High Country Cop

“That’s her,” Carter said in a hoarse whisper. “That’s Miranda and her kid.”

“She has a kid?” Sam looked genuinely disappointed. “Is she married?”

“Didn’t Betsy tell you that, as well? She was married, but she’s divorced now.”

“Oh, that’s cool, then. You want them to join us?” Sam started to raise his hand.

“No. That’s the last thing I want. I’m already wishing I was at any other restaurant in town but this one.”

A restaurant employee led Miranda and Emily to a table in the bar. They were almost seated when Emily noticed Carter. “What did I tell you, Mom? There’s the policeman, so we did see someone we know.” She scurried over to Carter’s table. “Hello, what’s your name again?”

Carter told her.

“Hi, Mr. Cahill. Mom told me to call you by your last name. She said it’s respectful.”

“Hello.” Carter fumbled for words. He didn’t know how to talk to little girls, especially Donny Larson’s kid. “Your name’s Emily, right?” Of course he knew, but asking filled in a short block of time.

“Emily Larson,” she said.

Carter introduced her to Sam, who complimented her Minions T-shirt. There was no female too young for Sam to charm.

Carter thought she’d go back to her table, but she stood there with her little hands gripping the side of his table. For a moment, Carter had a flashback of other small hands that might have reached out for him if Fate had dealt him a better future. “Is there something else you wanted, Emily?”

She hunched one shoulder. “No.”

Miranda ambled over to the table. “Come on, Em. We have our own table and you’re bothering Officer Cahill and his friend.”

True enough. Carter was bothered plenty by this whole situation, not the least of which was trying to make conversation with this miniature mirror image of Donny Larson. It didn’t help that seeing Miranda with her child only brought back memories of his own losses.

And then there was the way Miranda looked. A bit tired perhaps, but that didn’t detract from her put-together style. She’d changed from her business attire when they’d met at the Jefferson cabin. Her hair was casual, pulled back in a short ponytail reminding him of...well, reminding him of lots of things. She had on a pair of jeans that fit just right and a pink blouse tucked in to flatter her figure. Her thick bangs fell just short of her eyes, drawing attention to their unforgettable blue color.

“Imagine this,” Miranda said. “Running into you twice in one day, and me only arriving in town this morning.” Her voice quavered slightly as if the coincidence was not one she relished.

Carter introduced her to Sam, who thankfully kept his limited knowledge of their past to himself. “How did things go after I left Liggett Mountain?” Carter asked.

“Okay, I guess,” she said. “Lawton needs so much help. Because of your profession, you probably know that a lot of men released from prison are incarcerated again within three years.”

Sure he knew that. It was his business to know.

“Readjusting to life is difficult for many of the released,” she added.

Yeah, and Lawton would no doubt experience the most trouble with trying to settle back into the town he’d violated so badly. “You’ll have to excuse me for saying this,” Carter said. “But maybe Lawton would have been better off to move to another location instead of back in with his brother. That combination spelled trouble before, and it could again.”

Miranda started to respond, but Sam cut in. “I thought you said Lawton before. You’re talking about Lawton Jefferson?”

Miranda stood a little straighter, as if she was used to hearing negative reactions to the mention of her cousin’s name. “He’s my cousin,” she said. “I’ve come to town to help him get settled.”

Sam looked at Carter. “Lawton’s not in trouble already, is he?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Then why did you go visit the Jefferson boys today?”

“You know why.” Carter was becoming irritated and aware that anything he said might set Miranda off again. “Dale’s vehicle was seen in the alley behind the hardware store. I went up to Liggett to get some answers from him. My visit had nothing to do with Lawton.”

“Lawton didn’t do anything wrong,” Emily said in defense of her cousin.

Miranda put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Carter knows that, honey.” Addressing Sam, she said, “It’s my opinion that Lawton’s biggest obstacle to finding success after release might be the way the people in this town have selective memories. They remember why Lawton was arrested, but conveniently forget that he served his time.”

Sam gave Carter a look that said he was aware that this was a prickly situation.

Feeling the need to smooth things over, Carter said, “If there’s anything my guys or I can do to help...”

Miranda’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Carter. I know we got off on the wrong foot this morning, but I truly believe you mean that.”

Did he? Was he willing to help Lawton adapt to life in Holly River? Not really. He’d more likely help him move to the next town over in the county.

Allie delivered two chicken dinners to the table, and Miranda started to lead Emily away.

“Nice meeting you,” Sam called. When they were out of hearing range, he said, “She might have a hard time convincing folks in this town that Lawton is completely rehabilitated. I’ve only been here a couple of years, and even I know that Dale Jefferson’s name comes up every time we have a crime. And it’s common knowledge that Lawton was his sidekick for a number of years.”

Carter nodded. “I know, but the Miranda I remember is a determined female, so unless she’s changed, she’ll do everything she can to make Lawton’s transition an easy one.”

Sam had already dug into his chicken dinner. Watching Miranda across the room, Carter didn’t know how the greasy Southern meal would settle in his knotted stomach.

* * *

CARTER TOOK TWO days off every week, Wednesday and Sunday, a luxury not afforded to many small-town police chiefs. He took Sunday because things were usually quiet in town with tourists leaving the High Country mountains at the end of their weekends. He took Wednesday because the tourists hadn’t yet started to invade the mountains for cooling weekend trips. Normally Carter went out to Snowy Mountain Farm on Wednesdays to see if he could help out.

Carter’s maternal grandfather had started Snowy Mountain five decades earlier, and it was still a small but thriving business. The Cahill family grew five thousand Fraser fir trees every year, selling most of the crop to North Carolina residents who came back year after year to pick out their holiday trees. Christmas-tree choosing and cutting had become longtime traditions to the folks who kept coming back, and Carter’s mother, Cora, who’d inherited the farm from her father, always welcomed families with hot cocoa, a visit with Santa himself and a full gift shop of ornaments and trinkets.

In truth, it took a lot of work and effort to have five thousand trees ready every November. Trees had to be shaped and sheared several times during the year, and a new crop had to be planted from seeds, fertilized and watched over until the trees were full grown in seven years’ time. When a family picked out a tree, few realized that the Cahill family had been nurturing the heavenly scented beauty for almost a decade.

Holding the gasoline-powered shears, Carter turned to his brother, Jace, who had shown up today to help. Carter took sound-deafening headphones from over his ears. “How many part-time guys do we have working today, Jace?” Carter asked.

“Five. I could use a couple more hands, but if we keep on schedule, we should have a hundred trees pruned by the end of the day.”

“That will be a good start to the summer cuts.” He turned his attention to a lone figure winding her way up the hillside between stands of trees. “Here comes Mama. Hope she’s got coffee in that thermos.”

“Me, too,” Jace said.

When Cora Cahill reached her boys, she sat on a block of wood the men used to trim the highest tree levels and took a deep breath. “That climb up the hill gets harder every time.” Smiling, she added, “But I’ve brought coffee, so I’m sure you boys will think that my nearly killing myself was worth it.”

“Why don’t you use the golf cart?” Carter asked, taking the cup she offered.

“And admit I can’t make it up here?” Cora said. “Never. Put down the shears for a minute, fellas, so I can catch up with you.”

“We’re coming to dinner tonight, Mama. You can catch up then.”