See the end of this chapter for disclaimers. I don't want to ruin the
jokes.
(Chapter 33. February 1. Casey's diner.)
At first sight, Steve was completely taken with Casey's Diner. It was one of those old-fashioned, aluminum-sided, art-deco places from the fifties and still appeared to have the original counter, booths, stools, juke box, and menu. They served typical diner food--hamburgers, French fries, onion rings, and the like; with eggs, sausage, homefries and other good stuff for breakfast any time of the day. Though he got some odd looks from the regulars, the waitress made him feel quite welcome with a steaming cup of coffee on the table before he even settled in his seat.
Sliding a menu to him across the table, she said, "My name's Irene, sugar. We're already shorthanded 'cause the other girl is out sick, and we're about to get real busy with the mines, the paper mill, Woodley's, and the cheese plant all changing shifts at once. You must be here for Groundhog Day, right?"
"Uh, no. Actually I'm with a friend who's from here and came home for a visit. She should be here any minute."
"Oh, all right. Well, anyway, if you need something and I don't get around to you soon enough, just holler my name, 'kay?"
"Well, I wouldn't want to jump ahead of any of your regulars who've been waiting," Steve demurred politely.
Irene made a dismissive sound and said, "Those geezers? Shoot, they're just a bunch of old farmers and storekeepers who don't have enough to do in the winter. They've been here since before the roosters crowed this morning." She raised her voice a few notches and said, "They just like to suck down the free coffee and shoot the breeze. They sure don't know how to tip, and the only reason Casey keeps them around is all that hot air keeps the heating bills down."
Steve just nodded and smiled at the friendly brunette. She was an older lady, in her early sixties, he'd guess, with sparkling green eyes and a mobile mouth. He wasn't sure, but he thought the hair color might have come out of a bottle. She had a way of looking at him that said, "I might not know who you are, but it's good to see you anyway," and from that, Steve knew why Liv had wanted to stop here.
He didn't know why she had parked down the block and sent him ahead.
He looked up to see Irene waiting expectantly.
She smiled and asked, "You want to order, sugar?"
"Huh? Oh…umm…what's good?"
She grinned. "Everything, honey, but the best dish in the house ain't on the menu."
One of the old farmers at Steve's end of the counter hollered, "I think she's talkin' about you, young fella."
Steve could feel a blush warming his face when he heard Olivia call from the kitchen, "She better not be Mr. Hargrove! He's with me." Then to Steve she called, "Two eggs over easy, hot cakes, sausage, homefries, and oj coming up, Steve!"
From his table at the end of the counter, Steve could see jaws drop all along the line and hear the old men muttering, "That's Big john Regis' girl! Livvie's come home. What in the world is she doing here? Who's the fella with her? Maybe he has something to do with the cheese packing plant. Why didn't Jud tell us she was coming back to town? We could have had a nice welcome home ready for her."
They all seemed too stunned to talk aloud until Olivia emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron and carrying a tray laden with breakfast. As she walked the length of the counter, she favored each of the old men with a smile, a nod, and a word.
"Mr. Breth, Mr. Peace. On the way in, I noticed you've both gone over to Christmas trees. Is business good?"
"Well, it's predictable."
"And one bad year usually won't ruin your whole harvest."
Olivia gave them a thoughtful look. "I hadn't considered that."
"Mr. Crandoll, I saw your son-in-law and we chatted for a while. He's looking well. Good morning, Mr. Beech. I'm sure you're both so proud of those grandkids."
Crandoll sat stone-faced, but Steve could hear the warmth in his voice when he said, "Yeah, I had my doubts at first, but Lou got herself a good-un."
Beech said, "She sure did, Louis, but Arnie got the better half of the deal."
Crandoll nodded to acknowledge the compliment to his daughter.
"And, twins no less," Olivia marveled.
"Well, you know, they run in both families, Livvie."
"No kidding?"
