A Baby For The Deputy. Cathy Mcdavid
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with her torn jeans, faded tank top and ratty old ball cap. Add to that her disabled vehicle, and she was a potential sitting duck.
Aaron reviewed the documents, noting the eighteen-year-old’s name and home address of Flagstaff. He compared her face to the tiny picture. Something about her struck a familiar chord, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Be right back.” In his vehicle, he ran her name and license plate. Nothing significant came back. What had he expected?
Returning to her truck, he handed over the documents. “You’re a long ways from home.”
“I’m staying with my...with friends in Mustang Valley.”
“Are they on their way to help you?”
“Uh...no. I wasn’t able to reach them.”
“I see.” Aaron suspected she was coloring the truth and didn’t know why. “Do you have a roadside assistance service?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about your parents?”
“My mom can’t help.”
“Because she’s in Flagstaff,” Aaron stated.
“Yeah. And at work. I’m not supposed to call her unless it’s an emergency.”
“This might qualify.”
The girl, Samantha, according to her driver’s license, shook her head. “I’m not calling. She’s busy.”
“And your friends aren’t available?”
In response, her mouth firmed to a thin line.
There was definitely more going on than she was telling him, and he didn’t trust her. Nonetheless, she’d broken no laws and was in distress. Not to mention her truck and trailer were a potential hazard and the horse would need water soon. Aaron had a duty to help her.
“Sit tight,” he said, and walked to the front of the truck where he inspected the engine. Heat wafted off in waves, and it made a soft hissing sound. The smoke she’d claimed to see was probably steam.
A moment later, she disobeyed his order and joined him, anxiously watching as if he might sabotage the engine rather than repair it.
“You have an old rag I can use?”
“In the, uh, trailer.”
“I’ll wait.”
She didn’t take long.
Aaron rolled up his sleeves and, using the rag to remove the radiator cap, inspected the water level. No surprise, the radiator was bone dry.
“You might have a leak,” he told her. “You should get this serviced right away. There’s an auto shop in town. Conroy’s. Ask your friends, they’ll tell you where he is.”
“Okay.”
Would she do it? She wouldn’t get far otherwise.
After filling her radiator with water from the five-gallon jug he carried in the back of his SUV for just this reason, he had her try to start the truck. Luck was on her side, and it turned right over, chugging like an old man having a coughing fit. She definitely needed to see Conroy.
Leaning her head out the window, she removed her ball cap. “Thanks for your help.”
Aaron slammed the hood closed and, wiping his hands on the rag, started for his vehicle. “You be careful, you hear?” He stopped and flashed her a smile.
She didn’t return it.
Reaching his SUV, he sat behind the wheel and waited for her to pull ahead. Once she had, he radioed in, giving an update and advising the other deputies to keep a lookout for her. That accomplished, he executed a second U-turn and made for the Sanford place.
Even though the girl’s name and license plate had checked out, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was exactly what Aaron had warned Mel to watch for: a stranger in an unfamiliar vehicle. The idea that a slip of a girl was involved with horse rustlers seemed preposterous. Appearances, however, were deceiving and something thieves might use to their advantage.
Turning onto the Sanford’s private road, he recalled the young woman removing her ball cap and nearly slammed on the brakes. That was it! The reason she’d looked familiar to him. Her physical description was almost an exact duplicate of Mel’s. Blond hair. Brown eyes. Five foot two in her boots. They even had a similar small cleft in their chins.
What were the odds of that?
“Over here. Another three feet. Wait. No. Up against the wall.” Frankie Hartman barked orders in her customary bossy voice.
Mel exchanged looks with her younger sister, Ronnie. As if on cue, they both rolled their eyes and shuffled the table to the exact spot their older sister wanted. Which, it turned out, wasn’t so exact.
“Centered beneath the window.” Frankie motioned with her hands to demonstrate.
After two more shuffles with the table, Mel and Ronnie were released from their task and instructed to undertake another. There was still a lot to do before the party started at six, including all the decorating.
Mel had brought streamers, a banner, party favors, confetti and a case of champagne. Ronnie’s job had been to create a photo collage depicting their father’s life from birth to now. Frankie brought the barbecued beef, a family favorite and her specialty dish.
The owner of the Cowboy Up Café, and Frankie’s employer, had been kind enough to let them use the covered outdoor patio free of charge. With its built-in misting system, the patio was reasonably comfortable even in ninety-plus-degree temperatures.
The sisters were grateful. With several dozen people expected to attend, they’d definitely needed a large venue, equipped to feed so many mouths. And as if the location wasn’t perfect enough, the owner was giving them a discount on the side dishes and beverages.
“Napkins!” Frankie ripped open packages as if the success of the party depended on guests being able to wipe barbecue sauce off their faces and hands.
Mel and Ronnie took their sister’s theatrics in stride. Besides being the oldest of the Hartman sisters and a single mother, she was the Cowboy Up Café’s head waitress and self-appointed organizer of their dad’s party. She’d also stepped in—to the best of her twelve-year-old ability—when the sisters’ mother had died over twenty years ago in a horse riding accident. “We’re here,” a high-pitched voice trilled. “Sorry we’re late.”
Mel’s stepmom was accompanied by two very excited little girls: Frankie’s twin daughters.
“We got balloons,” Paige announced.
“And string,” Sienna added, holding up her booty.
They were dressed alike in matching shorts and tees but were as different as night and day in personalities and features. Tiny, fair-haired Paige took after the Hartmans while tall, doe-eyed Sienna resembled her father, who wasn’t and had never been in the picture.
“You wait until Mommy can help,” Frankie called from the chair on which she stood, hanging the Happy Birthday banner with Ronnie’s assistance.
Mel went over to the girls and scooped them both into her arms. They squirmed and giggled and squealed, loving the attention while pretending not to.
“Let us go,” they protested.
“Kisses first.”
The girls gleefully obliged.
“Can I help?” Mel asked. Blowing up balloons and taping them to the backs of chairs sounded more fun than laboriously writing out name tags.
“No