The Sheriff of Shelter Valley

But then, Beth wasn’t a subject. She was a woman who had insinuated herself into his thoughts so thoroughly that she was interfering with his calm, predictable life.

“I’m good at business. Numbers. That kind of thing.”

Not quite what he was looking for. And yet, perhaps the first piece of personal information she’d given him.

“So did you go to college?”

He’d just assumed she had no higher education—based solely on the fact that she was cleaning houses for a living. Yet Greg knew better than most how often things turned out to be exactly the opposite of the way they appeared. He knew what a mistake it was to assume anything. To judge anything by appearances.

“I sure didn’t learn about business law in high school.”

“You majored in business?”

“As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to own my own business.” She was so passionate in what she was saying that Greg almost missed how adeptly she’d sidestepped his question.

“I don’t know how we got that far off topic,” she added, before he could attempt to wade any further through the vagueness surrounding her, “but maybe Katie just doesn’t like kids who are a little more serious in their endeavors and that’s why she won’t play with my son.”

No matter how beautiful the teasing grin she shot him, it didn’t cover the fact that she had, once again, completely turned the conversation away from herself.

From his probing.

“I still think Ryan’s the problem,” he said, quite purposefully egging her on.

“My son is not a problem.” The teasing glint remained in her eyes, but she’d crossed her arms over her chest. Usually a defensive gesture.

At least, when you were a suspect being questioned.

“Okay, problem is the wrong choice of word. But if the kid’s anything like his mom…”

“Ryan plays with other kids,” she said. She’d lost the glint.

Sobering, Greg said, “Bonnie told me the reason you volunteer at the day care in exchange for playtime is that you’re trying to draw the little guy out more.”

“I want him to have a homelike environment during the day when I work, but I did think being around other kids his age might encourage him to talk.”

Greg nodded. He knew how much Bonnie and Keith—and he, too, for that matter—ached over every little glitch in Katie’s life. A measurement that wasn’t right in the middle of the chart. Teeth coming too soon, steps taken too late. Fevers, ear infections, runny noses. An aversion to vegetables. Shouldering all those worries alone had to be hard.

And that on top of losing the man you’d meant to spend the rest of your life with…

“If there’s ever anything I can do—teach him to play catch, empathize with you when he’s sick—you know I’m here, right?” he asked, certain that he was crossing a line he shouldn’t cross.

“Thanks.” Beth smiled again. A sad, very real smile, instead of the quick assurance he’d been expecting.

It wasn’t agreeing to a date. But in Greg’s book, it was far better than that.

And even though she’d given him more information about herself than he’d ever had before, he still didn’t have a clear picture of who Beth Allen really was.

“SO WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY?” Beth asked Greg when silence fell between them and she was afraid he might take that as a sign to leave.

She felt buoyed up and wasn’t ready to be alone.

He sat back, his uniform creased from a day in the August heat. That uniform made her uncomfortable. It reminded her of everything she couldn’t have. Freedom from fear. Freedom to speak openly. Sex.

“I can’t be sure, but I might have wasted the majority of it.” The words, accompanied by a tired sigh, completely surprised her.

Greg always seemed so on top of things. In control. Able to handle anything.

She couldn’t believe how quickly she wanted to help when she found out that wasn’t the case.

“Anything you can talk about?”

“I’m attempting to find a connection between some recent carjackings and the one involving my father ten years ago.”

Knowing how close Greg and Bonnie were, how much family meant to them, that couldn’t be an easy job. “You think there is one?”

He clasped and unclasped his hands. “I’m sure of it. Problem is, the deputy in charge—the best man in the whole damn department, as far as I’m concerned—doesn’t agree with me.”

“What does he say?”

“That I’m making it personal.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Beth didn’t know much about herself, but thought she had a pretty good sense of this man. The type of person he was. “You’re a smart man, Greg. And an honest one. I don’t think you’d kid yourself about something as serious as this.”

His eyes were grateful when he looked over at her, making Beth feel elated for no reason at all.

“I don’t think so, either,” he murmured.

