Going Home (Nugget Romance 1) Page 7

  The disturbance on Trout Lane turned out to be the heavy bass thump, thump of about two dozen kids throwing a house party. The problem: It wasn’t their house.

  This was exactly what Rhys had feared. Now that Sierra Heights’ developers had let their security team go, the subdivision acted as an attractant to every vexation this side of the county.

  Rhys stood outside the house, and for shits and giggles shouted through a bullhorn, “Come out with your hands up.” The kids scattered like roaches, running pell-mell for their cars, or to hide in the forest.

  “Hey, where you going?” He grabbed one who looked familiar by the collar and shined his flashlight in the boy’s face. “That you, Justin?”

  “Uh-oh,” Justin muttered as he came face-to-face with the police chief. “My dad’s gonna kill me.”

  When Clay got to the police station he found Justin making himself at home, sprawled out in one of the chairs, playing on his iPhone.

  “Go wait in my truck,” he told his son. Even to his own ears he sounded like an autocratic naval flight officer. Not a dad. No wonder he couldn’t close the distance between him and his boys—especially Justin, who treated him like an interloper. Like a stranger.

  When his dad died and Clay had hung up his wings to come home to run the ranch, he had hoped to bond with his sons—to become a real family. But then Jen had died too, and the chasm between him and Justin grew even deeper.

  He watched through the window as Justin got into the passenger seat, then turned to Rhys. “I should’ve beat the crap out of him and left him in jail overnight.” It’s something Tip would’ve blustered, but instead ordered up a week’s worth of mucking horse stalls. Man, he missed his father. Tip would’ve known how to handle two preteens.

  “He was one of the few kids who wasn’t drinking,” Rhys said. “Give him credit for that.” He walked into the bathroom and dumped his coffee down the drain.

  Clay scrubbed his hand under his cowboy hat. “Thanks for bringing him in.”

  “Hey, that’s what I’m here for. To serve and protect.” Rhys grabbed the key off a hook behind the dispatcher’s desk and the two of them walked out together. “Go easy on him, Clay. He’s trying to fit in here. I know it’s not an excuse, but it wouldn’t kill you to cut him a little slack.”

  Clay stood on the sidewalk, watching Rhys drive off, then climbed into the cab of his truck. “Buckle up,” he told Justin, who was still on that damned phone. “What were you thinking breaking into that house like that?”

  Without looking up from the screen, Justin mumbled, “Kids do it all the time.”

  “Justin, put the phone away. How do you mean they do it all the time?” Clay started the engine, pulled out of the square and headed toward the ranch, managing a sideways glance at his son.

  Justin got a guilty look on his face, like he knew he’d just stepped in it.

  “Justin?”

  “It’s no big deal.” He fidgeted with one of the Velcro tabs on the sleeve of his ski jacket. “They just find homes, places where people have gone away for the weekend, or homes that are empty.”

  “To throw parties?” Clay asked, disgusted. He’d certainly pulled his fair share of shenanigans growing up in this town, but breaking into private property? Pretty audacious. And pretty damned self-entitled.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You guess? Or you know?” It was like pulling teeth with the boy.

  “I know,” Justin spat.

  Clay turned down McCreedy Road, and even though it was a mile away he could see his big farmhouse lit up as bright as Union Square. Cody must’ve turned on every lamp in the place.

  “It’s not like anyone got hurt,” Justin said so cavalierly that Clay had to clamp down on his temper. Getting liquored up before taking the wheel was a particular sore spot with him. But Justin didn’t know all the details of his mother’s death. And Clay wanted to keep it that way.

  “Not yet.” Clay tried for calm. “But all those kids drinking and driving, someone’s bound to get hurt. Or worse. Not to mention that you kids trashed that house. Who’s gonna pay for the damage?”

  “I’ve got money from working around the ranch. I’ll pay for it.”

  “You bet your ass you will.” Clay pulled into the driveway and before Justin could open the door, he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This isn’t like you, son. You’re always so responsible. What’s really going on here?”

  Clay might not be the most communicative. Hell, he’d been raised single-handedly by a cattleman and had spent much of his adult life in the cockpit of a fighter jet—not a lot of talking going on. But he and Justin would never connect if they didn’t open up.

  The kid just sneered. “You’re the one who wanted me to make friends in this hick town. So I’m making friends.”

  Yeah, great friends—burglars and vandals. But before Clay could make the point, Justin made a beeline for the house.

  A person could break his neck out here in the dark. Especially Shep on one of his sporadic midnight bathroom runs, Rhys thought as he walked from his SUV to the house, making a note to himself to install some outdoor lighting.

  When he got inside, he found Maddy curled up on the sofa, wrapped in his blanket with her nose in a book. He tilted his head sideways to read the title.

  Maddy lifted her eyes above the cover. “Everything okay?”

  He sighed and threw his keys on the mail table. “A bunch of kids broke into one of those houses in Sierra Heights and held themselves a little party.”

  “Really?” She let out a laugh. “I guess there’s not a whole lot to do in Nugget.”

  He scooted her legs over and sat next to her on the couch. “When we were kids we got our kicks shooting potatoes at mailboxes with homemade spud guns.”

