The Sheriff's Son. Barbara White Daille

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      Chapter Two

      In the distance, female voices buzzed like static from the County car’s radio.

      Tanner tuned them out. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the notebook into his pocket. His muttered curse would’ve earned him a week’s detention from Mrs. G.

      Where had this stubbornness of Sarah’s come from?

      For that matter, what had gotten into him, cracking down so hard on her and the boy? Much as he hated to admit it, he knew: the first sight of Sarah had unsettled him.

      Turning on his heel, he put his back to the chattering ladies. He could see into her small office, as cluttered as the bookstore.

      A two-drawer filing cabinet sat in one corner, books and catalogs spilled across the top. A bulletin board held a haphazard collection of crayoned pictures. Then there was the desk. Neat and clean as a rookie’s uniform the morning of inspection, with papers marching in parade format along the surface. As different from the cluttered bookstore as it could be.

      Somehow, the military precision gave him an uneasy feeling.

      “Tanner Jones!”

      At the sound of his former schoolteacher’s unmistakable voice, he cringed, just like in the old days when she’d caught him shooting spitballs.

      Sarah had a point about his schoolboy shenanigans.

      But he wasn’t a kid anymore. And the teacher wasn’t scolding him now. He turned around.

      “Morning, ladies.” He made his way forward, tipped his Stetson to all, and wrapped his former teacher in a bear hug.

      “Hey, Mrs. G.” He drawled the nickname all the boys used for her, though not to her face—not till they’d grown up. She had a real passion for formality in the classroom.

      He stepped back again and surveyed the women. “I’m surprised at y’all,” he said, straight-faced. “What’s this I hear about you being involved in illegal bookmaking?”

      Everyone laughed. Except Sarah.

      “Book discussion, not making, Tanner,” Mrs. G said in her lecturing tone. “Isn’t that right, Sarah?”

      “That’s right.”

      “But,” the older woman continued, “we were just discussing a different subject. Your sheriff’s car. We saw it outside. It looks a little worse for wear.”

      “Sure does.” He looked at Sarah. She stared back, lifting her chin. No sense bringing her boy’s troubles out in the open. Yet.

      “But you, Tanner Jones—” Mrs. G held him at arm’s length, inspected him up and down “—you’re a sight for sore eyes, you are.”

      He wanted to dig his toe in the dirt. Another flashback to the old days.

      “So, you’re with the Sheriff’s Department. That’s good to hear. With Deputy Worth still recuperating from his hernia operation, he’s let things slide a bit. We could use your assistance with a few items.”

      “Such as…?”

      “Oh, you’ll find out.” Behind her glasses, her eyes gleamed. “We’ll meet this evening at Town Hall,” she said firmly, already in organizational mode. He’d had a Staff Sergeant like her once, in his early years in the army. “You’re available, Tanner?”

      “If Sarah’s bringing her pecan loaf, I am,” he blurted. To his own surprise.

      The women all turned to him. He shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, y’all know it’s her specialty.”

      His mouth watered at the very thought of it. In high school, he’d lived for his Saturday night movie dates with Sarah, their slow walks home afterward, and a slice or three of her pecan loaf to top off the evening.

      Everyone nodded and smiled, except the woman of the hour.

      “Mrs. Gannett,” Sarah said.

      All eyes swiveled in her direction.

      “Ah…we wouldn’t want an outsider in on a private meeting, would we?”

      He glared. “If it’s something Worth should’ve handled, I’ll be there. Count on it. Pecan loaf or no.”

      “Tanner’s right, dear,” Mrs. G said gently. “And besides, he’s not an outsider, he’s one of our own.”

      The ladies all beamed at him.

      “Now, Sarah,” Mrs. G continued, turning toward her again, “we can count on you, too, can’t we?”

      A red flush started from the neck of Sarah’s flower-print dress and spread up to her pale cheeks. “Oh—”

      “She’ll show up, Mrs. G.” He shifted, adjusting the belt on his hips. “Sarah’s got a strong interest in what’s happening around this town.”

      Over the women’s heads, he stared at her. She glared back, her flashing green eyes seeming to wish him off the face of the earth.

      SARAH MARCHED INTO Town Hall with her head held high, a tight smile plastered on her lips, and a platter of warm pecan loaf clutched in her shaking fingers.

      After closing the store, she’d just had time enough to run upstairs to make the loaves. Not to please Tanner, of course, but because everyone would expect her to bring them.

      She wouldn’t do anything to please that man.

      And she’d had to come here tonight. She didn’t trust him not to exaggerate the severity of Kevin’s childish deed.

      The object of her wrath stood beside Mrs. Gannett, a good foot-and-a-half taller than the older woman and decked out in all his deputy glory.

      Averting her gaze, she headed toward the cloth-covered tables in the rear of the room.

      “Hi, Miss Sarah.” One of Kevin’s friends stopped directly in her path. “Where’s Kevin?”

      “He’s not allowed out tonight.” She’d left him under the watchful eye of Billy’s mother, with a list of dos—homework—and don’ts—television. She didn’t dare bring him to the meeting. Didn’t want him anywhere near Tanner.

      She had enough to worry her. An entire list…

      Kevin, the center of her life, who had defaced a car—and a sheriff’s car, at that. The bills that flowed into her mailbox, threatening to drown her. And the beloved bookstore she might soon lose if she didn’t find a way out of her money troubles.

      She didn’t need all this added hoopla of a town meeting.

      As she set the foil-wrapped platter on the table, she felt someone move in close beside her. A long arm reached around her, and a huge hand plucked at the foil. She shoved the arm aside.

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