A Montana Homecoming

She exhaled, impatience swirling through her. “I’m a big girl. I think I can avoid the bad steps until they’re fixed.”

“Who is going to fix them?”

“I will.”

His eyebrows rose. “Really.”

“Yes, really.”

“Gonna buy the lumber. Get the tools. Rebuild the supports that are rotting underneath.”

“If I have to.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Women are perfectly capable of—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He stood. “I’m not getting into that argument with you. I know plenty of women who can frame a house better than men. My point is that you’re a—”

“A what?” She angled her head.

“A third-grade teacher,” he finished mildly, and smoothly circled her wrists, turning her palms upward. “Without a single callus on these pretty hands of yours to indicate you’re accustomed to this sort of work.”

She curled her fingers into fists. He wasn’t being chauvinistic. His attitude was strictly based on what he knew—or thought he knew—of her.

“I’m perfectly capable of learning.” And hadn’t she learned her lesson where Shane Golightly was concerned?

His thumbs worked across the knobs of her knuckles. Soothing. “Of course you’re capable of learning anything. That’s not the point.”

The point. Remember the point. “This house is the only thing left of my father. Maybe I don’t want to abandon it the way he abandoned me.” She pulled her hands away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of things to take care of this afternoon, not least of which is planning a funeral.” She reached for the screen door, turning away from him.

“Laurel.”

Why did hearing her name on his lips make her heart still skip? She didn’t want to hesitate, but she did. “What?” When he didn’t respond, she finally looked back at him.

His eyes were unreadable. His expression no more helpful. Did she even know this man anymore?

“Be careful,” he finally said.

She nodded once. “I plan to be.” Then she went inside.

Chapter Three

The funeral service for Laurel’s father was on Friday morning, just three days after she arrived in Lucius.

Beau Golightly handled most of the details. When they’d met to discuss the service, he’d told her that Roger had left a plan a few years earlier. What hymns he wanted sung. What scripture readings.

The fact that Roger had left any sort of instructions had stunned Laurel.

He’d even prepaid for an arrangement of flowers, had prearranged his burial, had done nearly everything.

The only thing Laurel had done was purchase him a new suit, and she’d had to depend upon the funeral home director to advise her on the size.

She could have avoided that particular embarrassment if she’d only had the nerve to enter her parents’ bedroom.

But she hadn’t.

Picking out the navy-blue suit, white shirt and burgundy striped tie at the new department store on the far end of town was the most familial task she’d performed for her father in twelve years. And he had to be deceased for her to even be allowed the task.

She’d gone back to his house and had a glass of wine, after she’d delivered her purchases to the funeral home, and had felt guilty that she’d been unable to shed any tears.

She should be able to cry for her father, shouldn’t she?

Even now, sitting in the front row of the Lucius Community Church while a woman Laurel had never before met played “Amazing Grace” on the organ and Beau Golightly stood at the pulpit with his Bible in hand, and the unprepossessing casket rested ten feet away from her, Laurel wasn’t able to summon any tears.

Maybe there was still something wrong with her, after all.

There were no other mourners. She hadn’t expected there would be. Roger had worked for the town of Lucius all of his adult life. Even after the charges in her mother’s death had been dismissed against him, he’d kept his job with the town. He’d certainly never considered leaving Lucius to join her in Colorado, even though she’d asked him.

There was a small arrangement of summer flowers that had been sent by his department.

But there were no people who’d interrupted their day to attend his final service. Even the funeral home director, who was there to take care of transporting the casket, had chosen not to come in for the service but was waiting outside.

Nobody had loved Roger Runyan. Most people hadn’t even liked him. Even before that awful summer, he’d been sullen, standoffish and made it plain that he liked others as little as they liked him.

He may have begun attending church after Laurel left Lucius, but it seemed that nothing else about him had changed.

The organ notes slowly faded, and Beau gave her one of his unbearably kind looks. He opened his Bible and began to read.

Laurel closed her eyes and prayed for forgiveness. She’d loved her father, even if he hadn’t loved her.

So what was wrong with her that she couldn’t cry for him, now?

For a moment—a weak moment—she almost wished she’d asked Martin to come. Despite the way she’d left him only a few weeks earlier, he would have been here for her.