  She marked her place in her book and set it aside. “The Ponderosa should host a youth bowling league. That might keep them out of trouble.”

  “Maybe.” He grinned. “But I doubt bowling can compete with sex and drinking.”

  “Probably not.” She pushed the blanket off and began gathering up her stuff.

  Man, he didn’t want her to go. She looked so good cuddled up on his couch, soft and drowsy. Pointing at her book, he said, “You’re pretty hung up on that whole Donner Party thing, aren’t you?”

  She settled back in. “It’s fascinating. Don’t you think?”

  He shrugged. “I guess it’s a big part of the history around here, but I never really gave it a lot of thought. You get in touch with Virgil?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And he was great. I’m more obsessed than ever. Not so much with the gory parts about them eating each other to stay alive. But how they persevered. They came to California to find a better life, a better home. And they wound up pushing themselves to unthinkable limits to survive. What blows me away is when they were finally rescued, they settled around here. Did you know that one of the survivors built a house right here?”

  “Nope.” Damn, she was cute.

  “Yeah. Crazy, right? I want to find it, but Virgil says the people who live in it now probably don’t even know.”

  Rhys thought she had great lips. Like that movie star’s. Pink and pouty. And her big brown eyes reminded him of that Billie Holiday song Shep used to play. “They sparkle. They bubble. They’re gonna get you in a whole lot of trouble.”

  “Do you know that after newspapers published stories of the Donner Party’s disastrous trip people stopped coming to California?” Maddy said. “It wasn’t until the gold rush, two years later, that prospectors started flocking here again.”

  “Money’ll do it every time.” Rhys couldn’t believe he was actually sitting here talking history with her. He watched Maddy unsuccessfully try to hold back a yawn and looked over at his bed. “You should’ve slept.”

  “I was afraid if your dad went out the back door I wouldn’t hear him. I dead-bolted it. Sorry. I should’ve told you.”

  “That’s okay. Now I know for next time.” Sh
e grabbed her book and readied to leave.

  “So what’s the deal with your husband?” he blurted, before she could get up and go. Smooth, Rhys, real smooth. He had no business prying into her personal life. They hardly knew each other.

  “What?” she asked with an eye roll. “You haven’t been listening through the walls again?”

  It’s not like he’d bugged the place, but it was kind of hard not to hear Maddy fight with her husband over the phone. “Enough to know that the two of you are still having problems. Why isn’t he here fixing them?”

  She turned away. “He’s in France, cutting a big hotel deal. And I told him not to come.”

  “Why?” He moved a little closer to her on the couch.

  “Because I’m leaving him. He’s in love with someone else,” she said, adding incredulously, “And with me, too. Or so he says. But you apparently already know that.”

  Rhys waited a few seconds, then very softly asked, “Is he sleeping with this other person?”

  She went stock-still and Rhys feared that this time he’d gone too far. Way too private.

  She sniffed a few times and pulled her legs up underneath her on the couch. “He was, but says he’s not anymore. Dave fell in love with Gabby before he knew me—when she was with his cousin. He married me so he wouldn’t make a play for her.”

  “Nah. He must’ve loved you.”

  “No,” she said. “Not at first.”

  “He tell you that?”

  “In so many words.” Something elusive shone in her eyes. Shame? Sadness? Whatever it was it made Rhys want to pound the crap out of her asshat husband. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. It’s so humiliating.”

  “Nothing to be humiliated about.” He took her hand.

  “He’s promised me that it’s over between them—that he wants us to work it out.”

  “You don’t want to try?” He certainly hoped not. The dude was a double douche bag.

  She pulled her hand out of his. “I don’t think he’s really over Gabby. And she’s certainly not over him. According to Dave, even before Max died she wanted to leave him for my husband.”

  “But Dave didn’t want to leave you?”

  She didn’t answer right away, staring off into the distance. “I’d just had my second miscarriage.”

  “Ah Christ, Maddy, I’m so sorry.”

  She flushed. “That was way too much information, wasn’t it?” Clumsily, she started gathering up her things, trying to avoid eye contact. “It’s late, I better get going.”

  Code for conversation over.

  “Hey,” he said, lightly pressing the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  Although he hankered to touch her more, offer a little comfort— or even a lot of comfort—it was a bad idea. She was a train wreck. And he didn’t need the drama or the distraction from his end goal—getting the hell out of Nugget. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “Rhys, I live two feet away.”

  “Humor me,” he said. “I’m the police chief.”

  He escorted her to her door. “Thanks, Maddy. You really saved my ass tonight.”

  She waved him off. “Give me a break. It was nothing.”

  “I’ll buy you breakfast,” he offered.

  “I can’t. I have a meeting at the inn.” She backed into her doorway and despite the voice in his head telling him to stand down, those big bedroom eyes of hers made him want to follow her in. “Rain check?”

  “You bet.” Before he could do something stupid, like kiss her, he walked away.

  When Rhys got to the station the next morning, a tall man with short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair stood there waiting. His Oakley sunglasses and tactical cargo pants immediately pegged him for an off-duty cop. Or a fed.

  “You the new chief?” he asked, not so discreetly taking Rhys’s measure.