“So what are the similarities you’re finding? Anything you’re free to discuss?”

“In the first place, we’re dealing with a series of carjackings in both cases. There are other random occurrences, but these fit an identical pattern—several assaults with the same MO over a relatively short period of time. Two guys, late teens-early twenties, just after rush hour—either morning or evening.”

“It’s the same two guys every time?”

“No.” Greg looked more than frustrated when he shook his head. “In fact, they aren’t always even from the same ethnic background.”

“So what else?” There had to be more. Greg wasn’t the type to be this concerned over flimsy evidence.

“They only take place in the summer, for one thing. I have no idea what that means, but it has to mean something. They start midsummer, there’s a rash of them, and then, inexplicably, they stop. No arrests. Not even any real suspects. They just stop.”

“What about the drivers?” Beth asked. “Could they be the tie-in somehow?”

With another shake of his head and a raised brow, Greg said, “I don’t find a single thing to connect them.

Not age. Not where they work or live. Not their religion, where they bought their cars or even their injuries.” A shadow of pain crossed his face.

She winced inside, thankful suddenly for the blessing of amnesia. “They weren’t all hurt?”

His brows drawn together, Greg gave her an apologetic glance. “You don’t have to do this.”

“What?” she asked, a bit afraid of how important it had suddenly become to talk this through with him. To do something to help him. “Talk to a friend?”

“Is that what we are? Friends?” His expression lost none of its seriousness.

“I don’t know.” Beth had to be honest. After a pause, she returned to her earlier question “So, they weren’t all hurt?”

“Of this current group, all but one,” Greg said. His voice was tightly controlled but she could hear the anger.

“Most were killed,” he went on. “But not in the same way. One was shot. Another raped and strangled. One was left unconscious in the desert to either succumb to the heat or die of dehydration, whichever came first.”

Beth swallowed.

“I can stop now.”

“No, go on,” she said. “It’s okay, really. I’m not squeamish. I’m just sorry for these people and their families.”

She wasn’t squeamish. Another characteristic to add to the list she was keeping in her memory notebook. This was a good one. The kind she liked to add. Rated right up there with orderly.

“This summer, a college girl chose to throw herself out of the back seat of her moving car rather than submit to whatever else her abductors had in mind. She was a dancer and knew how to land and roll. She was miraculously unhurt.”

Beth frowned, struck by an uncomfortable thought. Could something like this have happened to her? Had she merely been the victim of a random crime and not the runaway she supposed herself to be?

Of course, that didn’t explain the canvas gym bag, obviously grabbed in a hurry with a couple of diapers and a change of clothes for Ryan stuffed in with various sweats, T-shirts and socks that fit her, or the two-thousand dollars. Not many people traveled with that much cash. And no identification.

Not smart people, anyway.

Beth didn’t know what that bag signified. But she always kept it close. As though it somehow connected her to the self she’d lost.

As for the two-thousand dollars—part of it she’d invested in equipment and supplies to set herself up in business.

“There’s something else,” Greg said slowly. “The front ends of all the stolen cars—ten years ago and now—were smashed in such a way that no matter what make or model, they look remarkably the same.”

“Like they all hit the same thing? Or something similar?”

Greg’s brow cleared as he nodded. “Yeah. Odd, huh?”

“Very. Your deputy didn’t think so?”

“Didn’t seem to. Nor did he seem impressed by the fact that they were all new-model cars. Most carjackers are looking for quick transportation. They aren’t usually so picky.”

“You’re sure this guy knows what he’s doing?” Beth asked, somehow not surprised at the thought that this deputy might not be all that he seemed.

What she found startling was that she was so cynical. She’d just naturally assumed the man was up to no good. People didn’t think that badly of the human race without reason, did they?

Oh God. She was cynical. Two things for the list in one night. This second one was not a characteristic she was particularly eager to have.

These past months of almost no self-revelation at all weren’t looking as bad as they once had…

“I know he does,” Greg said somberly, his words rescuing her from the familiar dark hole she’d been sinking into.