Which would have been as wrong as going through with the wedding.

A rustle sounded behind her and she glanced over her shoulder, starting as two people slid into the pew.

Evie and Stu Golightly.

She would have recognized them anywhere.

Evie, with her short, fluffy blond hair and blue eyes, and Stu, with his brown hair and eyes. He was Shane’s twin, but the resemblance between them was limited to their size and facial structure.

Evie sat forward, closing her hand over Laurel’s shoulder. “I had to find a sitter for my kids,” she whispered, “or we’d have been here on time.” She squeezed her hand a little, then sat back and pulled a hymnal from the rack on the back of Laurel’s pew and dropped it on her brother’s lap.

“I didn’t expect anyone,” Laurel whispered, feeling numb. This had to be Beau’s doing.

Evie’s smile was sympathetic and very much like her father’s. “Maybe not, but here we are.”

Beau continued reading, his voice beautiful and soothing and after a moment Laurel gathered herself enough to turn back around in her seat. Then the organist played again. The small congregation rose and sang the two hymns that Roger had requested. And that was it.

The end.

There was to be no graveside service, in accordance with Roger’s wishes, and Laurel rose as Beau stepped down from the pulpit and approached her. “Thank you.” She held out her hands to him.

He took them and gave her a hug. “Your father would be very proud of you, Laurel.”

Behind them, the funeral director and his associates were efficiently removing the casket. Laurel watched them for a moment. There was an awful, hollow feeling inside her, and it surpassed the emotional black hole that had prompted her to call off her wedding. “Proud? I can’t imagine why.”

“Remember? He told me you were a teacher. That you have a master’s degree in education from the University of Colorado, even. He was proud,” Beau assured. “Now, there’s a table waiting for us over at the Luscious. Evie, Stu, you’ll join us.”

Neither seemed inclined to argue. Evie tucked her arm through Laurel’s as they headed out of the church. Within minutes their small caravan arrived at the café and, just as Beau promised, there was a table waiting.

The waitress had barely delivered their water glasses and menus when Evie sat forward. “You know, Laurel, the school here has been short staffed for over a year.”

“Geez, Evie,” Stu groused a little. He didn’t bother with a menu. “Give her a chance to settle in first.” He focused on Laurel. “How long do you have that rental car for?”

“Er, through the weekend.”

“Well, you let me know if you’re gonna be in the market for buying something more long term. I’ll make sure you get a good deal.”

Her mouth dried a little. She had a car back in Colorado. It was still parked at the apartment complex, where the rest of her worldly goods were stored in a locked garage. None of it would be moved to Martin’s as they planned to do once they returned from their honeymoon. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t know how to tell them that the permanency of her stay in Lucius was still undetermined.

“Stu knows what’s under the hood of all the used cars around here,” Evie said. “It’s one of his few skills.”

Stu shot her a look. “I’ll remember that when you need your engine rebuilt.”

Evie grinned.

The tears that had been painfully absent earlier now seemed to clog Laurel’s throat. She looked down at the menu, blinking hard. Why was it that she could cry just because this family behaved so normally? Because they just let her be, didn’t seem to expect her to break down and didn’t seem shocked that she hadn’t.

Around her, the café was alive with conversations, the clatter of dishes, the aroma of coffee and grilling hamburgers. And after a minute she could actually absorb the words that she was staring at.

The menu, aside from a few modern additions like grilled-chicken wraps and low-carb hamburger buns, held few changes. “Is the fried chicken here still good?”

“Better ’n ever,” Beau assured. “Oh, good. There’s Shane. I was hoping he’d be able to join us.”

Laurel’s water glass tipped precariously when she knocked into it with her menu, but Stu stretched out a long arm, capably catching it before it spilled.

“Sorry I couldn’t make the service,” Shane murmured as he took the seat beside her. Beneath the square table, his thigh brushed against hers as he returned the few hails sent his way from other diners. “Stuck in court.”

“I, um, I didn’t expect anyone at all,” she admitted, carefully shifting away. She felt a little steadier if she focused on the other members of Shane’s family. “It was just…so…nice of you to be there.”