"Yup," Beech said, "I had a twin brother who died as a baby."
Crandoll continued, "And Lou's mother was a Hargrove."
"You don't say. I never realized that."
Moving down the counter, she started another conversation. Steve enjoyed watching her work the crowd.
"Mr. Strawcutter, how's business at the lumberyard?"
"Right fine, Livvie. I got me a new partner and we're managing to expand in spite of those big national chains."
Liv raised an eyebrow, "Oh, who's your partner?"
"Me," said the man next to Strawcutter. "Otis here came up with the idea. 'Bout three years ago, after my hardware store burned, I took the insurance money and used it to help him build a hardware store onto the custom cabinet shop at the lumberyard."
"Well, that's wonderful, Mr. Redmond. I'll be sure to stop by while I'm in town."
"Do that. The kids will be glad to see you," Redmond said. "Susie is our bookkeeper, and Cliff, Jr. manages the lumberyard."
"Yeah," Strawcutter cut in, "and in the spring, my Alice is going to start an interior design shop in the back room."
Liv laughed. "Keeping it in the family, huh?"
Redmond grinned. "Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if Cliff and Alice make us all family before the year's out."
"Oh, really?"
Strawcutter agreed. "They've been serious for a while. I imagine working in close quarters will speed things up a bit. It'll be interesting."
"I'm sure it will," Liv said with a knowing look.
Working her way to Steve's end of the counter, she said, "Mr. Hargrove, you know Irene will refuse to serve you if you keep picking on her."
"That's right, Kent," Irene agreed, "So just mind your manners."
"Oh, yeah, you old harpy? Just wait until you get snowed in again and see who hauls you and your old man back and forth to this tin can."
Olivia set the plates she was carrying on the table in front of Steve, and sat in the booth across from him. "And Irene, if you don't quit hitting on my boyfriend, Casey's going to send you packing and Steve and I won't help you with the breakfast rush. You know I can wait tables, and Steve's got his own restaurant back in LA, so he can pretty much do whatever you need."
At the word "boyfriend" all the other conversation in the diner stopped. As one man, the crowd at the counter turned to scrutinize Steve anew, and again he felt that familiar, uncomfortable warmth rising from his collar. Olivia reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. She turned sideways in her seat and said, "Everybody, this is Steve. He's a police lieutenant with the homicide division of the Los Angeles PD. I moved out there in August. He's my boss' son. And yes, you heard me say 'boyfriend.' We've been an item since Thanksgiving."
She gave them a cool look and said, "Anybody got a problem with that?"
There was a general murmur of 'no's' and 'of course not's,' after which Olivia smiled brightly and said, "Good. Steve, this is everybody. You'll learn their names later."
When the natural buzz of conversation returned, Irene slid into the booth beside Olivia and said, "What are you trying to do, Livvie? Scare him off?" Patting Steve's hand, she continued, saying, "Don't let them worry you, honey. After Livvie's folks…"
Irene's voice trailed off.
"It's ok, Irene, he knows."
The woman looked singularly relieved, and continued her story.
"Well, anyway, we all kind of adopted her. Any boy she liked had to pass muster with this bunch of dried up old turnips as well as Judson and May Stephens."
"Not to mention Ted, Keith, and Kenney," Olivia added.
Steve's confused look at the mention of more names prompted Olivia to explain, "Jud and May took me in until I petitioned to be emancipated at sixteen. Keith, my…ex…is their son, and Kenney is his younger brother. You know about Ted."
He nodded in understanding.
"Kenney's a deputy, now," Irene said.
"Really? It runs in the family, huh?"
"I guess so. Jud's dad and his uncle and a couple of cousins were police officers. Anyway," Irene changed the subject, looking back to Steve, "with all the people looking out for her, it's no small wonder this poor child didn't get to date until she was in her twenties. For all that, I must say she has excellent taste for one who's never had much practice."
Olivia winked and said, "And pretty good luck, too, huh?"
