Orchard Valley Brides (14 page)

“I know.” He removed his hat and looked at her imploringly. “Surely a week isn't too much to ask.”

“Excuse me, miss.” A stocky police officer dressed in a tan uniform had come out of the café and strolled over to her. The town sheriff, she decided. He was chewing on a toothpick and his thumbs were tucked in his belt buckle, which hung low under his protruding belly. “I don't suppose you happen to own that cute little Cruiser just there, do you?” He pointed at her car, about twenty feet away.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

His nod was slow and deliberate. The toothpick was smoothly transferred to the other side of his mouth. “I was afraid of that. Best I can tell, it's parked illegally.”

“It most certainly is not,” Sherry protested as the three of them reached the car. The slot was clearly marked and she'd pulled in between two other vehicles.

“See how your left rear tire is over the yellow line?” the sheriff asked, pointing.

“I suppose that carries a heavy fine?” Good grief, she thought. Before long some cowpoke was going to suggest they get a rope and hang her from the nearest tree. In that case she'd be okay, since she hadn't seen anything but brush for the last hundred miles.

“There isn't a fine for illegally parking your car,” he said, grinning lazily. “But jaywalking does carry a hefty one, and I saw you cross that street with my very own eyes.”

“There wasn't a crosswalk,” she said.

“Sure there is,” he said, still grinning. “It's down the street a bit, but it's there. I painted it myself no more'n ten years ago.”

“You're going to fine me, then,” she said, reaching into her bag for her wallet. “Great. I'll pay you and be done with it.” After that she was going to head straight for the freeway, and when she got to Houston, she'd reconsider this job offer.

“There isn't any fine.”

“But you just said there was!” Actually, Sherry was relieved. Her cash was running low and she doubted the sheriff would accept a check.

“No fine, but the jail term—”

“Jail term!” she exploded.

“Now, Billy Bob,” the mayor said, placing himself between the two of them, “you don't really intend to put our doc's helper in jail, do you?”

Billy Bob rubbed his hand across the underside of his jaw as if needing to contemplate such a monumental decision.

“You'd give Pepper a bad name,” the mayor went on, “and we wouldn't want that, would we?”

“You staying in Pepper, miss?” the officer asked.

Sherry's gaze connected with Mayor Bowie's. “It appears I don't have much choice, do I?”

The minute she had access to a phone, Sherry vowed, she was going to call her friend's husband, Rowdy
Cassidy. Rowdy, the owner of one of the largest computer software companies in the world, had a large legal staff. He'd be able to pull a few strings for her. By the end of the day, these folks in Pepper would be facing so many lawsuits, they'd throw a parade when she left town.

“I'll walk you back to the clinic,” the mayor said, smiling as though he didn't have a care in the world. “I'm sure Mrs. Colson'll be happy to give you a tour of the place.”

Sherry ground her teeth and bit back a tart reply. Until she had the legal clout she needed, there was no point in voicing any more protests.

Instead, Sheriff Billy Bob himself escorted her down the street and around the corner to the clinic. The middle-aged receptionist introduced herself as Mrs. Colson and greeted Sherry with a warm smile. “I'm so glad you decided to stay.”

“You make her welcome now,” the sheriff instructed.

“You know I will,” Mrs. Colson told him, standing and coming around the counter. “You can go on now,” she told Billy Bob and, taking him by the elbow, escorted him out the door. She turned to Sherry. “Billy Bob can outstare a polecat, but underneath that tough hide of his, he's gentle as a baby.”

Sherry swallowed a retort as the receptionist went on to extol the sheriff's virtues.

“One of those multitalented folks you read so much about. Not only does he uphold the law around these parts, but he makes the best barbecue sauce in the state. Wait till you taste it. Everyone thinks he should bottle and sell it, but I doubt he will.”

“How…unfortunate,” was all Sherry could manage.

Her mood didn't improve as Mrs. Colson gave her the grand tour. Despite her frame of mind, Sherry was impressed with the clinic's modern equipment and pleased with the small apartment at one end of the building that would serve as her living quarters.