Evie smiled. “If we’re nice enough, maybe you’ll decide to stay in Lucius and look into a teaching position. Julie goes into third grade in the fall and I really, really don’t want her to have to have Mrs. Cuthwater as a teacher.”

“Mrs. Cuthwater still teaches?” Laurel remembered the woman. Any child who passed third grade was left with the desperate fear of not sitting up straight enough or of slanting their cursive writing the wrong way.

“She substitutes,” Shane supplied. “Out of necessity.”

“See?” Evie leaned forward, her blue eyes merry. “Think of my sweet, innocent baby, Laurel.”

“I could be worse than Mrs. Cuthwater,” Laurel warned.

Evie, Stu and Beau all chuckled at the prospect, and Laurel felt her tension begin to leave again. The waitress came by and they ordered.

“I probably should thank you,” she told Shane after the waitress departed. “For the plywood. I assume that was you.” Before evening had fallen on that day, an enormous sheet of wood had been laid across the steps, creating a rough but sturdy ramp. It had been a nice gesture, though it had rankled her that he’d done it without consulting her.

“What plywood?” Beau asked.

Shane plucked the lemon out of his iced tea and dropped it into hers, as if it were perfectly natural for him to do so. As if he remembered, from those few weeks they’d once spent together, just how dearly she loved lemon in her tea. “To cover the steps at the house before she breaks a leg going through them.” His voice was flat.

Laurel’s cheeks went even hotter at the tsks that statement elicited. Nobody questioned, of course, which house, as if Roger Runyan’s house was the only one in all of Lucius that could be in such disrepair.

“It’s not that bad,” she defended.

“Maybe you should stay at Evie’s,” Stu suggested, and Evie immediately nodded.

“I have an empty room right now. The tower room, in fact. Nicest one at Tiff’s.”

Laurel remembered it, having helped her mother occasionally. “I’m fine where I am. Really.” Even if the entire Golightly clan did believe she’d be better off staying in a cardboard box than in her own father’s house.

“She thinks she’s gonna fix things up there by herself,” Shane said.

“‘She’s’ sitting right here,” Laurel interjected, “and can speak for herself. The house needs repairs if I’m going to sell it.”

“If?” Shane’s voice was incredibly mild.

“Mrs. Cuthwater needs a reprieve,” she reminded, and saw the triumphant look passing between Evie and Stu.

“Without a reason to get up in the morning, Mrs. Cuthwater might as well lie down next to Mr. Cuthwater in Lucius Cemetery.”

“Shane,” Beau cautioned.

“She shouldn’t be staying in that house, much less wasting time and energy fixing it up, and we all know it.”

Laurel angled herself away from Shane. “You’ve made your opinion more than clear about that house. I don’t really need to hear it again.”

“Evidently, you do. Because you’re still there. You don’t have to fix it up to sell it.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Who on earth would buy it in its current condition?”

Evie made a faint sound.

“All rightee, here we go.” The waitress arrived, bearing plates of food. She brushed her hands together when she finished unloading. “I’ll be back to top off your drinks. Anything else I can get for you?”

Laurel’s appetite for her fried chicken was definitely waning, but mindful of the concerned look in Beau’s eyes and not wanting to add to it, she picked up a drumstick.

“Probably should have a contractor look at your dad’s place,” Stu said. “Jack Finn’s the best around. He wouldn’t have to do the work, necessarily, but he could steer you in the right direction.”

Stu either possessed a remarkable ability to remain oblivious to the irritation rolling off Shane in waves or he simply didn’t care. Either way, Laurel wanted to lean over and kiss him. “Finn? He’s Freddie Finn’s dad, isn’t he?” She was surprised at the ease she had recalling old names, old faces.

Stu buried his attention in his burger as he nodded. “Call Jack. You won’t regret it.”

Laurel glanced at Evie. She would have to think about calling the contractor. It certainly made the most sense to get advice from a professional. But the cost was a consideration she couldn’t ignore, no matter how wise it would be. “Is Freddie still in Lucius? She was in your grade, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. And she’s still here.”

Stu made an unintelligible noise.

Evie rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s just irritated because he signed a lease for her to rent the barn he converted a while back. And she’s holding him to it, even though they can’t agree on the color of rice.”