"He's a hot one, all right," Irene whispered and left a blushing Steve and a wickedly grinning Olivia to finish their breakfast.
As they ate, Olivia filled him in on some of the history she had with the people in the diner. After her family had died and the Stephens had taken her in, she used to ride in to town early with Judson Stephens and have breakfast with him and the other regulars. Every one of the men at the counter had a daughter who was a member of Cloud Nine, and many of them had other children Olivia or her brothers had gone to school with. After school, she'd come back to the diner and hang out until her various clubs, meetings, and practices started. She'd help wait tables when things got busy or she got bored, and in return, Casey and Irene helped her with some of her schoolwork and kept her cup filled with hot chocolate.
"It was a nice place to hang out until I got tired enough to go back to a house that wasn't home," she said distractedly.
Steve was not surprised to find Olivia had been involved in choir at church and school, but he was impressed to know she sang the National Anthem at every home football, basketball, and softball game for four years. He'd heard what a beautiful voice she had, but he knew the National Anthem was notoriously difficult, even for seasoned professionals, let alone a kid. She was also active in Bible Study, Youth Fellowship, and drama (again, no surprise as he remembered the Christmas party at CG). Steve was however, astounded to find that she had also been an athlete and a cheerleader. It wasn't hard to picture her as a cheerleader, but she seemed awfully short for volleyball and just too small for softball.
She grinned, holding her hands about eight inches apart, "My strike zone was about that big," she said impishly, "I was fast, and if they slid into the base and tried to spike me, I'd tag them hard enough to bruise their ribs whether I had the ball or not."
Steve laughed and said, "You were vicious, weren't you?"
"Oh, yeah."
Mr. Hargrove was eavesdropping, and he chose to interject, "That was nothing compared to her volleyball serve. She was so short it came over the net at an angle that was almost unhittable. My twins, Sophie and Sylvie, played on the varsity team with her, and I used to watch all the games. I once saw this kid win an entire game on serves alone. The other team never hit the ball back."
Olivia smiled pleasantly and said, "How are the girls, sir?"
"Oh, they're fine, Livvie. They're both teachers across the street now. They take turns coaching varsity and JV volleyball."
"Hey, that's great."
Hargrove shook his head and said, "Not this year, it ain't. They're also teaching my grandchildren to drive those God-awful jeeps you got them to buy."
"Oh. Well if it's that bad this year, next year will have to be better."
"I s'pose."
Olivia wrinkled her forehead. "Mr. Hargrove, the girls can't possibly have children old enough to drive yet, can they?"
"Oh, not for another year or so, but Russ' boys…"
"Chuck and Jeff?"
"Yep, they just got their permits."
"My God, are they that old already?"
"Yes, m'dear, they are, and so are you and so am I," the old man said with an affectionate smile as he came to stand beside their table. "Amazing how time flies when you're grown, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir, it is, but you always used to warn me it would."
Hargrove rested a huge weathered hand none-too-gently on Steve's shoulder and said, "Now, young fella. Steve, or is it Steven?"
"Steve, unless I'm in trouble," he said with a grin, suddenly aware what a mountain of a man Hargrove was. Years of hard work may have aged him, but he was still a massive six feet four inches, and a lifetime of physical labor had layered his body with solid muscle.
"Well, then…Steven," the man said with some emphasis as the diner went silent. "Have you ever seen one of them old black and white horror movies where the farmers storm the castle with pitchforks and scythes and hack the monster to bits?"
Steve's grin faded. He met the older man's eyes, and replied with a troubled frown, "Yes, sir." He had to swallow a rock in his throat as the tune from "Deliverance" ran through his head.
"All of us old farmers here love this girl," Hargrove said gravely, squeezing Steve's shoulder a little harder than necessary. "Her daddy was one of us, and we have taken it as out solemn duty to protect her. We've let her down a couple of times, so you can understand if we're a mite touchy about how you treat her, can't you, Steven?"
