to fatten me up, Ma,” he said, “but why are you really here?”

The expression on his mother’s face was the last word in innocence as she lifted her small shoulders and let them fall again. “I just felt like baking today, and then, well, you know what happens if I leave this much food around. I get tempted and I absolutely refuse to go up another dress size.”

He eyed the basket. “You could have given them to Will,” he pointed out, mentioning the ranch foreman.

Midge dismissed his suggestion. Been there, already done that. “Don’t worry, Will and the other hands already got their share.”

Cole regarded the muffin in his hand for a long moment.

“It tastes better if you eat it without the paper around it,” Midge prompted in a pseudo stage whisper.

For a moment, he wrestled with his thoughts. And then Cole raised his eyes to his mother’s kindly, understanding face.

“You know, don’t you?” he asked.

For a brief moment, Midge contemplated continuing to play innocent. But Cole was too smart to be fooled for long—she doubted if she’d succeeded in fooling him even now. With a shrug, she decided to let the pretense drop. After all, she’d come here to offer him a little comfort if comfort turned out to be necessary. And if Cole let her.

God knew Cole was as self-contained as his father had been. Her son certainly didn’t get his stoicism from her. She had always been more than willing to talk about what was bothering her.

“Yes,” she admitted quietly.

“How long have you known?” he asked. Just because she lived on a ranch didn’t mean that his mother was out of the loop. Hell, she was the loop.

“Not long. I stopped by Amos’s place late yesterday afternoon to see how he was getting along.” Amos had been there for her to offer his support when her husband had passed away; it was only right that she return the favor. “I saw her car pulling up as I was leaving.”

Cole nodded slowly as he took her words in. His expression gave none of his thoughts away. “Did you talk to her?” he finally asked.

She’d debated stopping to exchange a few words, then quickly decided against it. Midge shook her head in response now.

“No, I thought it’d be better if she just saw her father first. After all, Ronnie had just come much too close to losing both him and her brother. She would have,” Midge emphasized, “if it hadn’t been for you.”

Taking credit, even when he deserved it, wasn’t what he was about. “Maybe,” Cole allowed vaguely.

“No maybe about it,” Tim piped up jovially from his corner of the office. He looked at the man he considered to be his role model. “Folks are saying you’re a regular hero, Sheriff.”

Cole had never cared for labels, and praise had always made him uncomfortable. Now was no different.

“And what’s an irregular hero, Tim?” he asked.

Caught off guard, Tim opened his mouth to answer and couldn’t even begin to form one. He blinked, summarily confused. “What?”

“Don’t mind him, Tim,” Midge told the younger man. “He’s just being surly.” Looking at her son, the woman shook her head. “Don’t know what that girl ever saw in you, Cole.” Her exasperation with her son could only last a few moments, if that much. He was as close to perfect as a man could be. Just like his father before him, she thought with a pang. “Must have been your charm and your silver tongue.”

“Must’ve been,” Cole deadpanned, finally taking a bite out of the muffin he’d selected. As always, the muffin all but melted on his tongue. His mother had a knack for making baked goods that turned out to be practically lighter than air. But Cole wasn’t given to gushing effusively. Instead, he gave her an approving nod. “Not bad.”

“You always did lay on the flattery,” Midge told him with a laugh. “I swear, Cole, you’re getting to be more and more like your father every day.”

And that only reminded her how much she still missed her late husband.

Squaring her small shoulders, Midge left the basket where she’d placed it and took a couple of steps toward the front door.

“Leaving?” Cole asked, finishing the muffin. Rolling the paper that was left between his thumb and the first two fingers of his hand, he tossed the small ball into the wastebasket.

“Well, if you don’t feel like talking, I figured I’d better be getting back to the ranch.” And then a thought occurred to her. “Come over for dinner tonight,” she told her son. “I’ll make your favorite,” Midge added to seal the deal.

Cole sighed. He knew what she was up to. She was trying to draw him out of what she referred to as his “shell.” She’d all but undertaken a crusade to accomplish that the summer Ronnie took off.

“I’m okay, Ma,” he insisted.

The very innocent look was back. “Didn’t say you weren’t,” Midge replied.

She looked at the deputy as she walked past his desk. Tim McGuire hardly looked old enough to shave despite the fact that he was edging his way toward his twenty-second birthday.

“Tell your mother and father I said hello,” she told him.

“Sure will,” the deputy cheerfully assured her. As he spoke, a golden crumb broke away from the muffin he was in the midst of consuming and fell onto his shirt. Looking down sheepishly, Tim laughed and brushed the crumb—and several others—off. “You sure do bake the best things, Mrs. James. I wish you’d teach my mother how you make these.”

Unlike her son, Midge absorbed praise, fully enjoying each compliment.

“I’m sure she does fine without my input, Tim.” Her bright blue eyes danced as she paused at the door, one hand on the doorknob. “But I can teach you anytime you’d like.”

“Me?” the deputy asked incredulously.

He glanced up at the sheriff’s mother, stunned. Tim was the stereotypical male who had yet to master the art of boiling water—not that he felt he had to. He still lived at home and thought that was what mothers were for—among other things.

“Nothing wrong with a man knowing his way around a stove, Tim,” Midge told him.

Cole rolled his eyes. “That’s all I need,” he grumbled. “A deputy in an apron, his face smeared with blueberries as he’s burning the muffins he’s trying to make.” With a shake of his head, Cole slanted a sidelong glance toward his mother. And then he raised another muffin as if to toast her with it. “Thanks for bringing these.”

“Don’t mention it. And don’t forget about dinner tonight,” she pressed, opening the door. “Six-thirty. Don’t be late.”

“Or what, you’ll start without me?” Cole teased.

“Don’t get fresh,” his mother warned. But she was smiling at him as she said it. “Goodbye, Tim,” she called out.

“Goodbye, Mrs. James,” Tim responded with enthusiasm.

“Your mom really is a nice lady,” the deputy said with feeling, his eyes on his task. He was preparing to eliminate his third muffin.

Cole marveled at the way Tim could put food away and still look like a walking stick. Had to be all that enthusiasm he kept displaying, Cole thought.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied.

He took a bite out of his muffin, thinking. It occurred to him that this wasn’t the first time his mother had mentioned stopping by Amos McCloud’s place. Seemed to him that she was doing that quite a lot.

He made a mental note to ask her about that the next time he got a chance. He didn’t recall his mother and Amos being all that close before.

But then, loss had a way of bringing people together, and his mother wasn’t the type who liked being alone. He could recall her taking part in whatever needed doing around the ranch, never worrying about getting her hands dirty or complaining about having to work too hard.

In that respect she was a lot like Ronnie, he mused, breaking off another piece of the muffin.

Except that, growing up, Ronnie had been even more so. Part of the reason, he knew, was because she’d grown up without a mother. Margaret McCloud had died shortly after giving birth to Ronnie. Never a strong woman, according to his mother, one morning Margaret just didn’t get out of bed. When Amos came in to see why she wasn’t up yet, or at least tending to the baby, who was screaming her lungs out—Ronnie was loud even then—Amos found that his wife was dead.

The doctor who had to be called in from the neighboring town said she’d suffered from a ruptured aneurysm. Just like that, she was gone.

Life could change in an instant.

Cole got up. “I’ll be back in a while,” he told Tim as he walked out.

“What’s ‘a while’?” Tim called out after him.

“Longer than a minute,” Cole called back. And then he was gone.

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