It wasn’t that simple, and Rene obviously knew it.
“And what happens when he gets out again? Harley doesn’t give up what’s his.”
They spent another half hour going rounds about it, but in the end, the woman stubbornly refused to press charges against her abuser. Ethan wished he was surprised, but this was par for the course.
Unwilling to give up, Miranda slipped some information about the women’s shelter into the pocket of Rene’s purse. “Just read over it later.”
Ethan stuck around after Rene was released and Johnny tucked her into the rusted-out Ford Escort he’d seen in the drive last night. The kid was a ticking time bomb. All that rage had to go somewhere eventually. He wondered whether the boy would implode or explode and made a mental note to see if the kid had any kind of record. Wouldn’t hurt to have his officers watching out for any changes in behavior, too.
After checking a few other patients, Miranda managed to break away to corner him in an office. Frustration pumped off her in waves as she scooped both hands through her thick blonde hair. “What are we doing to do, Ethan? This keeps up, he’s going to kill her.”
“She’s too afraid to act on her own.”
“If we could just get Harley off the street for longer than twenty-four hours, I think I could manage to get her to the shelter and leave his ass. Once she’s out of that house, I think she’ll start to see.”
Ethan wasn’t so sure. “Even if you pulled that off, it’s unlikely Rene will follow through.”
The stubborn jut to her chin shouldn’t have been so appealing. “I have to try. And I need you to help me. Harley is an asshole and a troublemaker. There has to be something you can haul him in on.”
“Not so far.”
“You’re a resourceful man, Ethan. Surely you can employ those famous Marshal skills to find out what kind of shit Harley’s involved in.”
The idea of it sparked Ethan’s sense of the hunt, something that had been sorely missing since he’d moved to tiny town Mississippi. If he’d had any reservations about using department resources in the name of his own investigation into the man, they’d been obliterated at the sight of Rene’s bruises.
“I promise you, if there’s anything to find, I’ll make it a priority to dig it out.” It was a devil’s bargain, one he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep. Not every piece of shit was actually involved in anything illegal. But he liked the idea of Miranda Campbell needing him for something. Her idealism and stubborn belief in people’s ability to change clashed with his own jaded cynicism, but he found himself wanting to protect that for her, for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.
Her face relaxed a fraction. “Thanks for that.”
Ethan could see the exhaustion weighing on her and itched to wrap her in his arms and soothe. But she was on-duty and the intercom made it clear her night was far from over, so he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I should get out of here. You’ve got work.”
“I’ve got work,” she agreed. Walking with him toward the door, she dug up the ghost of a smile. “But I’m really looking forward to Saturday when I don’t.”
“Me, too, Doc. Me, too.”
Chapter 7
Saturday dawned frigid and foggy. The wisps of white curling over the ground and around the trees as he drove out to Chester’s farm gave Ethan the illusion of solitude he’d been craving and dragged out memories of winter mornings on the ranch with his grandfather. There’d be more memories where those came from once he got to work. Temperatures would rise with the sun, and he knew he was in for a day of sweaty labor.
He wished he’d had time to walk the fence line before today. Chances were, there’d be multiple weak points in addition to the ones he knew about. But he’d made an educated guess when he’d picked up supplies at the co-op yesterday. He’d even brought his own tools. Ethan wasn’t taking chances that Chester would have what was needed to do the job right.
Horses milled in the paddock when he pulled up. Four beautiful animals in turnout coats that had him detouring to the rail to admire. Houdini lifted his head and bobbed it in the equine version of hey man. A pretty little chestnut mare wandered over to investigate and bumped her head against Ethan’s hand for pets. Obliging, he scratched her under the forelock and watched her ears twitch from pleasure.
“That there’s Miss Kitty.” Chester’s gravelly voice was muffled by the lingering fog.
Ethan found himself smiling as he turned to greet the crotchety old man. “You a Gunsmoke fan, Chester?”
“Damn straight. Good show.”
“This little lady have as much sass as her namesake?”
“More than. Spoiled rotten. She was my wife’s. Just got saddle broken right before Jeannie passed.”
Ethan pegged the mare at five or six years old. Chester had been on his own for a few years now.
He didn’t look at Ethan as he reached out to stroke a hand down the mare’s neck. “Thought about selling her, selling them all after that. But couldn’t do it. She loved these animals.”
Ethan felt a twinge of sorrow. Were these horses all the man had left of his wife? He thought about expressing condolences, but Chester’s manner didn’t invite them. Instead, he kept his tone matter-of-fact as he passed out scratches to the other two as they sidled up to the rail. “Well, we’ll do right by her today and see the fence is fixed properly so they stay on your property and safe.”
Chester finally looked at him. “You’re really gonna do this?”
“I really am.”
“Why?” The old man’s bushy brows drew together in confusion.
“Well, it’s clear you could use a hand with repairs or you’d have done them by now. The horses are a prospective danger to traffic, not to mention the traffic is a danger to them. And because I moved to Wishful for a slower pace than what I had in my last job. I don’t want to go ruining that by getting a call about a homicide because Mrs. Ramsey finally had enough.”
A muscle in Chester’s jaw twitched. “Well, I reckon there’s time for a cup of coffee before we get started. Let a little more of this cold burn off. I feel it in my bones.”
He could do that.
Ethan followed him back up to the house, his boots thudding across the floorboards of the porch. The interior smelled faintly of Bengay, with a lingering scent of bacon beneath the coffee. The furnishings were comfortable and dated, with a feminine edge that would’ve surprised him if he hadn’t just heard about Chester’s late wife. Everything had an air of being undisturbed, down to the fake flower arrangement gracing a table in the front hall, colors muted with a layer of dust. Wide-planked pine floors seemed to run through the whole first floor. They held a patina of age and wear that he knew people would pay good money to duplicate as a “distressed” look in new construction. Ethan preferred the real thing. It meant the house had been lived in.
In the kitchen, which seemed to have been updated sometime in the 1980s, Chester went straight to the coffee pot and poured two mugs. “How do you take it?”
“Black’s fine.”