“WERE YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF WORK OR SOMETHING?” Greg asked, pointing to the piles of papers, receipts and ledgers on the scarred desk at one end of the room. Beth had grown silent, and he was kicking himself for bringing up such a personal subject. But then, it was difficult to tell what she considered personal. He’d worked so hard for so long to get in the door, and he hated the idea of losing the little trust she’d given him.

“Just doing my books,” she said, sounding completely relaxed. Maybe for the first time in their acquaintanceship.

He smiled. “Looks like you’ve got enough stuff going on to be running a business the size of the Cactus Jelly plant.”

“I told you I liked numbers. I’m actually keeping a tally of month-to-month percentages on the variance in cleaning supply costs. I check at the local Wal-Mart and at several places in Phoenix. I then keep track of how much cleaning I can do per ounce of solution. I’ll bet you didn’t know, for instance, that Alex Window Cleaner does linoleum more cost-effectively than any of the ammonia-based floor cleaners.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” There was apparently much more to cleaning than he’d ever realized.

But what was of far greater interest to him was the woman who was rattling off dollars and ounces as easily as he did police radio codes.

“I take it your business is doing well,” he said, when she’d given him a rundown on the benefits of bulk purchasing versus storage costs. Not just for cleaning supplies, but for business in general. Beth hadn’t been kidding. She knew her stuff. More than any business student he’d ever known.

“As a matter of fact, this is the first month that Beth’s Basins—and the Allens—are completely in the black! The bills are paid, money’s put aside for emergencies and Ryan’s education, and I even have some to spare. Ry’s been wanting this balsa wood airplane he saw downtown, and even though it’s really for older boys, I’m going to get it for him.”

“He told you he wants an airplane?” Greg couldn’t believe the change in her. She could have been any normal woman.

Certainly she was a beautiful one. Beth’s loose auburn hair falling over shoulders left bare by the tank top she wore was driving him just a little crazy.

“Ryan hasn’t said so, of course,” she was telling him, her bare feet pushing off the floor as she rocked gently. “But his eyes light up every time we pass it. Hopefully I’ll have time to take him tomorrow.”

“You really love that little guy, don’t you,” Greg said. About that, at least, she was completely open.

“More than life itself.”

Somehow one hour became two and Greg was still there, sitting on Beth’s couch while she rocked in her chair. She’d gotten up once to get them both cans of soda and to check on Ryan, but that was all. Greg, who usually had a hard time staying in one place, was surprised by how much he enjoyed just sitting there looking at her.

Maybe that was why he didn’t push his luck with any more personal questions. He didn’t want her to show him the door.

Even now that she was more relaxed, Beth’s eyes were still inexplicably expressive. Was it just her intelligence he saw there? He didn’t think so.

The woman was a contradiction. Vulnerable one moment, and completely in control the next. Able to accomplish anything. Needing no one.

Teasing—and instantly defensive.

Insecure. And then confident.

And those breasts. He was ashamed of how much he was noticing them, how many times he thought about touching them.

Greg stayed long into that night, talking, mostly about growing up in Shelter Valley—including his college years at Montford University, the Harvard of the West, Shelter Valley’s pride and joy. Beth had a million questions, making him wonder if she’d been storing them up for the entire six months she’d lived in town.

A million questions, but very few answers.

He got to know nothing at all about the circumstances and facts, the history, that made up Beth Allen’s life.

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO LIE. Driving her old Granada to Bonnie’s for her second Sunday dinner in three weeks, trying to distract her thoughts with the grand beauty of the mountains surrounding them, Beth finally accepted that she’d have to make up a past—not just the couple of lines she’d recited anytime anyone asked about her. Up until now, the fact that she was a grieving widow had sufficed. Recognizing that her recent past was painful, people were sensitive enough not to ask further questions.

But that was when those people were only acquaintances.

Bonnie Neilson and her family—her brother—wanted to know Beth Allen. Where she came from. Where she went to school. Her most embarrassing moment. Happiest moment. The men she’d dated.

The man she’d married.

They wanted to know it all.

They had no idea how badly she wanted to know all those things herself.

