Somewhere Along the Way (27 page)

At six o’clock, the table was set, the food was on long trays around the counters, and candles glowed in the wide kitchen.

When her phone trilled Reagan answered it on the first ring.

“Hi, Noah,” she said, recognizing his number.

“Happy Birthday, Rea,” he said. “How you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I’ve been eighteen long enough to get used to it, but I’ll still take the party. I asked for strawberry cake ’cause I know it’s your favorite.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

She grinned. “You’re my best friend, Preacher. I even said to order food for twenty so you wouldn’t go away hungry. What time did you think you’ll make it in from Dallas?”

There was a silence on the phone, then he said, “I didn’t. I’m still here. I got invited to stay with some friends of my dad’s for dinner. They got this grand ranch just east of Denton. He and Mom are going to be at your party, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to miss it.”

Reagan couldn’t speak. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d start crying.

“Don’t be mad, Rea. I got you a present. Dad’s bringing it tonight. I’ll see you at school tomorrow. I just couldn’t turn down a chance to see a ranch like I want to have someday. You understand, don’t you?”

She knew he was waiting for her to tell him it was all right. They were friends, best buddies. But he didn’t understand. This was not just any birthday, this was her eighteenth birthday. This was her first ever real party.

She wasn’t old enough, or wise enough, to say anything. She just closed the phone and turned off the ringer.

All at once her world didn’t seem so sunny.

SUNDAY NIGHT
FEBRUARY 17, 2008
TRUMAN FARM

SUNDAY HAD TURNED SUNNY WITH ONLY THE HINT OF chill in the air, but by midafternoon the clouds foretold another storm. For a farmer, it would have been a good day to be outside, brisk air with little wind. Only Gabe had never considered himself a farmer even in his early years when his father tried to make the farm pay and used Gabe every day as free labor. Some men are born to love the land, but not Gabe. The only thing he loved about his land was its isolation from everyone else, and tonight the distance between him and humanity seemed to be corroding away. He was about to attend his second dinner party in a week.

He parked his Land Rover at the edge of where someone had planted grass in Truman’s yard and walked toward a wide porch painted blue against the gray brick of the house. Truman’s old home was a huge two-story built with window boxes and gingerbread trim. The walls were brick on the first floor, wood on the second, and river rock along the north wall to hold back wind.

When he’d seen the place four years ago, most of the windows were boarded up and the homestead looked to be on its last leg. Now there was even a brick patio off one side that updated the place at least into the present century.

Denver walked a few feet behind him, carrying their gift for Reagan’s birthday. They’d thought long and hard about what to buy her and finally settled on a quality shotgun. With a half load it wouldn’t knock her down when she fired it, probably wouldn’t kill anything when she did, but the noise would scare the hell out of anything or anyone coming around her place uninvited.

Denver caught up to him and slapped Gabe on the back. “You know, if you keep coming up with friends, we could eat good. I don’t want to wear out my welcome, but maybe I should spend all my leave with you. I could always catch a flight to Dallas, rent a car, and drive up. But no more Mustangs in winter. I thought we’d never get that little car out of the mud.”

“You didn’t have a welcome to wear out.” Gabe frowned at his friend as they stepped onto the porch of the Truman place. After four days he was starting to get used to the lieutenant. Denver had a sense of humor about life. Gabe would miss him when he left, but he’d never let him know it.

The old man met them at the door. “Gabriel, about time you boys got here.”

Gabe shook hands and introduced Denver while thinking Truman had finally gotten so old that his wrinkles had wrinkles.

As soon as Gabe said “an old army buddy of mine,” Truman seemed to warm to the guy.

“Welcome,” he said simply, and showed them into what was obviously the dining room of a house. The entire place was sliced into little rooms, most packed with twice the furniture needed. It reminded Gabe of a time when people used to ask each other,
How many rooms you got in this place?

The dining room didn’t look like it had been updated since
Little Women
hit the presses.

The oak dining table that might hold eight thin people around it was set with appetizers of pigs in a blanket with mustard on the side, salsa with chips, and a square of cream cheese with some kind of jelly dripped on top.

“Appetizers,” Denver pointed.

“I know,” Gabe snapped as he picked up a plate. “They look great.” He could figure out that the sausages wrapped in bread were finger foods, and the dip and chips made sense, but he had no idea what to do about the cheese and jelly.

Denver cut his gaze to Gabe as if he were questioning the man’s sanity but said only, “Yeah, great.”

The chairs had been pushed to the walls, forming two long rows. Aunt Pat and Aunt Fat were already planted on two of the chairs with an empty chair between them for their plates. “Hello, gentlemen,” Aunt Pat said as if she were talking to children. “We were told to help ourselves. Reagan made these herself.”

At the mention of her name, Reagan appeared on her crutches. Gabe introduced her to Denver, who quickly told her the appetizers were the best he’d ever seen and if everyone else didn’t get here fast he planned to eat them all.

Reagan giggled, but her eyes were on Gabe. Somehow by just trying to help her, he’d become her own private guardian angel. He had the feeling he’d always be there for her if he could. She had the kind of eyes that really saw people, not for what they looked like, but for what they were.

“You all right, kid?” he asked, noticing the trails of tear stains washing away the makeup she’d probably been experimenting with.

“I’m okay.” She smiled. “How about you? All these people going to bother you?”

She was reading him loud and clear. “Mind if I eat on the porch?”

“I’ll make you a plate.” She grinned, the light back in her eyes. “Takeout.”

No one else had noticed them talking; they were all too busy welcoming the rest of the Matheson tribe. Hank, his mother, Claire, six-year-old Saralynn. Behind them, the sheriff, Alexandra McAllen, walked in with her parents. She moved directly to Hank’s side, and her parents hugged his mother the way lifelong friends do.

