Page 82 of Hideaway Whirlwind
William tries to wriggle out of his pops’ arms, screaming, “Baby red!”
As soon as Lily pushes up to follow the pair, Kendall does, too. My guess is they’ll be joined at the hip as they grow older, and I find I like that a whole lot, my little girl having already made a best friend.
Birdie moves to go after them, but Davis rushes past. “I’ll keep an eye on the girls.”
And don’t I know it, since he’s not too fond of William’s antics when it comes to his daughter.
Layla pulls Birdie aside with a giggle at Davis’s irritated expression, joining Dolly, Goldie, Faye, Violet, Cora, and Mckinley standing in a circle. Birdie and I preferred there not be any alcohol served, so they’re sipping from their mocktails after passing one to my wife. Of course, I follow like a hound dog, though I linger at the outer rim of the circle. I’ve had enough eye contact and conversation to last me for the next few years.
“Tennessee?” a woman questions from the direction of where the men and toddlers had disappeared.
It is only for the reason that I’m staring at Birdie’s fine ass, wondering how long we have to stay here before we can go home so I can get my hands and teeth on said ass, that I notice her infinitesimal reaction. Though I mentally have to slam my walls down on my compulsion to reach for my missing shotgun that Birdie told me was best to leave at home, I can’t do the same with my expression.
“Tennessee?” Deputy Cooke asks again, looking uncomfortable out of her uniform, wearing a dark blue dress and heels. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
I’m the only one who knows the name Birdie was born with, yet the women all close in on her protectively when she turns with me at her back, my arm going around her.
“It’s Teagan,” Layla says, correcting Cooke with some confusion and a slight frown, since Cooke was most definitely not on our guest list. She’s too kind to demand that Cooke leave after crashing our reception.
I’m not. “Get out.”
Cooke doesn’t startle like many would. In fact, she looks mesquarely in the face and says, “I only need a minute.”
Though the old static doesn’t push its way in, a dangerous darkness hovers at the edges of my mind. “No. You weren’t invited.”
Cooke’s ribs expand when she takes a deep breath before she brings her attention back to Birdie. “Listen, I know we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances.”
Birdie remains silent, laying her arm over mine, tipping her chin up to stare Cooke down the length of her nose, despite being shorter than Cooke.
“I wanted to reintroduce myself,” Cooke says.
“On our wedding day?” I ask, my voice dropping low, ready to snatch my wife and kids up should Cooke try anything.
Cooke nods. “As Interim Sheriff until the election, I thought it best to make the rounds and let people know things will be changing around here. I won’t be as…lenient…as Sheriff Gibson had been in the past.”
“You came here to threaten us?” Layla asks, waving to someone behind me.
It’s no surprise when Russell pushes his way in beside Layla. Nor is it when the other husbands sense the trouble brewing and make their way over. Many of us have had our run-ins with the County Sheriff’s Office, and friendly or not, they’re all immediately on guard.
“It’s not a threat unless you’re on the wrong side of the law,” Cooke says coolly, not at all intimidated by our united front, which I have to give her props for, even if I don’t like it. She opens her small, gold purse hanging from a chain on her shoulder, holding up a photograph that none of us reach for. “Some things, however, will not change.”
She only transferred to our town a few years ago, so shedoesn’t have the same loyalty orleniencytoward us as Sheriff Gibson did—good for the county, potentially bad for us if things never calm down. Russell and I cut a look to one another that says we might need to come up with a plan to somehow get rid of Cooke, though violence isn’t on the table. She doesn’t deserve that, even if she does pose a threat.
“It’s time for you to go,” Russell says, moving in front of Layla.
Instead of shrinking, Cooke asks, “Have any of you heard of the Zeraxists?”
Birdie tenses, her blood pressure sure to be rising along with mine, which can’t be good for the baby, and the swirling darkness thickens in my mind.
Cooke’s tone changes, less defensive, though she stares directly at Birdie when she says, “I read about them recently and what they did to the women and children. Like this girl here, believed to be named Tennessee Chambers, who disappeared before the raid on the cult’s compound.” She taps the zoomed-in photo of who is clearly Birdie as a teenager, hanging laundry on the line with the desert sun beating down on her. Her large baby bump tents her bright orange dress close to the color of her dyed hair. It sickens me. “Since you two are from Vegas,” Cooke says to Goldie and Birdie, “and might have come across her, I’d want her to know that if she ever found her way here, she’d be safe.”
“Never seen her before,” Goldie says, quickly plucking the photograph, dropping her arm at her side without looking at it, her pale cheeks turning red with the obvious lie.
“Well, if you ever do, I hope you’ll pass along the message.” Cooke gives our group a tight smile before she turns to leave, stopping midway when she sees Dustin now settled at a child-sized table with Sydney, eating slices of cheese pizza provided for the children who don’t want any of the fancier fare catered for the adults. “So would her kids,” Cooke adds over her shoulder before she finally waltzes out.
“Are you ok?” I whisper, spinning Birdie around when she slumps. Goldie discreetly slips the photo into my hand, and I slide it into the front pocket of my slacks.
“On a scale of one to ten, I’d say her wedding gift was a solid ten, knowingTennessee and her kidswill be left alone,” she says, pushing her hand into my pocket. Flashing her teeth with a wicked smile, she takes the photograph, crumples it in her fist, and turns to ask the group, “Does anyone have a lighter?”
