Tarnished Haven
Chapter Three: Forgot to Remember to Forget
Rating: PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)
Word Count: 2,074
Disclaimer: I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.
Summary: Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.
Pairing: Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )
Author's Note: I promised a brighter sequel to Lost Pretense. Someone told me I couldn't top Lost Pretense, and I don't think I can, really. But in lieu of paying for everyone who read Lost Pretense to have therapy, which I definitely couldn't afford, I started this...Don't own the song I borrowed the chapter title from, either...
Forgot to Remember to Forget
"Jordan, love, what's the matter?" Nigel asked, touching her hand as he sat down across from her in the booth. He hadn't exactly expected her to go straight to the pub after she spoke to the sheriff, but then again, he hadn't seen her act like this over a case in a long time. She'd grabbed a hold of a crazy theory and run with it, something she hadn't done since Woody left Boston. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
She smiled grimly. "I guess you could say that."
"Okay," Nigel began slowly. "That requires an explanation."
She shook her head. "Explanations require beer."
Though Nigel knew better, he nodded and got up again, crossing over to the bar. He ordered two beers and watched some of the locals compete in a rowdy game of darts. The tall one missed the board completely, and the others booed him. "Come on, Slim. You can do better than that."
"Yeah," the one in the red ball cap agreed. "One of us has to break Drifter's record."
"Might help if you were sober," a quiet voice said, and Nigel turned in shock. Now he was seeing a ghost. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt, in the flesh, after nearly a year without a trace, without any contact. Nigel felt a hand tap him on the back. He looked, finding Jordan holding the beer and pointing to their booth.
He nodded numbly and followed her. She sat. "So... You've seen the ghost."
"Sweet Nancy, Jordan, what is he doing here?" Nigel asked. "You don't hear from him in a year, and suddenly he's just here?"
She laughed. "He was here first, Nigel. He's been here for a while, actually."
Nigel drank from the beer, wishing for a bit of the Townsend family recipe about now. "Why is he here?"
"If I knew that, that would mean he was actually talking to me," Jordan said with a bitter laugh. "The sheriff introduced us, and there I am standing like some kind of deer, headlights coming right at me, when he turns and walks away. Just leaves. And then I get to explain to the sheriff how I used to know him... Can't even remember what I said, but he looked at me like I had another head."
"It would have been just as lovely as your first one," Nigel soothed. He turned, watching Woody take a place at the end of the bar and nurse a scotch. Now there was a man in need of some serious drinking. And the ear of a friend. Trouble was, Jordan needed Nigel, too.
"Thank you, Nigel," she said, rolling her eyes. She put her head down on the table. "Why did he have to be here? And why does he have to look so good?"
Nigel looked at her. Blinded by love, obviously. Woody had lost weight, was definitely not sleeping well, and he couldn't be happy. His back was hunched, and that old wound of his was probably giving him trouble, especially doing the work to be found around here.
"If it's any consolation, Jordan, you look better," Nigel told her.
She looked up. "You think so?"
"I do indeed. I even would go so far as to bet that any one of those rowdy cowhands would make a play for you the minute you stood up," Nigel encouraged. "Why not let Woodrow see what he's missing?"
She took a swig of the beer. "You know, you're right. I should."
Nigel suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. "Um, love, maybe—"
But she had already crossed the room, not to the cowhands but to Woody himself. She rubbed his back for a second, and he looked up in surprise. He started to stand, and Jordan caught him by the jacket collar, kissing him passionately.
Then she let him go and walked out of the bar.
Nigel looked at Woody over the hoots and calls of the other patrons. That hadn't been what he had in mind at all. But that was Jordan Cavanaugh for you. Always unexpected.
"Need another one?"
He looked up to see Nigel standing next to him. It figured. She wouldn't have come here alone, not unless she was running, and she wouldn't have run here. She came here chasing a case, and that meant that Clyde's death and possibly Hank's were bigger than he thought and that at least one of her "gang" was with her. It was Nigel, and that made sense.
"I am a little worried about letting you buy me a beer, Nigel," he said finally.
Nigel grinned. "Have no fear, Woodrow. You are safe from my amorous advances here. I'm not so sure we can say the same about that Slim over there. I caught him eying you."
He choked on his scotch. "Nigel, that man and his fellow hoodlums are one step from pummeling me into the ground."
"Foreplay," Nigel said, and Woody shook his head, trying not to get sick on the bar. Nigel cursed softly. "Damn, Woody, I'm sorry. I didn't think—"
"It's fine, Nigel," he cut the Brit off quickly. That was a subject he did not discuss. It was enough that he remembered it now. He would not talk about it, though. "Why are you here?"
Nigel smiled. "Wanted to ask you the same thing, Woodrow. What appeal does this charming little town have for you?"
Woody finished his scotch. "It wasn't Boston. It wasn't Kewaunee. It was just... a place to be. A place where the rest of the world hardly exists. None of these people know me; they don't know about that case... That's the appeal, Nigel. Anonymity."
"You could have had that in a dozen different places," Nigel said.
Woody shrugged. "The name appealed to me. Haven. One of those things, I guess. They run a program for troubled youths out here, Haven House. Some work the farms, some learn trades. It seemed like a good place."
"Until people started dying?" Nigel finished. "We had three deaths over the course of a month. All overdoses, designer drug. This stuff isn't pretty, Woody. Ecstasy mixed with a hallucinogen."