  “Interim chief. Yeah, that would be me.” Rhys unlocked the door and ushered him inside. “What can I do you for?”

  The man grinned, showing a row of perfect teeth that made Rhys think of denture commercials. “Heard you might be hiring.”

  “I might be.” Rhys hung his key ring on a hook behind his desk and looked around the empty room. It could certainly use a few bodies. Even with Wyatt, Rhys handled most of the calls. He couldn’t keep up the pace and still take care of his dad.

  The man handed Rhys a manila envelope. “My résumé.”

  He plopped down in one of the office chairs Rhys had salvaged from a city hall storage closet and waited. So to appease him, Rhys pulled out the neatly typed page and scanned its contents.

  “Twenty-one years at LAPD, huh? A bit overqualified for Nugget, don’t you think?” Rhys looked at the name printed at the top of the résumé. “Hell, Jake Stryker, you’ve got more experience than I do.”

  Jake lifted his chin, clearly expecting Rhys’s reaction. “I’ve got a cabin up here that I’ve been coming to for years,” he said. “I’d like to make it full time, but I’ve got a few ex-wives I’m keeping in style and a few kids I’m putting through college. My pension from LAPD won’t be enough.”

  “There’s no way we can compete with your LA salary,” Rhys said.

  “Yeah, I figured that. But I can probably make it work.” He looked determined.

  Rhys got up from his chair and sat on the corner of Connie’s desk. “Looking to draw a second pension, huh?” Back in Houston he knew plenty of cops taking early retirements after maxing out on their pensions, then accepting kickback jobs to collect a second one. Wasn’t anything wrong with it, but in a small department like this, he didn’t want any deadweight.

  “Besides me, one officer and a dispatcher, you’d make four until I can find a few more to hire,” Rhys said. “That means plenty of nights, weekends, and holidays. Not a whole lot of time for fishing and hunting. You still interested?”

  Jake sat up and leaned forward. “Where you from, Chief? I detect a trace of a drawl.”

  “I’m from here,” Rhys said emphatically, and then wondered why he’d been so insistent. For years he’d tried to burn the memory of this place out of his head.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Jake said, meeting Rhys’s eyes. “I’d like a second pension. But I have every intention of earning it. I know you see me as an older guy—probably think I’m a burnout. But I love my job and I’m good at it. I’d just like to do it here, in God’s country. But if you have doubts about me, call anyone at LAPD. They’ll tell you I’m good people.”

  Rhys perused Jake’s résumé again. “We don’t get many homicides in Nugget.”

  “I worked patrol a lot of years,” Jake said. “Dealt with drunks, domestic violence, break-ins—probably much of the stuff you get here.”

  There was no question that Jake’s experience would be an advantage, but Rhys wasn’t entirely convinced that the senior cop wouldn’t look to skate. He rubbed his chin.

  “How do you feel about getting back into a uniform?”

  Jake took in Rhys’s jeans, long-sleeve shirt, cowboy boots, and grinned, shaking his head. “I can do that.”

  Rhys sat there for a while just looking at him. “Okay.”

  “Okay, I’m hired?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Rhys pulled up straighter. “Let me make a few calls. This number good?” Rhys held up the résumé.

  “Yep.”

  When Jake left, Rhys pulled his department budget out of his desk drawer and went through it line by line. Even if he set Wyatt up with a mentor and got him up to speed, six officers weren’t enough for a town of nearly six thousand residents. They’d have to continue to rely on the sheriff’s department for backup.

  Maybe in a few months Rhys could persuade the mayor to drop the city’s contract with the county sheriff and beef up Nugget PD. The town deserved its own force. When cops lived in the place where they worked, they tended to care more. It also made residents feel secure.

  He could make this happen. And before leaving, he’d
help pick his successor—someone with Stryker’s experience who could keep the department going.

  Rhys kicked his feet up on the desk and smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  But by the time he got home everything went to shit.

  Chapter 6

  Two dark-haired urchins sat in Rhys’s kitchen, ratty backpacks at their feet, eating grilled cheese sandwiches. A waifish woman in a drab business suit leaned against the counter.

  The children—the girl might have been in her mid-teens—stared at him with more interest than he got from the police groupies at the bar across the street from the Houston police station.

  Betty, his dad’s caretaker, rushed to him and reached up to pat his back consolingly. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, hon.” She sprinted out the door so fast Rhys didn’t bother to stop her.

  “Pop?”

  “Where have you been, boy?” Shep was unusually agitated.

  Rhys gave the kids a strained smile, trying to seem friendly and not too self-conscious. But there was something about them that made him uneasy. The woman tried to fade into the background as if she wanted to give them a chance to greet each other without intruding. But he didn’t know these children.

  “Uh, Pop, can we talk in the other room?”

  Shep made no move to leave the kitchen. “Make ’em something to eat, wouldya.”

  The girl looked at the boy, the woman looked at Rhys, and Rhys looked at the food on the kids’ plates.

  “Who are they?” Rhys asked, lowering himself into one of the chairs. He regarded the girl, then the boy, and back to the girl again, trying to get a fix on them. All the while he could feel acid backing up in his throat.