Gun Shy (24 page)

“The department?” That did not surprise me.

She nodded. “And town.”

That did.

She said, “With your uncle retiring, Buck will run for sheriff next year. I think it would be easier for him if I weren’t here. I got a job in Cantwell, working security at the electronics plant. It’s a forty-five-minute commute, and there’s no point in my making it twice a day until we . . . well, until we know what we’re going to do.”

Now I was confused. “We?”

She nodded. Color rose in her cheeks and I knew it took a lot of courage for her to meet my eyes. “Buck and me. That’s the other thing I want to tell you—to make sure you understood,” she went on in a rush. “What happened—it wasn’t what you think, at least not entirely. I took the job in Cantwell before—well, before, because I knew I couldn’t keep working with Buck feeling the way I did about him. I knew he was trying to work things out with you. But then, when I told him I was quitting the department, and leaving town . . . things changed.” She drew a breath. “A lot of things.”

I said, fumbling for my purse, “I really have to—”

But she held my gaze firmly. “I wanted you to know he didn’t cheat on you, and that I didn’t try to steal him away from you. It was only after you had broken up that we—well, talked about our feelings.”

I was suffused with a sudden wave of sympathy. It was irrational, but in light of everything else that had happened, it seemed almost inevitable. “Wyn, I’m not mad at you,” I said gently. “I don’t blame you.”

She held up a quick, staying hand. “I know he has a reputation,” she said. “I know he’s still trying to get over you, and I know that maybe he never will. And the thing is, I can deal with that. You two have a history that no one else can compete with, and I understand that, and respect it. But for now, until something happens to change my mind, I want to try with him.” Another breath. “We both want to try. We want to give this our best shot, and see what happens. I wanted you to know that.”

We sat there in silence for a moment or two while I tried to process what I had heard, and to make sense of it. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

She stood. “Well,” she said. “Good-bye, Raine.”

I said, still a little dazed, “Good-bye.”

And then I added, “I hope things work out for you, Wyn.”

She looked back at me and smiled. “Thanks,” she said.

And to my very great surprise, I realized that I actually meant it.

It was after nine one evening a few days later when I saw the flash of headlights on my window. The dogs were all in bed—the girls crated, and Cisco, who had only recently been allowed to climb the stairs again, was no doubt snoozing on my bed. I had banked the fire in the fireplace and was just getting ready to turn out the lights and go upstairs myself.

I went quickly to the window and watched the man get out of the car and climb my steps. Before he could ring the doorbell and wake the dogs, I hurried to open the door.

“Good evening, Miss Stockton,” said Miles Young. He was holding in his hand a package with an elaborate gold bow. “Is Cisco at home?”

I looked at him skeptically, blocking the narrow opening of the door with my body to keep out the cold. “He’s asleep.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. Then he said, “I understand you’ve had quite a bit of excitement around here.”

“Some.”

“I’m sorry I missed it. I was called to Istanbul.”

“You were not.”

“Swear to God.”

“What do you want?”

“I thought I’d send a crew down here with a front-end loader in the morning to get started clearing out some of the rubble from the kennel fire, if it’s okay with you. I didn’t want the heavy equipment to wake you.”

I scowled at him. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“I’m not. You’ll be paying them the going rate.”

I hesitated. “Well, in that case . . .”

“Good.”

I said, “I’m sorry I accused you of shooting Cisco. I was wrong.”

“So you were.”

That was not the most gracious acceptance of an apology I had ever heard. But then, perhaps I could have been more gracious in delivering it.

I added, a little grudgingly, “Thanks for the new animal shelter.”

He smiled. “Just trying to make friends in high places.”

I was getting cold, and I rubbed one furry-slipper-covered foot against the other to illustrate the fact. “Is there anything else?”

He held out the package to me. “If you would be good enough to deliver this to Cisco, with my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

I took the fancily wrapped box hesitantly, gave him a cautious, studious look, and then carefully lifted the lid. Inside, each one nestled in its own velvet-lined, custom-molded cup, were a dozen gourmet dog biscuits, individually wrapped in gold foil.

I tried not to smile. I really did. But I couldn’t help it. I looked at Miles Young for a long moment, standing there on my porch in the dark and cold, and then I opened the door wider and invited him in.

Change can sneak up on you sometimes, knock you flat, bowl you over. Sometimes there’s just no point in fighting it.

And sometimes it’s not such a bad thing.