Woody cursed softly. "They claimed it was just ecstasy. That Clyde must have brought it into town."
"Jordan's theory is that it's being distributed through here, through the dairy farms, specifically," Nigel explained. "The milk."
"I'm not even going to ask," Woody muttered. It was like Jordan to make that wild leap. "But why Haven?"
"First reported death was here," Nigel said. "And you know Jordan, when she's got a wild theory..."
"Yeah," Woody agreed. "She shouldn't be here. Neither should you. This town doesn't talk to outsiders. Oh, Matters asked me for help—I've done a bit for him before, actually. I found Clyde, and my knowledge of crime scene investigation had him wanting to deputize me on the spot, but I told him I watched too much TV."
Nigel smiled, but it wasn't much of one. "How dangerous is this place, Woody?"
Woody smiled grimly. "I'm not sure yet. I'm not sure how far this thing goes, or who is involved. But my guess is, Haven is rotten to the core."
Jordan rolled out of her bed and somehow stumbled into clothes. She couldn't remember how much she'd had to drink last night, couldn't remember what she'd done for sure, but she had a bad feeling about it, and she did remember crying herself to sleep. All in all, it was a bad night.
She brushed her tangled hair and pulled it back into a bun, not wanting to mess with it today. Finished, she headed down to the dining room. Nigel was already there, and he looked worse than she did. He smiled weakly.
She sat down. "How much did you drink last night?"
"Wasn't the drink," Nigel muttered. "I fear for your children, love. You and Woodrow have a bad habit of finding trouble."
"Don't start," Jordan warned. "Where' s the coffee?"
"Over there," Nigel pointed to the counter. She got up and fixed herself a cup. She looked at the food and decided against it. All she wanted was the coffee.
Sitting back down, she looked at Nigel. "So... You talked to Woody."
"For a while, yes," Nigel agreed. "He didn't have a lot to say."
"Does he know what's going on here?" she asked, turning her spoon in her coffee absently.
"Enough to know we shouldn't be here," Nigel answered. "He's probably right, Jordan. You said this town had fifty-six people in it, right? Most of them born and raised here? Who is going to talk to us? They won't even talk to him, and he's been here six months."
Jordan shrugged. "I'm not leaving, Nigel."
"I was afraid you'd say that," Nigel muttered. "But I have to know... Is it because he's here, or because of the case?"
She looked at Nigel. That was a question he didn't even need to ask. He knew better. "I promised that I wouldn't look for him. I said I wouldn't. I haven't. And now I found him by accident. I'm not leaving. Not until he does, not unless someone makes me."
Nigel nodded. "I was afraid of that, too."
"Heard there was a bit of a show last night," Matters observed, sitting across from Woody in the diner. He had thought the table would be enough to deter visitors. He didn't usually have company for breakfast, for any of his meals, and he was hoping that today wouldn't be the exception. He didn't want to see Jordan or Nigel. He wasn't in the mood to talk. But apparently he was wrong. The booth wasn't enough.
"Fireworks? I didn't hear anything," Woody muttered, reaching for his coffee. He found ignorance the best defense here in Haven.
"No, no fireworks," Matters corrected. "Happened in Reilly's. That doctor that came to town. Seems she knows you."
"She thinks she does," he complained, wishing that he could lace the coffee with some sort of alcohol. Or arsenic. He didn't really care as long as it meant avoiding these situations. "I haven't seen her in a year, Sheriff. And whatever was there... It isn't anymore."
"Still, seems odd, these new visitors showing up here. And them knowing you," Matters went on. "A bit of a coincidence, isn't it?"
"Honestly, Matters, if I had known they'd show up, I wouldn't be here," Woody grumbled. None of his food looked appetizing anymore, but he took a bite of his eggs anyway. He had to pretend everything was normal, even if they weren't.
"Heard she kissed you. Good looking woman that doctor," Matters continued. His manner was friendly, but Woody didn't like it. He just wanted the other man to go away. "You one of them that don't like women?"
"I like women," Woody cut him off quickly. He didn't need everyone thinking that he was gay. He wasn't. He wasn't ready to date again, but that was a different matter. "I like them fine. That woman... She and I have a past, but it doesn't have a future."
"Now that's a shame, a real shame," Matters said. He signaled to Wendy, and she came over and refilled their coffee. She smiled at Matters and ignored Woody. They all did. Matters was the only one to show any interest in Woody, and that was bad enough. "A good looking woman like that, and she seems to care about you, Hoyt. You should think about it."
Woody was troubled by the sensation that it wasn't a suggestion; it was a warning. "I will."
Matters smiled. It was a little too warm. He was trying too hard to be friendly, disarming. He had a tendency to act as the town's messenger of goodwill, but it had never bothered Woody before. Now it did. A lot. He pushed his food away, taking out his wallet. Matters touched his hand.
"Oh, let me, Drifter," Matters said. "You can pay me back by telling me all about that doctor of yours. Sure is a pretty little filly."
"And you're a married man," Woody said, getting to his feet. If he was quick, maybe he'd get out to the far pasture before Jordan got out of bed.
"Sheriff, Sheriff," young Billy Timms called, coming into the diner, the door banging as the bell chimed. "Sheriff, we found that cowhand. He's out by the creek. He's dead."