There was that stress on his full name again. Steve nodded, knowing he couldn't force words past the rock. The strains of 'Dueling Banjos' grew louder in his mind.
"Very good, then. Remember, son, if you hurt her you will know how the monster in those movies feels, and you won't be the first in these parts to have that experience. Do you understand?"
Steve had gone pale. He knew a threat when he heard one. The farmer's grip on his shoulder tightened, making him wince. He swallowed hard a couple times as the rock turned to gravel, licked dry lips, and said, "Ye…" He swallowed and tried again, "Yes, sir." Much to his chagrin, he could only manage a whisper.
The old man nodded and said, "Good." He turned and shuffled slowly toward the door.
Steve's hands were shaking so badly he needed both of them to hold his glass as he took a sip of orange juice to clear the dust the gravel had left in his throat. He put the glass down and rubbed his shoulder. Soon he became aware of Olivia's trembling. Instantly he thought to comfort her, but as his eyes met hers to offer assurances he did not feel, she fell sideways on the bench and collapsed in a fit of giggles. The diner roared with laughter, and much to Steve's relief, he knew he'd been had.
He laughed good-naturedly at his own expense as he watched Hargrove strutting the length of the counter getting handshakes and slaps on the back from the other men. Olivia came up gasping for air and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes and said, "He's done that to every guy I've ever brought in here. It's a good test of character to see if you can take a joke. I'd have warned you, but I knew you'd be ok, and they would have been so disappointed if it hadn't worked. It's not very often they get fresh meat up here in the mountains."
"I'll get even for this," Steve promised with a grin, then went to shake Hargrove's hand.
"You really had me going there, sir," Steve told him, extending his hand. "But I meant what I said. I'll be good to her."
Hargrove took his hand and shook it enthusiastically as some of the others gave him friendly pats on the back. "You better be, son. She deserves it. And welcome to the family."
Somehow, Steve got turned around in the warm, friendly crowd that had finally welcomed him, and he caught a glimpse of Olivia, beaming happily at him from the end of the counter. It did feel like family, and he was grateful they had accepted him. She made her way toward him through the crowd. "All right, you goobers," she said with a laugh, "you've had your fun with him. Now pay your bills, tip your waitress…"
"Thank you!" Irene called from the kitchen.
Olivia waved, "…and be on your way so Steve and I can finish our breakfast before the late breakfast crowd arrives." She looked at Steve and said, "Sweetheart, would you mind if we helped with the breakfast rush? Casey says Irene and Judi can barely keep up with it together now days, and Judi's home with the flu. With the holiday, it's going to be a mess in here."
"Sure, I'd be glad to help," Steve agreed, wondering how big a rush such a small town could produce.
She gave him a peck on the cheek and said, "Thank you."
Steve collapsed into the booth across from Olivia and Irene at about ten thirty with a thunderous groan.
"Where did all of those people come from? This town is not that big!"
Olivia and Irene exchanged looks and laughed. "Size isn't everything, hon," Irene said.
"Steve wouldn't know about that, Irene."
Olivia's jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide in absolute shock at the words that had just slipped from her own mouth. Her hands slowly came up to cover her brilliantly red face as she started to giggle.
"Oooo, Livvie, talk about kiss and tell!" Irene teased.
Olivia continued to giggle, tears of mirth…or perhaps embarrassment…sitting at the corners of her eyes. As Steve caught Irene sizing him up anew, he began to feel a bit uneasy, but took comfort in the fact that Olivia was still blushing enough for both of them. He decided to rub it in.
"Olivia," he said in a shocked tone as he stirred his coffee. "This is a side of you I've never seen before." Suggestively he added, "And I thought by now I'd seen them all."
Liv finally caught her breath, and still blushing furiously, said, "It must be the company, Steve." She shot a look at Irene. "I thought I'd outgrown that kind of humor, but I guess this place is bringing it out of me again."