Suddenly, the room was packed. Gabe greeted everyone with a jerky nod, learning fast that in this group he really didn’t have to say anything as long as he smiled. His eyes kept searching the room for Elizabeth, expecting her to be at the end of the parade of people.

“She’s coming,” Saralynn whispered to him. “She told me to tell you she’d be a little late. Legal business.”

Gabe found himself backing out of the crowd a few inches at a time. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room . . . in the house. He was on the porch before he was even aware that he was moving. Too many people talking all at once. He could still hear Denver telling all about Pirate being shot and how after three days he was finally lapping up milk.

Gabe looked back through the window at the group. Denver seemed to be at the center; Claire hung back, dressed tonight in a black pantsuit and a cream-colored scarf covering her long auburn hair. She reminded Gabe of a Georgia O’Keeffe photograph he’d seen in an art gallery once. She seemed to be making a point of ignoring everyone in the room except her daughter.

Smiling to himself, Gabe thought that if he ever had to draw the sketch of an artist, he’d use Claire and her classic looks as his model. Gabe decided if Denver thought she liked him, he must have brain damage. The woman was not only out of his league, she was out of his atmosphere. Denver wasn’t bad looking, Gabe guessed. He had enough battle scars and stories to be interesting and a degree in history he’d never use from a college no one ever heard of, but he lacked the polish a girl like Claire would go for.

He moved to one of the chairs at the end of the porch and watched the last glow of sunset while he waited for Liz. If the storm hadn’t happened eleven days ago, Reagan wouldn’t have been hurt, he wouldn’t have gotten tossed in jail and called Liz, and they all wouldn’t be having dinner. If nothing had happened, he’d probably be visiting her at her office once a week, answering whatever question she came up with and then kissing her like there was no tomorrow. They wouldn’t have spent the night at the bed-and-breakfast holding one another, or cuddled on her mother’s couch after a meal with the family. He wouldn’t have grown used to the feel of her against him. So used to it that he missed her every hour they weren’t together. For Elizabeth this was probably just one of her monthly flings she had with men. If she knew what she meant to him, she’d have a restraining order posted against him.

He wasn’t sure he could endure all these people around even with Liz in the room, but he knew he couldn’t without her. The thought crossed his mind that he might just leave; Reagan would understand. The kid saw him for what he was. Denver might be mad that he got left behind, but maybe Claire would give him a ride back to Gabe’s place. Or, Gabe reasoned, once it was fully dark, he could walk home and leave Denver the Rover.

He watched an old clunker of a Ford rattling down the road toward the house. Jeremiah must have heard it too, because he stepped out the door and watched the boat of a car putter toward them. “Reagan!” he yelled. “That kid you invited is here.”

Gabe heard the old man mumbling something about the car needing a death certificate because there was no help for that engine.

Reagan hobbled past her uncle and made it to the edge of the porch before the car pulled to a stop.

Gabe sat still, not wanting to intrude as he watched.

A big kid of about her age climbed out of his car. He had on jeans and a black leather jacket with chains hanging from it that clanged when he walked. Gabe thought if this party had a worst-dressed list, this kid would win first, second, and third place.

“Hi, Bran.” Reagan smiled as he neared. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Look at you, Rea, you’re on your feet, almost.”

He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, telling Gabe that the kid was not her date for the night. Strange that she’d invited him, Gabe thought. The boy looked unkempt, unprepared, unwanted . . . pretty much what Gabe must have looked like at seventeen when he left this town.

The kid must have glanced through the window, because he took a step backward. “Who are all those people?”

“My uncle invited a few more to dinner than I’d planned.” She reached for his hand, but Bran was already moving backward.

“Maybe I should come some other time. I don’t know about this. I thought it was going to be just me and you and the old man.”

Gabe heard the panic in his voice and recognized it. The kid was afraid.

Reagan missed the step when she tried to catch up with him. Gabe and the kid both jumped toward her, but it was Bran who caught her by the shoulders as the crutches clamored on the walk.

“Are you all right?” He sounded near panic.

“I’m fine.” She laughed. “I just guessed wrong. I’m still not too sturdy on these things.”

Gabe reached them. “Reagan,” he snapped. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, Gabriel.”

Gabe fought the urge to help the girl, knowing there was something else he had to do first. “Who are you?” he said to the kid.

“Brandon Biggs. I was invited.” If he hadn’t been holding Reagan up, Gabe had no doubt the kid would have puffed up preparing to fight.

“Well, Brandon, do you think you can carry her inside without banging her leg against the door? I’d do it, but I’ve got a bum leg myself and I’d hate to take a tumble with her.”

“Yes, sir,” Brandon stuttered. “I can do it.”

He carefully lifted Reagan.

She put her arms around his neck and looked back at Gabe. In the last blink of light before night, he saw understanding in her eyes. She knew exactly what he was doing and how dearly his actions would cost him, because he’d have to go back inside with them.

“I’ll bring the crutches and hold the door, Bran, but you be careful.”

When they were inside, Gabe let everyone know that Brandon had caught Reagan as she took a tumble off the porch. Everyone gathered around, fretting over Reagan and patting Bran on the back. No one seemed to notice his clothes. Aunt Pat insisted he sit down next to Reagan while she made him a plate of appetizers. Hank said they could use a good man like him at the volunteer fire department. He winked when he said that catching women in peril was their favorite duty.

Gabe moved back. It felt good to think of someone besides himself. As they moved to the kitchen to fill their plates, Gabe held the swinging door for all, then stood watching the chaos of people finding chairs and filling plates and passing drinks down the table.