High Country Cop. Cynthia Thomason
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with this type of volunteer work?”
She managed a slight smile. “Only you, Carter. I want you. And Lawton needs you.”
His eyes widened, perhaps at the frankness of her statement, perhaps at the wording she’d used. “Give me a couple of days to think about it,” he said. “Where are you staying?”
She told him.
“I’ll stop by the Hummingbird Inn on Friday and give you my decision.”
“You have my number on my business card, if you kept it,” she said.
“I’ve got it somewhere. And Miranda, my decision will only be to talk to Lawton. I won’t be agreeing to anything else at this time.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Carter. You can’t know how much this means...”
He took his cell phone out of his pocket. “Don’t let’s get ahead of ourselves,” he said, punching in a number. “Hey, Richie, would you bring the golf cart up here?”
Miranda was relieved to be getting a ride back down. She was suddenly tired and drained, and a large blister was forming on her big toe. But still, it had been a good day so far.
When the golf cart arrived, Carter surprised her by handing Richie the shearing tool and getting behind the wheel of the cart. “Take over, Rich. I’ll be right back.” To Miranda he said, “Hop in.”
She did. They started down the pathway. “I suppose I could have gone down on my own,” she said.
“Yeah, and I suppose you could have gone dancing with that blister on your foot.”
She smiled, deciding that smiling with Carter felt so natural, so good. They rode silently for a while until Miranda said, “I have to admit, Carter, your choice of profession isn’t what I would have imagined for you. I don’t recall you ever mentioning you wanted to be in law enforcement.”
“I didn’t, especially, but then I sat in front of that college catalog, and ‘criminal justice’ just seemed to fly off the page at me. And here I am, years later, right back where I started.”
“Well, the fact that you settled in Holly River doesn’t surprise me,” Miranda said. “You always loved this place.”
“And you always wanted to get out.”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “Not always.”
Another silence followed until Miranda asked if he enjoyed police work.
“I suppose I do. I’ve always felt it was a way to give back to a community that gave so much to me.”
“Do you have much serious crime here?”
“No. Haven’t had a murder, well, not that I know about. Few burglaries. We do get some auto thefts, and that’s a problem when the car belongs to a wealthy tourist from Atlanta. Those people always seem to think that locking a car in quiet Holly River is a precaution they don’t need to take.” He glanced at her as he drove. “I’d say our biggest criminals are bears and raccoons.”
“Do you wear a gun?” she asked, remembering that she hadn’t bothered to look when he was in uniform on Liggett Mountain.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve had to draw it a few times. Once I even fired a round in the air when a bunch of tourists from Florida forgot they’d come here to ski, not just drink. But if you’re wondering if I ever aimed at a real person, no, I haven’t. Hope I don’t have to either. Our latest crime involves sprinklers and garden hoses, and I’ll be content to track those down and leave the major crime to the big cities.”
“I’ll bet you get some strange calls from people wanting you to do things that aren’t in line with crime busting.”
“I’ve pulled my share of snakes out of sheds and investigated a number of UFO sightings. It’s all part of the job, I guess.”
“But you enjoy it?”
“Yeah. As I said, it gives me a chance to be a valued member of the community. That’s important to me because my ancestors weren’t always such good citizens.” He cut a sharp glance her way. “I guess I don’t have to tell you that. My dad, his father and his father before him were only interested in making money. It didn’t matter who got hurt.”
Like my father did, Miranda thought, remembering the stench of the paper mill Raymond Cahill owned. The factory was just far enough away that the smell never reached Holly River, but on hot summer nights, when the windows were open, folks on Liggett Mountain used to complain. Not that Raymond cared. Until the chemicals used killed her dad and left Miranda and her mother without a father and husband.
She’d never imagined that Carter would bear the burden of what his ancestors did. She’d known he didn’t get along with Raymond, but his mother, Cora, was always so sweet and caring. She mediated many arguments between the men in her family. “You told me once that you aren’t your father. Remember that?”
He nodded.
“Well, it’s true.”
He smiled. “If I have anything to say about it, I never will be a clone of Raymond Cahill. I’m probably the nicest cop in North Carolina, but there’s a lot of past regret to make up for.”
They’d reached the bottom of the hill, and Miranda got out of the cart. “I promise to abide by all laws while I’m here,” she said.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. Some of our statutes are pretty quirky, and you could break a law without even knowing it. But, heck, Miranda, you’re one out-of-towner I’m not worried about.”
She leaned under the top of the cart. “Thanks for the lift. I’ll see you Friday. And Carter, don’t overthink this whole thing with Lawton. You’ll be a great mentor if you decide to do it.”
He drove off, heading back toward the hill path, and Miranda walked to her car. She felt strangely sad when she thought back to Carter’s comment about her being an “out-of-towner.”
THE DRIVE FROM Snowy Mountain to the veterinary rehab center where Miranda had left her daughter was almost a half hour—time enough for Miranda to think about Holly River, the sadness she experienced here and the regrets she had upon leaving. One day in particular she would never forget.
Fourteen years earlier...
“I’M SORRY, MRS. JEFFERSON, but there just isn’t anything else we can do. This day has been coming for quite a while.”
Miranda stared up at their family doctor from the uncomfortable seat in the Bolton County Hospital waiting room. She and her mother had been at the hospital around the clock since Warren Jefferson had been brought in by ambulance three days before. All thoughts of graduation parties and spending time with Carter had been forgotten as Miranda waited for word on her father.
“There must be something you can do,” Miranda said. “You can’t just give up.”
Loreen Jefferson had covered her daughter’s arm with her hand, trying to comfort her. “Let Dr. Jackson talk, honey.”
“The cancer in Warren’s lungs has spread to his colon and his liver. Even if we could control the lung cancer, his other organs would shut down. In a way, it’s a blessing that he was brought in when he was. He’s been able to receive medication that alleviates his pain.”
A blessing! Miranda had wanted to scream. She’d found her father in his favorite recliner, the TV blaring loudly and blood gurgling from his lips and his ruined lungs. It had seemed to take hours for the ambulance to arrive.
“How long does he have?” Loreen asked.
Dr. Jackson’s face reflected the difficulty of what he had to say. “I