“Doc's sure glad to get away for a few days,” Mrs. Colson said amicably, ignoring Sherry's sour mood. “I can't even remember the last time he had more than a day to himself. He talks about fishing a lot—gets a pile of those magazines and catalogs. In the twenty years I've known him, I don't believe I've seen him livelier than he was today after you arrived. Guess he was thinking he'd best skedaddle before you changed your mind. I'm sure glad you didn't.”

Sherry's answering smile was weak. Between Dan Bowie, Doc Lindsey and Billy Bob, she'd been completely hog-tied.

“So Dr. Lindsey's been practicing in Pepper for twenty years?” She wondered if, like her, he'd innocently driven into town and been snared. This could be something straight out of that old TV series,
The Twilight Zone.

“Thirty years, in fact, maybe more. Most folks think of him as a saint.”

Some saint, Sherry thought. With little more than a nod of his head, he'd abandoned Pepper and her.

Mrs. Colson led her to Doc's office. “Now make yourself at home. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Sherry answered, walking over to the desk. The telephone caught her eye. As soon as she had a minute alone, she'd call Houston.

But the moment Mrs. Colson left there was a knock
at the office door. Sherry groaned. She hadn't even had time to sit down.

“Come in,” she called, thinking it must be the receptionist.

In walked a tall, rawboned cowboy with skin tanned the color of a new penny. He wore jeans, a checkered shirt and a pair of scarred boots. A Stetson hat hooded his dark eyes, and somehow, with the red bandana around his neck, he looked both rough and dangerous.

“You're not Doc Lindsey,” he said accusingly.

“No,” she agreed tartly, “I'm not.”

“Oh, good,” Mrs. Colson said, following him into the room. “I see your one-o'clock appointment is here.”

“
My
one o'clock appointment?”

“Where's Doc?” the cowboy demanded.

“He's gone fishing. Now you sit down,” Mrs. Colson directed in steely tones. “You're Miz Waterman's first patient, and I don't want her getting a bad impression of the folks in Pepper.”

“I ain't talkin' to no woman about Heather.”

“Why not? A woman would be far more understanding than Doc.”

The cowboy shook his head stubbornly.

Personally, Sherry agreed with him.

“Don't you argue with me, Cody Bailman,” Mrs. Colson said, arms akimbo. “And don't you make trouble for Miz Waterman. She's a real sweetheart.”

Cody shifted his hat farther back on his head. “It ain't gonna work.”

“That's right. It ain't gonna work unless you try.” The receptionist took Cody by the elbow and marched him to the chair on the other side of the desk. “Now sit. You, too,
Sherry.” Neither of them bothered to comply, but that didn't disturb the receptionist. “Cody's here to talk about his daughter. She's twelve and giving him plenty of grief, and he comes here for advice because…well, because his wife died about ten years back and he's having a few problems understanding what's happening to Heather now that she's becoming a young woman.”

“Which means I'm not talkin' to some stranger about my personal affairs,” Cody said.

“It'll do you good to get everything out,” Mrs. Colson assured him. “Now sit down,” she said again. “Sherry, you sit, too. If you stand, it'll make Cody nervous.”

Sherry sat. “What should I do?” she whispered.

“Listen,” the older women instructed. “That's all Doc ever does. It seems to help.”

Doc Lindsey apparently served as Pepper's psychologist, too. Sherry had received some training along those lines, but certainly not enough to qualify as a counselor.

“I'm not talkin' to a woman,” Cody said.

“Did you ever consider that's the reason you're having so many problems with Heather?” Mrs. Colson pointed out, then stalked over to the door. As she reached for the knob, her narrowed eyes moved from Cody to Sherry, and her tight features relaxed into a smile. “You let me know if Cody gives you any problems, but I doubt he will.” She dropped her voice. “What Heather really needs is a mother. In my opinion, Cody should remarry.”

“You volunteering for the job, Martha?” Cody said.