What she didn’t want was the rest of the memories that would come as part of the package. She was scared to death to find out she might have stolen her son.

If that was the truth, and if she remembered it, she’d be forced to give him back.

Still, before she’d left home today, she’d read over the few entries in her memory notebook, trying to piece together a picture she could give people.

“We’re going to Katie’s house, Ry,” she told her son, sending him a big smile. His feet, hanging over the edge of the sturdy beige car seat, were still. But his eyes were alert, intent, as he looked back at her, straight-faced.

“You remember Katie from Little Spirits,” she continued, knowing that Ryan understood everything she was saying, even if he wouldn’t respond. “We went to her house for dinner a few weeks ago and you fell asleep on Mommy’s shoulder. You played with Katie’s blocks. And she has a Magna-Doodle, too.”

Ry’s little voice filled the car, but Beth couldn’t make out the words. From his intonation it sounded like a question.

So Beth replied to what she could only assume he’d asked. “Yes, I think she’ll let you play with the Magna-Doodle, but I want you to promise something, okay?”

Ryan nodded.

“I want you to promise that you’ll play with Katie today. Okay? Just like you play with Bo and Jay and Bethany Parsons.”

Ryan watched her lips and then her eyes.

“Okay?” she repeated.

He nodded again. Slowly, deliberately, his little chin moved up and down. The chin that had the same cleft in the middle as hers.

Ryan might not say much, but when he agreed to something, she could count on it. Soon after they’d arrived at the Neilsons he picked up one of Katie’s puzzles and took it over to sit by the little girl. He dumped the wooden pieces and, with the hand-eye coordination of a two-year-old, he started putting them awkwardly back on the board. Within seconds Katie turned around and placed another piece. Not a word was spoken between them.

Beth wished her own interactions could be so clean and simple. She spent the first five minutes staying out of the way, clutching her canvas bag.

Dinner was excellent—another cold main-course salad in deference to the weather. It was the first Sunday in September, and still too hot to even think about turning on the oven. Or eating anything warm, for that matter.

She was saved from having to sit next to Greg by Katie’s last-minute insistence that she get to sit by “Unca” which resulted in Grandma Neilson and Greg switching chairs to accommodate Katie’s booster seat.

“Lou can lose my high chair, Wyan,” the little girl said importantly as she climbed up and set her little bottom down in her new blue plastic booster.

Well before the end of dinner, Beth had fallen in love with Grandma Neilson. The white-haired, barely five-foot-tall woman didn’t let anything—not age, infirmity nor death—get in her way. She’d reduced life to its simplest terms. Being loved and loving others were what mattered. Anything else was simply an inconvenience to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“So, Bonnie says you’ve got a cleaning business here in town,” Grandma said to Beth as she chomped on her Chinese chicken salad.

Dressed in a long-sleeved button-up blouse and pair of navy slacks in spite of the heat, Keith’s grandmother looked like she was ready to go to the office.

“I do,” Beth said, on edge that afternoon as she waited for a question she couldn’t answer.

Maybe this was too much of a life for her—having friends, trying to have family experiences. And yet, seeing Ryan sitting there in his high chair, pulled up to the table as though he belonged, watching him grin at Keith and babble a sentence to Bonnie, she wasn’t sure she had any choice.

She had no idea what she’d taken Ryan away from. Aunts, uncles? Maybe a grandmother or two like Grandma Neilson?

A father?

How could she not do everything possible to provide him with some of the same now?

“Good for you,” Grandma was muttering. “Get on with it, that’s what I say.”

Head bent over her plate, Beth nodded.

“Use your spoon, Katie, not your fingers,” Keith said. Greg leaned over to help his niece do as her father directed.

“Losing a husband is hard,” Grandma said. “I’ll grant you that, but you still have to get on with it, or the Good Lord would’ve taken you, too.”

“Sorry about that,” Keith said. “Grandma just tells it like she sees it.”

“I don’t mind,” Beth said. She had a feeling that if there was ever a time she needed someone to confide in, Keith’s grandmother would probably be her most sympathetic audience.

The least judgmental, anyway.

