“She wanted to bond with me over art,” I said, smiling a little.
Tag chuckled and crossed to the stick figures. He traced his finger over the heart Georgia had drawn over the kissing stick -figures. “I like her, Mo.”
“She could always make me laugh. And she was right,” I confessed.
“About what?”
“I was always acting like I didn’t like her, even though I did.”
“Imagine that,” Tag said mildly. But his eyes found mine as he turned away and left my bedroom.
“Mo?” Tag called as he descended the stairs.
“Yeah?” I found I wasn’t ready to part with this mural yet, and stood, soaking it in as if I’d discovered a ghostly Picasso, painting away in my old room.
“You’ve got company, man. But take your time. It’s not the female variety.”
When I came back outside, Tag was leaning against a white SUV with Juab County Sheriff’s Department emblazoned on the side, talking to Sheriff Dawson like they were just a couple of cowboys shootin’ the shit after a long day in the saddle. Sheriff Dawson hadn’t changed much—maybe a few more lines around his blue eyes. He leveled them at me and they were decidedly cool. That hadn’t changed either.
“Didn’t you and my dad do some horse business a few years back?” Tag just continued talking, easy as you please, pretending not to notice the change in the temperature or the fact that the sheriff wasn’t really listening anymore.
Sheriff Dawson shot Tag a look. “Uh, yeah. Yes, we did. But it’s been more than a few years. I shoed some of his horses and sold him a couple Appaloosas he liked.”
“That’s right. You and I talked about rodeo a little bit. I used to do a little steer wrestling when I wasn’t raising Cain. You did some team roping didn’t you?”
“A little. I was a heeler. But I had more success in calf roping.” The sheriff’s voice was mild, but he wasn’t distracted by Tag’s good ol’ boy conversation skills, and as I walked toward him, he ignored Tag completely.
“You sellin’ the place?” he asked bluntly. He didn’t extend his hand and I didn’t offer mine.
I shrugged. I didn’t owe him any explanations.
“Tag here says you’ve been painting. That’s good. People might get the wrong idea if they see what you painted all over that house.”
Tag shifted slightly, and a look crossed his face that I’d seen a few times before.
“You here for any purpose, Sheriff?” I asked calmly. I wondered if he had known Georgia was pregnant when he came to question me at Montlake about Molly Taggert. It was February, and Georgia would have been far enough along for someone to know. It shed some light on the snide comments and the little asides he had shared with his fat deputy. Sheriff Dawson was a close friend of Georgia’s family. I had no doubt he knew all about Eli. For that matter, I had no doubt the whole town did. I wondered suddenly if my son had been treated with scorn or fear because of me, because of the things I had done. I wondered if Georgia had. The thought made my hands grow cold and my gut twist uncomfortably.
“I’m just here to find out what your plans are,” he said plainly. Tag’s face contorted again.
“Oh, yeah?” I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried not to think about how people might have treated Georgia when they discovered she had my baby in her belly. I tried not to think about how people might have looked at her and Eli when they were out and about in the community. I tried not to think about them whispering or watching closely to see if Eli was going to turn out like me.
“Georgia has suffered too much. Her family has suffered. They don’t need you here adding to it, churning up a lot of talk and trouble all over again.”
I couldn’t argue with any of that, but it pissed me off that he was suddenly the family spokesperson.
“Georgia’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she?” Tag blurted out. “She seein’ anyone? Hell, Sheriff. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You ever think about givin’ her a shoulder to cry on during all those troubled times? You’ve got twenty years on her, but some girls like older men, right?”
I had never wanted to pound my friend’s face in more than I wanted to at that moment. And there had been several times in our travels when we’d come to blows. I wanted to slap the smirk right off Tag’s face, and I wasn’t the only one. Sheriff Dawson’s ears were red and his concerned, public-servant face had slipped into something else.
“Seems a little weird to me, Sheriff. But I’ve seen stranger things. Small-town connections are like that. Hell, everybody’s related to everybody. Everybody knows everybody. I’m not even from here, and I know way too much.”
The sheriff’s blue eyes were narrowed in on Tag’s face, and though he kept a benign smile in place, I could see he wasn’t overly pleased with Tag’s two cents. Tag just sat slumped against the SUV, totally relaxed, completely unbothered by the enemy he had just made.
We all turned as a delivery truck rounded the corner and bounced along from pot hole to pot hole. The carpet had arrived. Sheriff Dawson slid into his SUV and pulled his door shut as the delivery truck pulled in with a jerk and a belch.
“If you paid half as much attention to those pot holes as you’re payin’ to Moses, the whole town would be happier, I’m thinkin’.” Tag continued to talk, only stepping away from the SUV as Sheriff Dawson started it up, put it in reverse, and began backing out.