In Care of Sam Beaudry

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Maybe he was watching some kind of reflection of the clock that was affixed to the wall behind him.

Okay, so she cared. She was a nurse, for heaven’s sake.

“I think she’s holding her own, Sam.”

He glanced up. “Will they transfer her to Billings?”

“If there’s something that can be done for her there that can’t be done here, they’ll consider moving her. But in her condition, it’s a risky trip.”

“Why?”

“As I said, she’s holding her own. But she’s frankly pretty frail. Most of her major organs are at risk of failing.”

“Is it all from drugs?” he asked, and she glanced away. “What, you can’t give out that kind of information?”

She offered an awkward smile. “I’m supposed to ask if you’re a family member, and then I’m supposed to refer you to the doctor.”

“What do you consider a family member?” He cast a searching glance at the ceiling before drilling her with a dark-eyed stare. “How about the son of the woman she says is her daughter’s grandmother?”

“I…guess that works.” Montana was different from Connecticut. Fewer people with more space between them added up to more slack. Indian country was definitely different, especially when it came to defining a family member, and most especially when children were involved. “We don’t have all the test results. She has pneumonia. Probably hepatitis. She’s on medication for diabetes. That’s just for starters.”

“Damn.” He stared into his coffee for a moment. Then he drilled her again with those dark, straight-shooter eyes. “You think her daughter looks like me?”

Who but a man would ask such a self-centered question?

Who but a man would have to?

“She’s a beautiful child.”

“Yeah, I don’t see it, either.” He glanced away. “What did my mother tell you?”

“That she’s never heard of Merilee Brown. That you used to tell her everything, but now you don’t.”

“I’d tell her if I had a kid.” He bobbed a shoulder. “That I knew about.”

“These things happen?”

“Not to me.” He toyed with his spoon on the table. “We lived together for a while. I was crazy about her. I don’t remember why.”

“When you’re crazy, nobody expects you to know why.”

“Good point.” Which he chalked up on an air board with the spoon. “I remember why I left.”

“Being crazy wasn’t working for you?”

He rewarded her cleverness with half a smile. “I would’ve danced to whatever tune she called, but I didn’t have it in me. Couldn’t learn the steps.”

“Daddy don’t rock ‘n’ roll?”

“I never took you for a smart-ass, Maggie.” But he gave her the other half of the smile. “I could do that number. And I would.”

She pressed her lips together, holding back on any remarks about Mama not dancing with him—maybe not even breathing much longer.

“Go ahead, say it.”

She feigned innocence. “What?”

“Something like, ‘Easy for you to say that now, Jack. How many years after you hit the road?’”

She laughed, less for the humor than for the surprise of it, coming from Sam. And the accuracy. “I won’t tell you what I was thinking. Your guess is so much better.” But close.

“I’m not much of a dancer, but I do a little mind reading sometimes.”

“I see that.” She sipped her coffee. “What’s your next move?”

“I’m workin’ on fortune-telling.”

“I mean, being the law in these parts, what do you do now? You’ve got a comatose mother and a child who’s—”

“Staying with her grandmother.”

“We have a social worker.”

“I know the drill, Maggie. I guarantee you I’m the only one in Bear Root, probably the only one in the whole state of Montana with any connection to Merilee Brown.”

“Star’s staying with her grandmother,” Maggie echoed. Which means…

“While I sharpen up my detective skills. They haven’t gotten much use lately.”

“If I can help…” If she had a mirror in her purse, she could show him a clue. Maybe that was what he was searching his pockets for.

“We could be in serious trouble,” he muttered as he gave up on his pants in favor of his shirt.

“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“No, I appreciate the offer.” He smiled as he unbut-toned the flap on his left pocket—the one without the badge. “I thought I’d lost my billfold. They could’ve had the sheriff washing dishes here.” He wagged a slim leather wallet. “Talk about crazy, huh?”

“Not me. Far be it for a smart-ass to talk about crazy.”

“If I ask for help, it’s the smart part I’ll be lookin’ for.” He winked at her, a surprise that gave her butterflies. “I knew exactly what you were thinking.”

Sam’s apartment on the second floor of the old county building was hot, and not in a good way. There was no controlling the heat, no matter what the season.

He was never far away from his job, but he didn’t mind. It was the way he’d lived most of his life. He’d grown up on the second floor of Allgood’s Emporium. He’d billeted in camps, bunked in barracks, surfed a few couches, and he had to admit the sheriff’s apartment wasn’t half-bad as cramped, hot, on-site quarters went. He could always find some work to do when he couldn’t sleep. He liked to keep close watch on any guests he was keeping in the four-cell county jail, which was right next door in the new courthouse building.

Some nights he’d drive around looking for trouble. Other times he’d dive into the never-ending stream of paperwork. On this night he went to the property cabinet and removed the Merilee Brown box.

He’d never known her to have much, but for a woman with a child, she had next to nothing. The personal possessions he’d removed from the motel room were remarkably scant. He had to believe she’d left home in a hurry, and he needed to find out why. An uncashed paycheck was his first clue. It was made out to Merilee with an unsigned endorsement to the order of Vic Randone. The check proved that Merilee was employed by the Gourmet Breakfast House in Long Beach until at least four weeks ago and that Randone was still taking money from her.

What the hell did she see in him?

Damn. Sam hadn’t asked himself that question in a long time, and he wasn’t going to let himself start in again. Back to the job at hand, he found a book about fairy-tale princesses and one about horses, a scrapbook full of baby pictures and growing girl pictures, drawings made with crayons, numbers and letters made by small hands and milestones described in a flowing hand. Sam knew Merilee’s writing. It reminded him of the rise and fall of the ocean on a calm day at the beach.

Their early days—the three of them together—had been like that. Calm and sunny. They’d all found jobs—Merilee waiting tables, Vic and Sam driving trucks—and they’d made plans. Merilee would start out modeling—she had some experience—which would lead to commercials, which would lead to bigger things. Vic would manage her—he had no experience—and Sam would keep the rent paid and the cupboards from going bare. Sam had done his part. His was the easy part, according to his roommates.