“It won’t ever come to that, will it?”
“It will if I can get Taffeta’s conviction overturned. That opens the door for me to file charges against Phillip for perjury.”
Barney heard what sounded like water running at Bryan’s end.
“That kid is in a bad situation. Getting a hearing set up in appellate court will take time. If there’s any way that Taffeta can get the little girl back before this goes into the appeal stage, she should go for it. Trust me, Phillip Gentry is not the fatherly type. I wouldn’t put it past him to dump the child on any woman who’ll watch her, and with drugs involved, his taste in females has deteriorated. The gals he hangs out with now are screwed up. They shouldn’t be in the same room with the child, let alone be watching her. It’s a sad mess.”
Barney felt a bitch of a headache taking up residence behind his eyes. “How can Taffeta possibly get her daughter back with a conviction of child abuse still hanging over her head?”
“Here’s my thought,” Bryan answered. “According to the scuttle, both of Phillip’s parents once thought highly of Taffeta. They changed their minds about her when they thought she’d beaten their grandchild. But at this point, with their son being such a loser and humiliating them in public at every turn, isn’t it possible that they’re wondering now if Taffeta was actually innocent?”
“It’s possible,” Barney conceded. “Parents can only lie to themselves about their offspring for so long.”
“Exactly, and now he’s dragging their granddaughter from one pesthole to the next to avoid having to take care of her. If Cameron Gentry would support Taffeta’s petition for a reversal of the custody ruling, she might have a shot, especially if it’s already on record that she has filed for an appeal. Any judge in Ash County has to know by now that Phillip is a scumbag. His testimony against Taffeta should definitely be in question, and if Phillip’s own parents turn against him—well, you get the picture. A judge will hopefully at least give Taffeta an audience and keep an open mind.”
Barney rubbed his temple. He reluctantly asked, “If Taffeta were married to a sheriff’s deputy with a flawless reputation, would that increase her chances of getting the child back?”
Another long silence followed. “Are you shittin’ me, Barney? You’re thinking about marrying her to help her get the kid back?”
Barney felt as if an ice pick stabbed into both his pupils. He fumbled to open the console compartment of his pickup, where he kept a bottle of ibuprofen. Tucking the cell phone under his chin, he shook out four coated tablets, tossed them into his mouth, and swallowed them without water. “I’m just asking, Bryan. Would it look better for her if she were married to me?”
Bryan guffawed. “Dude, that’s like asking me, ‘Do bears shit in the woods?’ Of course it would look better for her. I mean, I can’t say it’d be a guarantee she’d get custody, but being married to someone like you certainly couldn’t hurt. I, um—well, I didn’t realize last night when you contacted me that you were hung up on this gal. I thought it was a professional inquiry, a lawman doing some digging to help out a friend.”
“I’m not hung up on her, and I can’t believe you still say ‘dude.’ You’re dating yourself, bro. Move into the twenty-first century.”
Bryan guffawed. “Some things never change. When you get irked, you still bare your teeth.”
Ignoring that analysis, Barney asked, “Are you serious about giving Taffeta a discount if you take her case?”
“Hell, I’d be tempted to do it pro bono. It’d be a public service to put Phillip Gentry behind bars for a while.”
“I’ll tell her about your offer,” Barney said. “She runs a little health store, and I doubt she’s rolling in dough.”
He could almost hear Bryan smiling. “All the more reason for me to help her out.”
Chapter Six
When Barney got off work at six, he headed straight for his parents’ house. As a formality he rapped on the door of their ranch-style home even as he stepped into the entryway. His mother, who still didn’t look a day over fifty with her mane of dark hair and beautiful brown eyes, appeared in the family room and smiled when she saw him.
“Ah. My baby finally shows up to visit me.”
Barney gathered her in his arms for a hug. A fabulous smell wafted on the air. “You’ve been baking horse cookies.”
“Yes,” she confessed. “And you stay out of them.”
He laughed. As a kid, he’d loved stealing a few of the horse treats while they were still warm from the oven. Now, even though they contained only human-grade ingredients, he steered clear of them. He’d learned the hard way that they were hard enough to break his teeth.
“Jeremiah!” Kate called. “Look who’s here!”
Barney followed her into the kitchen. His father sat at the table where Barney had once wolfed down breakfast every morning with his siblings. Fond memories spiraled through his mind.
“Mind your manners and take off your hat,” Kate instructed as Barney walked toward his dad. “People will think you were raised in a barn.”
Barney laughed and laid his Stetson on the island bar. Soft stereo music played somewhere in the house, making Barney appreciate his dad’s reluctance to become a couch potato who sat glued to the television all evening. Jeremiah held up his mug. “We’ve got a pot of decaf on. You want a cup?”
“I’d love one.” Barney grinned at his dad. There had always been a deep and quiet affection between them. In coloring and build, Barney and his brothers had taken after Jeremiah. Barney could only hope he aged as well as his dad. Jeremiah had been a farmer all his life, and the hard work had kept him fit. Now that he was older, he’d slacked off a little, but not much. “Don’t get up,” Barney said. “I’ll serve myself.”
