“Hey, buddy.” She bent and scratched behind his ears as best she could. In his ecstasy, he proved too much of a moving target. She had learned not to worry over where the pup was—he, too, seemed to have fallen into a pattern, splitting his time between her, Henry and hanging around the barn with the other dogs.
“You with Henry this morning? Or did you come to see me?” He stopped wiggling and sat, giving her an opportunity for a proper scratch, then jumped up, barked once and made a beeline for the garage.
She followed him and saw why. Old Henry on the far side of the garage, fiddling with a mower.
“Hi, Henry!” she called.
He didn’t hear her, so she headed over. He caught sight of her then, took off his hat and smiled broadly. Between his original injuries and surgical scars, the smile stretched Joker-like across his face. “Hello there, Ms. True. Pretty day for a walk.”
The first time he’d called her Logan’s first wife’s name, she’d been hurt. It had ceased to bother her, much anyway. Henry, she’d realized, was caught somewhere between the past and the present. “It is, but I thought I’d go for a drive today instead.”
“A drive?” His bushy eyebrows lowered. “What for?”
“I thought it was time to learn my way around.” He didn’t look convinced it was a good idea and she patted his arm. “You and Tony have a good day.”
She started to turn away. He stopped her, his grip on her arm surprisingly firm. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
“Of course I will,” she said, surprised. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”
“Sometimes they don’t.”
“Who didn’t come back, Henry?”
He dropped his hand and returned to his tinkering with the mower.
“Henry?” She touched his sleeve. “Are you talking about True?”
He lifted his dark eyes, the pain in them almost palpable. “Betsy didn’t. He came back without her.”
“Who came back without her?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” His eyes filled with tears. “Don’t make me.”
“It’s okay.” She patted his hand, realizing how upset he was. “I won’t. I’ll see you later, Henry.”
He didn’t respond, just returned to his work. She walked away, making a mental note to ask Logan who Betsy was. Whoever she was, it was obvious that Henry had cared very much for her.
Logan had left her the keys to a battered Range Rover. She climbed in and started it up, suddenly anxious to get off the farm. As she rolled past the barn, she caught sight of Paul and August in what looked like a heated discussion. They stopped when they saw her and stared. She smiled and waved, feeling suddenly as light and free as a feather on the breeze.
She drove with no particular destination in mind. Soaking in the landscape. Country. Farms, grand and modest; a smattering of businesses, not assembled in clusters, save for the village itself, but simply, suddenly there. A veterinary clinic. A beauty parlor called Snipz and Stylz. Several plant nurseries and a feed store. And churches. Lots of small brick or clapboard structures, some adorned with crosses, others with simple signs.
She imagined come spring it would be beautiful, lush and green. But now, at the height of winter, it all came off as gray and slightly dilapidated.
The sound of a siren broke her reverie. Bailey glanced in the rearview mirror and saw cherry lights. She’d been going the speed limit, maybe a mile or two above, surely not enough to get pulled over. An image of Hollywood’s version of a small-town Southern cop filled her head—Buford T. Something-or-other.
She pulled onto a gravel drive and drew to a stop.
A moment later, the lawman was at her window. “License, registration, proof of insurance.”
She handed him the items. “Was I speeding, Officer?”
Instead of answering, he said, “You visiting, Miz Browne?”
“Pardon?”
“Nebraska license.”
“I just moved here.” He didn’t respond and she added, “It’s Abbott now.”
“The new Mrs. Logan Abbott.”
Her hackles rose at his tone. “Is there a new one every week?”
It was his turn to look confused. “Ma’am?”
“The way you said the ‘new’ Mrs. Abbott suggested I might be the latest in a long and esteemed line.”
He smiled slightly. “Esteemed, ma’am. Certainly.”
Bad blood existed between Logan and this man, she realized. And whatever it was, it ran deep. “Are you going to write me a ticket?”
“I’ll let you off with a warning. This time.” He leaned down so close she saw her reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. “But I suggest you get that license changed. That is, if you plan to be around awhile.”
“I do, Officer. Thank you.” If he heard the acid in her tone, he didn’t let on.
He held out her documents. She went to grab them, but he didn’t let them go. “Did he tell you about True?”
“Excuse me?”
“I bet he only told you what he wanted you to hear.”
Angry heat stung her cheeks. “If there’s nothing else, Officer—”
“Or maybe only what you wanted to hear. Him being such a catch and all.”
She caught her breath, shocked. “You’re out of line, Officer.”
“You look like her.”
“Excuse me?”
“She and I were friends. Does that surprise you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He released his grip on the documents and she snatched her hand away. “You figure it out, Mrs. Abbott. And while you’re at it, grab yourself a copy of our local paper up at Faye’s. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
Any vestige of the easygoing, Southern good ole boy was gone. He was a cop on a mission, with a gun and badge and every threat that went along with it.
But was that threat directed at her? Or Logan?
“What’s your name, Officer?”
He straightened. “I suggest you be careful, ma’am. Real careful.”
He was a bully, she decided. One of those cops who liked to push people around. Use his badge to intimidate. Make himself feel powerful.
She wasn’t about to be intimidated by this small-minded, small-town cop. The chip on his shoulder was his problem, not hers.
She leaned her head out the open window. “I asked your name, Officer.”
He stopped, looked back. “Billy Ray Williams. Chief of police.” He smiled and tipped his hat again. “Have a good day, Bailey Abbott.”