Laurel buried her nose in her glass of tea. Stu’s barn was probably old Calhoun’s barn, unless he’d built another one.

She didn’t dare glance at Shane.

Evie, fortunately was chattering on. “Freddie runs a tow service with Gordon, but if you ask me, she’s the brains behind keeping the business going since her brother hardly has the sense God gave a goose.” Evie flicked a look at her father. “Sorry, Dad. But it’s true.”

“Gordon’s a hard worker,” Beau said, looking slightly amused. “There’s a lot to be said for that. But I agree with Stu about calling Jack Finn, Laurel.”

Shane breathed an oath that only Laurel heard. “Laurel shouldn’t be in that house at all, and we all know it.”

Silence settled over the foursome, and Laurel wished she were anywhere but there.

“So, Dad, have you heard from Nancy?” Evie finally broke the silence, her voice deliberately cheerful.

“Nancy Thayer,” Beau supplied to Laurel. “She directed our junior choir. Kids in fifth grade through eight. She eloped last week. And no. I haven’t,” he told Evie.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of true love,” Evie’s voice was a little tart at that, “but she couldn’t have timed it worse.” Her blue gaze shifted to Laurel. “The junior choir still spends every year raising enough money to travel to Spokane to participate in the choir festival there. Now they won’t be able to go.”

“Never put my truck through so many car washes.” Stu dumped more ketchup on his French fries.

“Or bought so many homemade brownies,” Beau added. “Think you financed two kids’ expenses on that alone.”

Stu just grinned.

Laurel didn’t quite see the problem. “If they have the money, why can’t they go?”

“Without a director, they won’t be able to sing.” Evie shook her head. “Rules.”

“You can’t hire someone else? Or maybe have a parent fill in temporarily?”

Evie’s eyebrows rose pointedly. “The only other parent aside from me who’s even willing to try that is Tony Shoemaker, Shane’s senior deputy. And he can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Neither can you, Tater,” Shane drawled.

“A person doesn’t have to sing themselves in order to direct a youth choir. Surely you can find someone.” She flushed when she realized Beau was studying her.

“The festival is next weekend,” he said.

“What about you or your associate pastor?”

“Jon is on study leave for a month, and I can’t leave for three days without someone to fill the pulpit on Sunday. Believe me. If I could figure out a way of not disappointing Alan and the others, I would.”

Alan, Laurel knew, was Evie’s eldest son. “There’s not anyone?” Her stomach felt in a knot. She wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t know where this was headed. The hopeful look in Evie’s eyes was enough to tell her that.

“Not so far.” Beau dropped his napkin on his empty plate. “Some things just can’t be helped. They’ll have a chance to go next year.”

Laurel swallowed. “Maybe I could, um, fill in as director. Just to get them through the festival.”

“No.” Shane’s voice was flat.

Laurel bristled, her nervousness shriveling into irritation. “Why not?”

“Joey Halloran is in that group. He’s hell on wheels. He got caught shoplifting last week at the thrift store.”

“All the more reason for him to keep involved with more appropriate pursuits. But I suppose being the sheriff, you think anyone who even slightly breaks the law ought to be punished, rather than resolve the issue at the root of the problem?”

He looked equally irritated. “I didn’t say that.”

She turned in her chair and looked at Beau. “It’s been a long time since I’ve sung—” a severe understatement “—but I can probably keep a group of kids on key.”

Shane shoved back his chair. He was surrounded by people bent on ignoring reality. Laurel didn’t need to be filling in for that twit who’d eloped, any more than she needed to be fixing broken steps. “I’ve gotta get back to the office.” He tossed some cash on the table and ignored the disapproval in Beau’s eyes as he turned to the door.

The wounded look in Laurel’s eyes, though, followed him all the way back to his office.

When he got there he stopped at Carla’s desk and picked up the stack of pink messages awaiting him.

“How was court?” she asked.

“Too long.” He knew she wanted a blow-by-blow account because she always did. And, as always, she’d have to get her gossip from somewhere else. He flipped through the paper messages as he headed back to his office, only to stop. “What’s this number?” One of these days, he needed to get the county to spring for a voice-mail system. Carla’s writing had never won any awards for legibility.