Kate resumed her seat beside her husband. Armed with a cup of hot coffee, Barney sat across from them. They studied him with expectant expressions. He decided that he needed to visit more often because they clearly didn’t think this was only a social call.
Barney wasn’t sure where to start this conversation. He only knew that the outcome would determine whether or not he helped Taffeta Brown.
His mother gave him a lead-in. She could read him like a book. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“What I’m about to tell you must never be shared with anyone,” he warned them. “A very nice woman’s future in Mystic Creek depends upon absolute discretion.”
Kate reached over to pat Barney’s hand. “You know you can trust both of us, darling. What’s troubling you?”
“I’ve got a dilemma,” he said, and the rest of the story spilled from his mouth like water from a spout.
Kate’s eyes had gone dark with sadness by the time he finished. “You say the little girl’s name is Sarah?”
Barney gave his mom a sharp look. Surely she wasn’t tapping into this merely because Taffeta’s child bore Barney’s sister’s name. Jeremiah’s jaw muscle started a tic.
Barney didn’t hold much hope that his parents would approve of the short-term marriage idea. They were both romantics at heart, and the muscle that bunched rhythmically in his dad’s cheek didn’t bode well.
“What do you think you should do, son?” Jeremiah asked.
Barney had been mentally circling that question ever since he talked with Bryan, but he was still taken off guard by his father saying it aloud. He had expected Jeremiah to protest that this was the craziest idea he’d ever heard. “Well, I’d like to help the lady if I can.”
“So why are you here, talking with us?” Jeremiah demanded.
Barney replied, “Because you and Mom are old-fashioned and don’t approve of divorce unless there’s no way around it. If I help Taffeta Brown, our marriage won’t be a forever kind of deal. Once she gets custody—if she gets custody—we’ll dissolve the marital union.”
“And you’re worried that we
’ll be disappointed in you,” Kate inserted.
Jeremiah glanced at Kate. Then he met Barney’s gaze. “You know how much your mother and I love children. If what you’ve said is true, that little girl is in a really nasty situation. Did I raise you to be a man who can turn his back on a child in jeopardy?”
Barney couldn’t quite believe his ears. His mother’s old teapot clock ticked loudly on the kitchen wall. The sound, something he normally barely noticed, seemed suddenly deafening even with music in the background. “Mom?” he said. “Are you with Dad on this?”
Kate’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I’m behind you, Barney. Marriage is a big decision, and I certainly won’t blame you if you choose not to do it. But if you do, I’ll feel nothing but proud.”
“It’s a long shot that her being married to me will help,” Barney warned.
Jeremiah piped in. “The hell it won’t. You were a state patrolman, and now you’re a deputy here. There isn’t a single black mark on your record. No judge in his or her right mind would think for an instant that a child might be abused under your watch. I agree with your mother. I won’t blame you if you don’t do it, but if you do, we’ll both be prouder than punch.”
Kate sighed. “It’s not healthy for a child to be left with one stranger after another, especially when drugs may be involved. The girl might even be physically harmed. And I think Bryan Vorch nailed it on the head. Grace and Cameron Gentry must realize that their son is heading down a slippery slope. If they once liked and admired Taffeta, it’s entirely possible that they now regret supporting Phillip and turning against their daughter-in-law.”
• • •
As Barney walked back out to his truck a few minutes later, he felt a bit dazed. He’d come here thinking that he knew both his parents, inside and out, and could predict how they might react in any given situation. He’d expected—well, he didn’t really know what he’d expected. Doubts, at the very least. But instead they had surprised the heck out of him. They not only seemed ready and willing to temporarily welcome Taffeta Brown into their family, but also gave him the impression that they might be disappointed in him if he didn’t help her. That was—well, mind-boggling.
He swung by his place to feed and water his critters. Then, without bothering to change out of his uniform, he hopped back in his Dodge and drove into town. There was a pretty brunette on East Main to whom he owed an apology.
• • •
Taffeta had just cleaned up her dinner mess in the tiny kitchen and settled on her sofa to watch some television for an hour, hoping it would take her mind off Sarah and stop her from thinking about her meeting with Barney last night. She hadn’t thought about much else for the past twenty-four hours, and her mind felt as if it had been caught in an out-of-control eggbeater.
She nearly parted company with the couch cushion when someone rapped on her apartment door. She could tell by the emphatic thumps that it was a man’s knuckles connecting with the wood. Since her shop was closed for the evening, she suspected that her caller was a certain deputy with a master key to the downstairs door. If so, he was the last person in town whom she wanted to see.
She sprang to her feet. “Who is it?”
“It’s Barney Sterling,” he replied, his deep voice as clear to her ears as if no door separated them. “Can you let me in, Taffeta? I need to talk with you.”
Taffeta’s cheeks burned as she disengaged the door chain and dead bolt. Barney stood with a shoulder against the doorframe, and for an instant, his chest seemed at least a yard wide. She forced herself to meet his gaze. His hazel eyes and firm mouth glimmered in the light coming from her living room. His burnished face, partially cast in darkness by his hat, looked tense.
“I know you’re probably pissed at me,” he said. “And for the record, I don’t blame you. But I hope you’ll hear me out.”