Mrs. Colson's cheeks reddened. “I'm old enough to be
your
mother, and you darn well know it.” With that she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Cody laughed and to Sherry's surprise sat down in the chair across from her, took off his hat and relaxed. As he rested one ankle on the opposite knee and stared at Sherry, the humor drained out of his face.

She wasn't sure what to do. If she hadn't felt so intimidated by this dark-haired cowboy, she'd have sent him on his way.

“You married?” he asked suddenly.

Her mouth fell open. When she finally managed to speak, her words stumbled over one another. “No, I'm not, I…that is…” She knew she sounded breathless and inane.

“Don't look so worried. I'm not expecting you to offer your services as my wife.”

“I realize that,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. Unfortunately it wasn't much.

“Then how are you supposed to know about kids?”

“I have two younger brothers and a sister,” she said, wondering why she thought she had to defend herself. She
should
be sending him on his way. She sighed. The longer this day lasted, the more convinced she was that she'd somehow stepped out of the present. The man sitting across from her might have come from another century.

“So you know about girls?”

“I was one not so long ago myself,” she said wryly. Resigning herself to the situation, she asked, “Why don't you tell me about Heather and I'll see if I can help?”

Cody seemed to need time to think over her suggestion. Eventually he began. “Well, first off, Heather's doing things behind my back.”

“What sort of things?”

“Wearing makeup and the like. The other night I went in to check up on her and I swear she had on so much silver eye shadow her eyelids glowed in the dark.”

Sherry swallowed her impulse to laugh.

“No more'n about six months ago,” he continued, clearly confused by his daughter's behavior, “Heather was showing signs of being one of the best cowhands I'd ever seen, but now she doesn't want anything to do with ranching. Besides that, she's, uh, getting bigger on top.”

“Have you bought her a bra?”

He flushed slightly beneath his tan. “I didn't have to—she bought her own. Ordered it right off the Internet before I even knew. From what I can see, she didn't have any idea what she was doing, because the one they sent was at least five sizes too big. Instead of admitting she doesn't know about such things, she's wearing it and as best I can tell stuffing it with something. Heaven only knows what.”

“My guess is tissue.” That had worked for Sherry when she was a teenager.

Cody's dark eyes narrowed in concentration. “Could be. I asked her about it, and she nearly bit my head off.”

Mrs. Colson was right; the poor girl did need a mother.

“Has Heather got a boyfriend?” Maybe Cody was jealous of some boy. It sounded like a good theory anyway.

Cody frowned. “Ever since she's been wearing this bra, she's got a whole passel of boys hanging around. The thing is, she doesn't like all this attention. You have to understand that until recently Heather was a tomboy.”

“Heather's growing up, Cody,” Sherry told him. She leaned back and crossed her arms. “She doesn't really understand what's happening to her body. She's probably frightened by the changes. Trust me, she isn't any happier
about what's taking place than you are. Give her a little time and a little space, and you'll be surprised by how well she adjusts.”

Cody eyed her as if he wasn't convinced he should believe her.

“Does she have any close friends?” she asked.

“Wally and Clem, but she doesn't seem to be getting along with them as well as she used to.”

“What about girlfriends?”

“She has a couple, but they live here in town and we're twenty miles away. What she really needs is to talk to someone—you know, a woman, someone older than thirteen, who knows a bit more about bras and other girl stuff. And then there was this business with the 4-H—all of a sudden my daughter wants to run my life.”

“The 4-H? Your life?”

“Never mind,” he said, groaning heavily.

“Would you like me to talk to her?” Sherry offered. “I…I don't know if I'd be able to accomplish anything, but I'd be willing to try.”

“I'd like it a whole lot,” he said, his eyes softening with gratitude. He frowned again. “She's been acting like a porcupine lately, so don't be offended if she seems a bit unfriendly.” Cody looked down and sighed. “Then again, she might be overly friendly. Just don't be shocked by anything she says or does, all right?”

“I won't be,” Sherry promised. “We'll get along fine.” She wasn't as confident as she sounded, but she found she liked Cody Bailman. It hadn't been easy for him to discuss such private matters with a stranger, a woman, no less, yet he'd put his concern for his daughter first. She was impressed.