High Country Cop. Cynthia Thomason

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      Her family had lived for years here on Liggett Mountain in a cabin slightly better than her cousins’. Still the more fortunate Jeffersons had struggled on one income brought in by Miranda’s father, Warren. Carter couldn’t take his eyes off the woman on the bench. Finally he released the breath he’d been holding. No, it wasn’t Miranda Jefferson, or Miranda Larson now. His Miranda...funny how that phrase popped back into his mind after so many years...had light brown hair. This woman’s shoulder-length waves had streaks of blond. He blinked hard. A successful woman could afford to change her hair color, couldn’t she?

      Rooted to the ground, Carter continued to stare at the back of the woman’s head. Surely he would know if he was anywhere near Miranda, even today after fourteen years. Back then, when they’d graduated from high school, the electricity had seemed to buzz around them. Their connection had been that strong, that heated.

      “Are you a real policeman?”

      The question came from Carter’s left. He hadn’t even been aware that another person was in the yard, an obvious mistake for a cop who was investigating a crime. He should have known. His head snapped to the left where he saw a little girl sitting on a tree stump, an electronic device of some kind in her hands. She had large round eyes, like Donny Larson’s, and sandy-colored curly hair like Donny’s. She was a miniature, feminine version of the man Carter once called his best friend.

      “Ah, yeah, I’m real,” he said.

      “Is someone in trouble?” the child asked.

      “No, nothing like that.” Carter now knew without turning back to stare at the woman that Miranda Jefferson was sitting next to Lawton. Where else would this little girl look-alike of Donny Larson have come from?

      But he did turn back and found Miranda’s gaze locked on his, her fathomless blue eyes just like always—slightly wary, questioning everything but now with a mother’s natural protectiveness.

      “Carter...” The word fell from her lips without thought, seemingly without effort.

      He moved toward her, his legs wooden, his heart pounding. Get a grip, Cahill, he said to himself. It’s not like you didn’t know this could happen. It’s not like you haven’t dreamed about it. Miranda still has kin in this area.

      “Miranda...how? When did you get back? What are you doing here?” Stupid questions, but maybe the fact that he was a cop would make him look less stunned, more in control.

      If anything, she was more beautiful than when she was a teenager. This new, mature woman, a few pounds heavier than the thin, athletic cheerleader who’d made the sun come up every morning for Carter, had filled out, toned up as if she worked out. Gone was the long hair she always wore in a ponytail, replaced with a modern shoulder-length cut and color that framed her face in a loose, casual style that didn’t look salon-made, but probably was.

      Miranda stood. He quickly appraised her white blouse, dark-colored slacks and sensible black pumps. No, this woman was not the mountain girl he fell in love with years ago. This woman was sophisticated, confident and, he’d heard, really good at her job. Her bottom lip quivered slightly. Well, maybe not so confident after all.

      “Who is this, Mommy?”

      The little girl had walked over and now stood next to her mother.

      “This is an old friend of mine,” Miranda said. “Carter Cahill. Carter, this is my daughter, Emily.”

      “Hi, Emily,” Carter said to the child, whose glitter-covered sneakers twinkled in the sunlight. She looked to be about nine or ten, perfect timing for her to be Donny Larson’s.

      “Did you come to see cousin Lawton?” Emily asked. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s out of jail now.”

      “I know that, and I don’t think he did anything wrong. I’m just here to ask a few questions.”

      Lawton came around the bench and stood next to Miranda. In jeans and a T-shirt, he showed the effects of incarceration. Pale skin, slightly sunken eyes, a general demeanor of insecurity. His hair, the same brown as his brother’s, had been cut recently. Carter heard the prison system did that for soon-to-be ex-cons.

      “What kind of questions?” Lawton asked.

      Carter explained about the robbery and the fact that Dale’s Jeep had been in the vicinity.

      “Then you should talk to Dale,” Miranda said defensively.

      “I did, but I’ve got to cover all the bases.”

      Miranda straightened her back. “You can’t think that Lawton, released just two weeks ago, would commit a crime? He learned his lesson, Carter. And he doesn’t even have a driver’s license, so why would he be driving Dale’s vehicle?”

      “I hope that’s true,” Carter said. “But Carl Harker is missing some inventory and a bit of cash. Somebody took those things.” He turned to look at Lawton. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, where were you at one o’clock this morning?”

      “In bed, sleeping.” Lawton frowned. “Unfortunately I don’t have a witness, so you’ll have to take my word for it.” He glanced at his cousin as if expecting her to vouch for him.

      “I see things haven’t changed a bit around here,” Miranda said. “A crime is committed and the cops immediately run out here to question the Jefferson boys.”

      “I told you,” Carter said. “Dale’s Jeep...”

      “I heard you. Dale’s Jeep. Not Lawton’s. Law doesn’t even own a vehicle.”

      “Mommy, why are you mad?”

      Miranda took a deep breath, looked down at her daughter. “I’m not mad, honey. You know we came here to help cousin Lawton.” She switched a stern gaze to Carter. “And it looks like he needs our help already on our first day in town.”

      “I haven’t accused anyone, Miranda,” Carter said.

      “It’s just a matter of time, like always,” she responded.

      Carter flinched. She wasn’t being fair.

      “Lawton paid his debt to this town,” she said. “Now he’s trying to make a clean start, and I’m here to see that he gets all the support he needs.” She reached in her purse and drew out a business card. “I’m not here just as his cousin.” Handing the card to Carter, she said, “I’m an official representative of the North Carolina social services department. We help ex-convicts start over, providing them with housing if necessary, assisting in finding a job, offering moral support.”

      “That’s fine,” Carter said. “I hope Lawton is completely rehabilitated.” Turning to Lawton, Carter added, “I wish you the best, Lawton.” He stuck out his hand. After a moment Lawton shook it and mumbled a halfhearted thank-you.

      “How long are you staying?” Carter asked Miranda.

      “As long as I need to before getting Emily back to Durham in time for school in the fall. I’m on paid leave.”

      “I’m sure Lawton appreciates your help.” There being nothing left to say and certainly no evidence upon which СКАЧАТЬ