Taffeta stepped back to let him in. He dwarfed the tiny living area. The enticing scent of his cologne teased her nostrils. To her surprise, he immediately removed his hat.
With a sheepish grin, he said, “I just left my parents’ house, and my mom climbed all over me about minding my manners.”
Taffeta wanted to smile back at him, but her face felt as if it were covered in a dried face mask. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured at the living room. “Pardon the shabby chic. When I moved here, I spent most of my money on opening the store. Furnishings for the apartment took a backseat.”
He moved his gaze slowly over the room. “It doesn’t look shabby to me. It’s cute and cozy.”
He bent his long legs to sit on the sofa, rested his Stetson on the cushion beside him, and shed his jacket. She lowered herself onto the old easy chair across from him.
“The Stetson is part of my uniform,” he explained. “I rarely remove it while I’m working, except for inside the patrol truck because I’m too tall, and I crush the crown. Otherwise it stays glued to my head, and then I forget to take it off when I should.”
His lengthy explanation about the hat told her that he was tense and uncertain about what he wanted to say next. “It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t care if you don’t take off your hat.”
He puffed air into his cheeks and rubbed his palms together, another indication that he was nervous. That made two of them.
“About last night,” they both said at once. Taffeta gestured at him. “You can go first. I’m in no hurry.”
“I owe you an apology for the way I acted at the restaurant,” he said.
Taffeta held up a hand. “I blindsided you with a crazy story and an even crazier request. I should never have put you on the spot that way.” She shrugged and sighed. “I’ve wished all day that I’d never called you. I don’t know what on earth I was thinking.”
He studied her, his gaze so intent on her face that her skin burned. “You were thinking about your daughter, Taffeta. And you took a huge risk by telling me everything that you did. I realize that now, but last night—well, I’ve been in law enforcement too long, I guess. You learn after a while that practically all criminals say that they’re innocent. Most of them have sob stories, but at least they’re believable. Your story sounded like—well, a not very convincing tale.”
Taffeta stiffened. “What are you doing here, then?”
“I deserve that,” he said. “In fact, I’m probably lucky you even let me in the door.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I had a chance to think about it. You could have made the story easier for me to swallow with a few lies tossed in, but you didn’t do that. Sometimes, Taffeta, the truth sounds more incredible than a whopper.”
“Are you saying you believe me now?”
He nodded. “I’d like to say that I just took it on faith, but the truth is, I did some investigating and called an old friend who’s now a lawyer to help me get my hands on the trial records. So yes, I believe you now, not because I’m a good guy with a kind streak, but because the files back up your story. I saw not a lick of solid evidence against you. The prosecutor’s whole case rested on Phillip’s testimony. The cops didn’t even go to the condo to examine the crime scene—or should I say accident scene? To be sure I wasn’t missing something, I asked my lawyer friend, Bryan Vorch, to review the case.
“He completely agrees with me, and to say that he has a low opinion of Phillip Gentry would be an understatement. He backed up everything you told me about your ex-husband, he doesn’t believe you’re guilty, and he has offered to file an appeal for you at a discounted rate.”
He lifted his hat and ran the brim through his hands. “I’m very sorry that I so quickly discounted everything you told me, Taffeta. And I’m sorry I refused to help you without at least giving it some thought. My parents raised me to believe in the sanctity of marriage. They’re wonderful people, but they’re old-fashioned and frown upon divorce unless there’s no way to avoid it. I couldn’t enter into a short-term marriage and
then blindside them with a dissolution.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself, Barney. I should never have asked that of you. After I heard from my investigator about Sarah’s plight, I went into desperate mode. I’m glad you believe me now, though.”
“What you shifted into was protective mode. Your little girl is in a precarious situation, and her father is an irresponsible jerk. Bryan Vorch says Phillip is keeping company with women who are meth heads, and he’s leaving Sarah with them so he can party. If there’s any way possible for you to get your daughter away from him, you need to do it.”
Taffeta’s heart twisted. Barney had said nothing that she hadn’t thought herself. “The deck is stacked against me.”
“Bryan feels that you’ll possibly have a better shot if you’re married . . . to me.”
Taffeta stared at him, uncertain what to say. That had been her idea, but he hadn’t reacted favorably last night when she broached the subject.
“I talked with my folks,” he went on. “They’re both very concerned about Sarah. They adore kids. When I told them your story, they both gave me their blessing to marry you. They understand it will be temporary, but in this case, they’re okay with that.”
Taffeta blinked. “What are you saying, Barney?”
“That I’ll help you,” he replied. “But it won’t be a marriage with benefits, with you giving me sex in exchange for my support. That isn’t how I operate.”
Her heart started to pound. “But what will be in it for you, then?”
He tossed his hat back onto the cushion. “Knowing that I’ve done my damnedest to help a little girl will be a nice perk, and that’s nothing to sneeze at.”
Taffeta placed a hand over her heart. It felt as if it might pound through her rib cage. “Last night when I suggested marriage, it sounded like a good idea to me, but now—well, it just sounds nuts.”
A twinkle started to dance in his eyes.
“We barely know each other,” she added. “We’ve talked over coffee a few mornings. Otherwise we’re practically strangers.”