Carla craned her neck, peering at the message. “Um, a five.”

He nodded and started for his office again. Behind him the door jangled.

“I’d like to make a complaint.”

He stopped cold. Slowly turned.

Laurel stood in the doorway. Her hair was still pinned back the way it had been in the café, but her cheeks were flushed, her golden eyes snapping.

“Excuse me?”

“I have a complaint.” Her voice was as crisp as her eyes.

Carla was watching them avidly. She liked hearing gossip almost as much as she liked sharing it.

“We’ll talk in my office.”

“I don’t want to talk in your office.”

“Laurel—”

“Good heavens. You’re little Laurel Runyan. I should have recognized you the second you walked in.” Carla was around her desk in a flash. “Carla Chapman. I used to sit in a quilting circle with your grandmother. She was the oldest, I was the youngest. Neither one of us could abide any of the other women. She used to bring you with her, though. You’d sit in a corner in the quilting room with your own squares and a big ol’ darning needle and yarn. I’ve heard you’re a teacher. That’s a fine thing. Lucille would be proud. And my condolences on your daddy passing,” she added belatedly.

Laurel looked a little dazed. “I remember the quilting circle.”

Carla looked pleased and only slightly abashed when she caught the look Shane was giving her. She cocked her eyebrow and returned to her desk.

Shane grabbed Laurel’s arm, ignoring the start she gave, and led her back to his office. He let go of her as soon as they entered his cubicle and flipped through the messages again without bothering to look at them. Mostly he wanted to rid his hand of the feel of her supple arm.

“Okay, what’s the complaint?” He sat down behind his desk.

She, however, didn’t sit. She crossed her arms, looking at him with a schoolmarm look that probably did wonders for straightening up mischievous third-grade boys.

For a thirty-five-year-old man, it did not have the desired effect.

“Just because you loathed my father, and dumped me the second you’d finished with me, does not give you the right to harass me about what I choose to do or not do with his house, or to dictate what I do with my time while I’m here!”

“I didn’t dump you.” He kept his voice low. His conscience, however, was screaming at him with the ferocity of a freight train.

Her eyes went even chillier. “There may be some things I don’t remember, Sheriff, but I remember that quite well.”

He wished she’d sit. Or pace. Do anything but stand there the way she was, looking as cold and brittle as a narrow icicle. An icicle that could snap in two as easily as a whisper.

“I didn’t know how much you remembered.” He’d been an ass. An ass who’d been old enough to know better than to get involved with her. Eighteen or not, she’d still been too young and innocent.

Neither fact had stopped him back then.

He hoped to hell he’d learned something in the years since.

Her expression remained glacial. “Not remembering what I saw the night my mother died does not mean I cannot remember the exact details of how you dumped me an hour before it happened.” Her chin lifted a little. “Therapy,” she clipped, “does wonders for enabling a person to state…unpleasant…facts. And the unpleasant fact is that you don’t want me in Lucius at all. You probably figured that with my father’s death, your town was finally free of Runyans.”

He leaned back in his chair. The springs squeaked slightly. “That therapy may have done you a world of good, but you are way off the mark when it comes to reading me.”

“Really. You can’t wait for me to sell my father’s house. To dump it, really. You nearly came unglued when Evie was talking about someone—me—replacing Mrs. Cuthwater. And then this festival business? What’s the matter? Are you afraid a Runyan will bring rack and ruin to the innocent children of Lucius?”

“No. I’m afraid Lucius will bring rack and ruin to you.” He exhaled roughly, wanting to rip out his tongue. Where the hell was his control?

Her lips parted, and all the color drained from her cheeks.

He went around to her, taking her arms. “Sit.”

She shook off his hold. “I don’t need to sit.”

An icicle. Too easily snapped in two. “Laurel, please. I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“Of course not. Heaven forbid you upset the crazy lady. She might just lose her mind again.”

“I never said you were crazy.” Maybe he was. Maybe that was why he sometimes still—all these years later—woke up sweating in the middle of the night with the vision of her inside that room at Fernwood, rocking herself to sleep, her eyes roiling pools of despair.