She’d understand how a woman could love her baby so much she’d do anything for him.

“Do you have room for another customer?” Grandma asked. “I’ve gotten myself on so many committees, I sure could use some help keeping up the house.”

Beth didn’t miss the way Bonnie, Keith and Greg shared surprised looks. But she didn’t really care.

“What committees?” she asked.

She gave up even trying to keep them straight after Grandma described the fifth one. The woman seemed to run the entire town single-handedly.

With a little help from Becca Parsons, apparently. Little Bethany’s mother had been mentioned several times during Grandma’s dissertation. Beth had yet to meet the woman who was not only a prominent member of Shelter Valley’s city council, but wife to the president of Montford University, as well.

“So, you got the time?” Grandma asked.

“I do,” Beth said. She didn’t really, but she’d make time. She really needed to be putting away more for Ryan’s education than she was currently able to allot each month.

If she were anyone else, she could just hire an employee or two. But she wasn’t. She was Beth Allen, nonexistent person. While she was diligently figuring out her taxes and setting aside the money to pay them if she was ever free to do so, she couldn’t actually file. She didn’t even know her social security number.

“I don’t accept checks or credit cards,” she said.

“Smart woman.” Grandma nodded approvingly. “Cuts down on bank fees.”

“You want to do my house, too?” Greg asked. “I could—”

“Forget it, buddy,” Beth interrupted before she was somehow trapped, in front of the sheriff’s family, into doing something she knew would be far too dangerous.

Greg Richards was in her thoughts too much already. She didn’t need to see where or how he lived. Didn’t need to know where his bedroom was, what his sheets looked like.

Didn’t need to know if he kept his refrigerator clean. If it was empty. If he picked up his clothes and left open TV Guides lying around.

But Grandma Neilson’s house was a different matter. Beth had a feeling there was a lot she could learn from Keith’s resilient grandmother.

THERE WASN’T SEATING for everyone in the family room, with Grandma Neilson added to the Sunday party. Conscious of the fact that she was the one who didn’t belong in that house, Beth quickly pulled out the piano bench and sat down after dinner when they all trooped in to watch a movie on Bonnie and Keith’s new LCD flat screen TV.

“Afraid you might have to sit by me?” Greg whispered on his way to the couch.

It was only because he was carrying Katie, who would have overheard, that she refrained from calling him a name she wouldn’t have meant, anyway. But it sure would’ve been good to say it. To at least pretend she wasn’t aware of every move the man made.

If she didn’t get control of her reactions to Greg, she’d have to stop coming to Sunday dinner. She could not be influenced by the woman inside her who wanted to love and be loved. Too much was at stake.

“You know how to play that thing?” Grandma asked, settling herself in the armchair next to the piano. Her wrinkled face was alight with interest as her watery blue eyes rested on Beth.

“Maybe.”

A rush of tears caught Beth by surprise, she blinked them away and turned to face the keyboard. Lifting and pushing back the wooden cover with practiced ease, she wished so badly that she had a mother or grandmother of her own. Someone to love and comfort her, someone who’d counsel and watch over her… She wondered if she’d left either—or both—back home. Wherever home might be.

No, she decided. Surely if she’d had someone like Grandma Neilson to run to, she’d have done so. She certainly wouldn’t have awakened, badly bruised and alone, in that nondescript motel room. Registered under the name of Beth Allen but with nothing to prove who she really was.

Unless she did have a Grandma Neilson someplace, and she’d had to run to protect her, too?

The ivory and black keys did not look strange. Or feel strange, either, as she rested her fingers lightly upon them.

“You know how to play?” Bonnie asked, stopping beside the piano bench. “Keith’s parents bought that for us when Katie was born, but none of us play.”

“A little, I guess,” Beth said, confused. She caressed the smooth white keys with the pads of her fingers, comforted by their coolness.

And their familiarity?

Did she know how to play? Have lessons as a child?

“All I can play is chopsticks,” Keith said, standing beside his wife.

“Mama. Uh. Mama. Uh.” Ryan toddled over to the bench, both hands grabbing hold of it.