them their rights and take them to the jail!” Wyatt shouted to Stuart.
“It was all my idea,” Chase said. “Don’t punish them. It’s all on me.”
Wyatt placed his hands on his hips. “A few minutes ago you were willing to run away, leaving your friends holding the bag. Now you’re trying to protect them?”
The kid glanced at Elias again and replied, “Yes...sir.”
“Okay, we’re going to the jail and we’ll discuss this with your parents.”
The boys had nothing to say.
“Call Bubba to tow this car,” Wyatt called after Stuart.
“I’m on it.”
Wyatt pulled off his hat and scratched his head, staring at Elias. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re doing here, but then I know you and sometimes I wonder if you’re ever going to grow up. I don’t manhandle kids, Elias, and that was totally out of line.”
The ruts on Wyatt’s forehead were deep enough to hold molasses. But Wyatt’s ire didn’t faze Elias. He leaned against the patrol car. “Well, my daddy always taught me when you start a job, you finish it. And if I hadn’t been here, that kid would be halfway to Temple by now.”
“I would have caught him, Elias.”
“Yeah, right.”
Wyatt opened the back of the SUV. “Help me put this beer in the back of my car. Their parents will want to see the evidence.”
“You’re good at giving orders.”
“Comes with the job.”
“Uh-huh.”
They stored the beer in Wyatt’s back seat. “Do you know Maribel McCray?”
“Yeah. I went to high school with her. She was always snotty when I tried to talk to her.”
Wyatt closed the back of the SUV. “How did you expect her to be? The Rebel/McCray feud was strong back then.”
“True. She left town without even graduating. I guess she’s finally come home.”
“Do you know where she’s living?”
“Now, Wyatt, the less I know about the McCrays, the better off I am.”
Wyatt opened the driver’s door of his car. “It’s been peaceful lately with the McCrays marrying into the Rebel family. But I have a feeling this kid is going to stir it all up again.”
Elias tapped Wyatt’s badge with his finger. “You’re the sheriff. You can handle it.” With a smile, Elias walked through the woods to Rowdy’s. He went inside and locked the back door. Bob came charging in, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Did Wyatt catch ’em?”
“Yes, he did. They’re on their way to jail.”
“Is it anybody I know?”
Elias told him about the boys.
Bob shook his hand. “What were they thinking?”
“The new kid in town is a bad influence.”
“Maribel’s boy?”
“Yeah. Do you still have her phone number?”
Bob hurried into the bar area and came back with the napkin. Elias slipped it into his pocket, and headed for the jail.
This time Maribel wasn’t going to ignore him.
Maribel rushed through the sheriff’s door, a total wreck. She hadn’t even bothered to comb her hair, which in hindsight she should have. It had a natural curl and seemed to be everywhere. Taking a deep breath, she tucked it behind her ears.
She’d been looking for Chase all night and had been unable to find him. She’d let him take her car and he’d promised to be home by ten o’clock. When he wasn’t, Phoenix had let her borrow Rosie’s truck. She’d searched all over town to no avail, and then the sheriff had called.
This was so unlike her son. He was a good kid, but she knew he was still angry about the move from Dallas. At seventeen, he thought the world revolved around him. That was her fault. She’d spoiled him. Her world was crumbling around her and she wasn’t sure what to do next. First thing, she had to find a job because they couldn’t continue to live with Rosie and Phoenix. Chase’s disruptive behavior was causing problems and Maribel didn’t want the stress to affect her sister, so she had to find a place for her and Chase. But she had bigger problems now.
She stepped into a small reception area that had a desk and filing cabinets, but no one was there. The hall opened into a big room. Two desks were empty and a deputy sat at another, writing in a folder. To the left, in a separate room, was the sheriff’s office. The nameplate on the open door said Wyatt Carson—Sheriff. He was a nice-looking man, probably in his early forties. She didn’t remember him, but she remembered the Carson family.
With every ounce of courage she had left in her, she walked up to his desk, ignoring Elias, who was sitting in a chair. What was he doing here?
“Where’s my son?” she blurted out.
The sheriff got to his feet and nodded toward a hall and she could see the bars of a jail cell. “He’s in there.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but she quickly straightened her back to regain her composure. Doing so, she realized she hadn’t introduced herself. She held out her hand. “I’m Maribel McCray.”
He shook her hand. “Wyatt Carson.”
“What has he done?” She decided to go with patience and politeness instead of anger.
“He was arrested with two other boys for stealing beer from Rowdy’s and two other places.”
She shook her head. “No, you must have the wrong boy. My kid is—”
“—a good kid,” he finished for her. “I’ve had two other parents tell me the same thing tonight, but I assure you, your son was involved. Actually, he confessed to being the ringleader.”
Her stomach tied into a knot so tight she had trouble speaking. Chase was never in trouble. She licked her dry lips. “May I see him?”
The sheriff picked up a set of keys from his desk. “Sure, but leave your purse here.”
She placed her purse on the desk, fully aware that Elias was watching her every move. It surprised her that he wasn’t saying anything. Elias always had an opinion. She followed the sheriff, continuing to ignore Elias, which was her normal reaction when she saw him. Her shoulders burned from his sharp gaze.
The sheriff unlocked the steel doors and they banged with a chilling sound. Goose bumps popped up on her arms. There were two cots in the room and that was it. Chase lay on one of them. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet, his eyes bracketed with fear. Her heart squeezed at the sight. Where had she gone wrong?
When the sheriff walked away, she sat on the bunk and Chase sat beside her. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Words rolled around in her head like loose marbles and she couldn’t pull them together to complete a sentence. She’d never been this scared in her whole life, not even when she’d been seventeen and pregnant. An angel had been watching over her and had delivered her into the hands of Mrs. Lavinia Wainwright, otherwise known as Miss Vennie—but she was Nana to her and Chase.
When her dad had discovered she was pregnant, he’d kicked her out of the house. Her mother had wrung her hands and cried, but never lifted a finger to help her. Instead, she’d shoved money into her hand and had told her to go to Mrs. Peabody’s, an elderly lady in town who