Page 40 of Deeper Than the Dead

“It’s a ranch,” he tossed back as he unlocked the door.

She glanced at the horses. “Ranch,” she amended. He had always worn that cowboy vibe with pride.

He opened the door and waited for her to go in first. “Make yourself at home,” he offered.

Inside was a little more western, a little more masculine. The stone and wood theme carried through in the structure. A huge fireplace spanned a good portion of one wall. The ceilings were vaulted with wood beams. The sofa was leather, with the two accompanying side chairs upholstered in a Southwest style. The only thing in the room that gave a nod to the cottage style was the vintage wood rocking chair.

“My mom’s,” he said, noting her attention on the rocker. “It’s the one thing of hers my old man didn’t throw away or destroy during one of his drunken binges.”

Vera spotted the oval brass-framed photo on the table next to the rocker. She crossed the room and picked it up. The woman in the photograph was his mother. She didn’t have to ask. His mother had the same dark-blonde hair and stunning blue eyes.

“She was beautiful.”

“She was,” he agreed.

Vera placed the photograph back on the table and turned to her host. “What made you buy this place?”

The living space was one big room, with the kitchen on the far side and a big old round table standing in the middle. The cabinets were painted a white that had dulled in brightness over time and sported a few dings but somehow looked exactly the way they were supposed to. Homey and well loved. Bent stood at the rustic table, unbagging their food.

“Just before my mother died, we came here together once.” He chuckled softly as if the memory gave him pleasure. “The couple who owned the place had hired her as a housekeeper. She cleaned houses to make ends meet. God knows my old man drank up most of the money he earned. Anyway, we were here, and I was wishing I was in the woods somewhere.”

Vera couldn’t help smiling. She remembered Bent saying he was far more at home in the woods than anywhere else. He’d never been a hunter. His love of the woods had been about feeling close to nature. The man was a walking cluster of contradictions. As soon as you thought you had him figured out, and that he didn’t care about anything, you realized you knew nothing at all and that he cared deeply about many things.

“As bored as I was that day, I remember her saying how she loved this place. When we were driving away in that old junker my dad somehow managed to keep running, she said this was her dream home. Imagine that.” He laughed softly, glanced around. “When I moved back to town, I heard it had been sitting empty for years, and I bought it. Did a little TLC, and here I am.”

Vera couldn’t think what to say for a moment. It was such a moving explanation, and she did not want to be moved by it ... or by him.

“Keep in mind, you asked,” he pointed out, noting her inability to decide what to say next.

She walked toward the table and him. “I’m impressed that you would want to do something in her memory.” She looked around, taking in more fully the comfortable, relaxed setting. “It’s a really nice place, and I’m certain your mother would be so proud of you for remembering ...” She took a breath. “For everything you’ve accomplished.”

There, she’d said it. Given him a compliment. A well-deserved one, she confessed to herself. It was more than he would be able to do for her. Her life was in tatters, and she was confident even more trouble was coming.

“Thank you.” He gestured to the table. “Have a seat. You want water? Beer? Sweet tea or coffee?”

“Water is fine.” Vera settled into one of the chairs. “What made you decide to come back? You could have landed anywhere after your time in the military.”

He filled first one, then another glass from a pitcher he’d taken from the refrigerator. “I did my twenty and decided I was done.” He put the pitcher back in the fridge, grabbed the glasses, and headed to the table. “I still had the homeplace here, and I figured I’d land there for a while until I decided what came next.” He sat a glass in front of her, took his seat, and drew a long drink from the other glass.

“Did you sell the house where you grew up?” She unwrapped her burger and took a bite. It would be a lie if she pretended she didn’t love a good cheeseburger loaded with slaw. She’d gotten hooked on the combination as a kid. This one made her want to moan with satisfaction.

“I did not.” He unwrapped his own burger. “I donated it to the church for temporary housing for those in need. Victims who lose everything in a house fire or a wife and kids who need to escape an abusive situation.”

Stunned all over again, Vera finished chewing and swallowed. The man was just full of surprises. “That was very generous of you.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Not really. I didn’t need it. Clint—you remember Clint Grider, the pastor at the Baptist Church over on Elk Avenue?—he was always good to my mother and me.”

Vera sipped her water, then nodded. “I see. You came back to prove something.”

“You think I’m proving something?” The ghost of a grin twitched his lips.

“You’re making a safe place,” she suggested, “from the home where you and your mother were abused. You’re the sheriff, keeping the community where you grew up as an outcast safe from threat.”

“I’m honored you think I’m that deep. Anyway, Fraley asked me to run for sheriff. He was desperate for someone with the right background. He served during Vietnam, so he saw my military service as the right background. It was a job. I figured why not—for a while anyway.” He looked her straight in the eyes then. “And maybe giving the house to the church was an up-yours to the old man. He would have hated that.”

Vera bit her lip, but she couldn’t stop the smile. “That would have been my alternate scenario.”

They ate in silence for a bit, but eventually the subject she’d hoped wouldn’t come up did. Of course.

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