Tim O’Grady and Lauren might not be more than six or seven years older than Thatcher, but they’d thought of themselves as his substitute parents since they’d all three worked together one summer. Thatcher had been painting the county offices, working off fines. Tim was collecting ideas for his writing. Lauren was organizing her father’s office, something she’d done every summer since she was ten.
Thatcher might be four years older than he’d been that summer, but his respect for Lauren was obvious as he stood and gripped the bars. He’d grown a few inches since Lauren had been home, but he was still bone-thin. His hair was as wild as prairie grass, and he was tanned so deep his skin hadn’t lightened even if winter was settling in for a long stay.
Part of Dan hoped no one ever changed the kid. He was a blend of Tom Sawyer and Billy the Kid with a little bit of a young Abe Lincoln mixed in. He’d been born two hundred years too late to be understood and damn if the kid cared.
Thatcher smiled suddenly, that easy smile that would melt hearts someday, but Lauren didn’t smile back.
He lowered his voice. “Hell, look at me, Lauren. I’m in jail. The chances of any college taking me are not looking too good right now.” He bumped his forehead against the bars. “But double damn. I got to make it to Tech for Kristi’s sake. If I don’t get there and save her, she’ll find some brainiac like O’Grady and start hanging out with him. They’ll probably marry and have a dozen little redheaded kids with not one of them having a lick of common sense.”
Tim finally caught up with the sheriff and Lauren. “What’s wrong with red hair? And what makes you think my kids wouldn’t have common sense?”
Thatcher sighed. “You superglued your fingers together that summer I met you. You hooked your ear the last time we tried fly-fishing. You—”
“I’m not in jail,” Tim interrupted.
Lauren slapped at Thatcher’s knuckles and flashed Tim a dirty look. “Shut up, the both of you. We’ve got to get organized and get you out without some kind of record hanging over you. If we just knew who did steal the food, maybe we could clear this up.”
“I already told you I ain’t telling. Not even if you torture me.”
The sheriff leaned over Lauren’s shoulder. “Don’t give me any ideas, kid.”
Tim swore as he paced the space between the cells. “I’ve already tried getting him to talk, Sheriff. Nothing works. We always end up back at square one. The kid is tormenting me. Maybe I should file a complaint. I’ve been here all morning talking to him, and all that’s happening is my red hair is falling out.”
Thatcher reached out and almost grabbed the front of Tim’s sweatshirt. “I’m not a kid, O’Grady. Call me that one more time, and you’ll be swallowing teeth. The sheriff’s the only one who can call me that. I’m eighteen.”
“What are you going to do?” Tim shouted. “Knock me out, too, like you did Luther when he accused you of stealing? At the rate you’re going, you’ll have to do double time in prison to ever see daylight.”
Lauren shook her head. Her long, straight blond hair waving down her back reminded Dan of how Brandi Malone’s dark hair had seemed to come alive when she moved. Had it only been noon yesterday when he’d touched those dark curls and thought he’d see her by midnight? It seemed like a lifetime since he’d kissed the singer on the forehead and left the Nowhere Club.
He should have kissed her that last time on the mouth. The way his luck was running right now, Dan might never see his wild, beauty again.
Tim’s loud lecture drew the sheriff back from his thoughts. O’Grady was overreacting as usual. If he wrote as fast as he talked, he’d have a dozen books out by now.
When Lauren glanced in Dan’s direction, he winked at her, silently letting her know that the world was not as dark as she thought it might be.
She finally realized that her father, not just a sheriff, was right beside her. She leaned close to him so he’d hear her over Tim’s rant. “Okay, Pop, what do we do now?”
Tim gave up talking and listened for a change.
“I tried talking Luther out of pressing charges,” Dan began. “I had no luck. But he used to give you free ice cream even after I’d already said no. Maybe you and Tim should go out to the truck stop and give it a shot. Since the stolen goods were found in the store, that charge won’t hold, but the assault might.” Dan was too tired to think of any other option.
“But—” Lauren started to argue.
Dan pushed his only option. “Talk to him. It might not change anything, but who knows, it might help.”
“What about Thatcher?”
“I’ll be right here.” Dan glanced at the kid. “He’s not going anywhere for a while. Charley Collins has already talked to him and is out trying to get him a lawyer. The Franklin sisters called to tell me I’d better not even think of feeding him prison food. They’re bringing his meals from the bed and breakfast.”
“You have prison food?” Lauren smothered a giggle.
Dan shook his head. “That’s not the worst of it. I’ve had half a dozen blankets delivered and threats called in that I’d better not let the boy freeze in a cold cell.”
“You let people threaten you?”
“Sure. One was Miss Bees. She has to be ninety, but she considers it her civic duty to call in a threat at least once a month. Another was Vern Wagner. I don’t think he knew what he was mad about, but Miss Bees probably told him to call in. A few others just dropped off threats with the blankets.”
Lauren tilted her head, looking in the cell. “I don’t see any blankets.”
“Pearly’s examining them now for hacksaws. She learned the word contraband from a TV show last year, and now her new word keeps bouncing around in the office.” Dan realized he was starting to sound like a Saturday Night Live skit. Big cities had gangs and major crime; he had senior citizens and do-gooders. Some days it seemed to Dan he had the roughest beat.
Lauren put her hand on her father’s arm. “Maybe I should come home to help you, Pop? I did study law, even if I did chicken out on taking the bar.”
“I thought you did come home to ride shotgun,” he said with a smile. “Any chance you and Tim could take the late shift, if Thatcher is still locked up tonight? You two are as close to deputies as I’ve got right now. Fifth Weathers is down in Austin for training, so I’m shorthanded. I’ve got something I have to do tonight, and Thatcher is in no danger other than being fed to death or smothered by quilts.”
“You got a date?” she teased.
“Yeah, with a wild, hot lady.” He told the truth, knowing she wouldn’t believe him.
“Sure, Pop.” She laughed. “Any way I can help. You look tired. Go home. Go to bed.”
“My plan exactly.” In his mind, his fingers were already moving into Brandi Malone’s mass of midnight hair.
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, Lauren was curled up next to Tim in the empty cell, watching a zombie movie on his laptop.
Thatcher had borrowed her phone and moved to the far corner of his cell. She guessed he was talking to Kristi, the only girlfriend he’d ever had, but Kristi must have been carrying the conversation because Thatcher hadn’t said a word in ten minutes. He just nodded now and then, as if Kristi could see him through the phone.
“This is not what I meant when I suggested spending the night together, L,” Tim whispered as he inched his fingers under her sweater.
“Look at the bright side. We’re almost alone.” Lauren gently shoved his hand away. She gave him a look that silently whispered, not here, not now.
“Yeah,