Steve gave her his most charming smile and said, "Humor? I thought it was a compliment."
If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he never would have believed that Olivia could blush redder, but she did. He watched delightedly as she dissolved in giggles and dropped onto the seat, hiding from his view behind the table.
"Anyway, Steven," Irene said in a warning tone as she came to her younger friend's rescue, "Punxy's the biggest town for twenty miles in any direction, and we're right on the main drag, such as it is. With people crisscrossing the county to get to and from work, we usually get a rush at breakfast and dinner. Breakfast is the worst, though, because we have kids and teachers from the school coming by, too. With tomorrow being Groundhog Day, we've also got a lot of tourists hanging around."
"I see. Well, that explains that, I guess. You certainly seem to do a brisk business."
Olivia finally sat up and rejoined the conversation. "If you think this morning was busy, you should see this place after the football and basketball games."
Irene turned to Olivia and said, "There's a game tonight. I'm sure if we called Mr. Jenkins, he'd be glad to have you sing."
Olivia shook her head adamantly, "Oh, no, Irene. It has been years since I sang in front of a big crowd."
"That's ok, honey, it's been years since we've heard you sing. Hey, Casey! Call the school and tell Mr. Jenkins Livvie's back in town and wants to sing before the game tonight."
"Casey, no!" Olivia shouted down Irene's suggestion, "I'm not ready to do that."
Irene shook a finger at Liv and said, "I'll get you over there yet."
"Yeah," Olivia agreed. "You keep badgering me and you probably will. Right now, just let us help you get ready for lunch."
"Sure thing, I'd appreciate the help."
As the ladies talked, Irene noticed Olivia shooting Steve narrow-eyed glances, but she hadn't noticed that Steve was growing pale. As the three rose to go back to work preparing for the lunch crowd, she heard Steve suck air through his teeth and saw him drop back to the seat.
"Uh, Liv, I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be," he said through clenched teeth.
"I was expecting that. Leg acting up, is it?"
He nodded tensely as he arched back in his seat and tried to stretch his leg as much as the tight space under the table would allow.
"I saw you limping when we got off the plane this morning and while you were waiting tables during breakfast. I was hoping you'd have the sense to take something on your own. If it's any consolation, you must be getting stronger. I'm surprised how long you were able to go before it cramped up on you."
Steve was panting in pain as he said, "You can lecture me all you want later, Liv. Right now I need something fast."
"I've got some Advil in my locker, honey."
Steve moaned and shook his head no. "Thanks, Irene, but that won't do it."
"Would have if you had taken some this morning," Olivia said acidly. Then turning to a very worried Irene, she said, "My purse is on the floor beside your locker, Irene. Would you please bring it, and a glass of water?"
As Irene left to get the requested items, Olivia moved to the other side of the booth. She helped Steve turn so his long legs stretched across the seat, and she massaged his cramping muscles. Her warm, strong hands felt good, and as always, he was amazed at what strength those delicate hands possessed. Something was missing, though.
"Why are you mad at me, Liv?"
"What makes you think I'm mad?"
"You're not talking to me," he said with strained patience. He jumped as a particularly powerful spasm sent knives of pain slicing along his nerves. After catching his breath, he continued. "Usually you talk and try to comfort me when I'm hurting. That helps at least as much as the massage."
She sighed and continued to massage his calf. After a moment, she told him, "You should have taken some Advil this morning."
He nodded. "If you saw me limping, why didn't you say anything?"
She pressed her lips together and said in exasperation, "Because if it happened on the job, I wouldn't be there to tell you what to do about it. You have to learn to listen to your body."
Irene came back and set Olivia's purse and the water on the table. Steve hunted for his medication while Olivia continued to massage his leg. Sensing that she was intruding, Irene retreated to the kitchen.
"You need to recognize the warning signs your body sends you and act before something like this happens."
Steve winced as she bent and flexed his knee and ankle. "That's not what's bothering you, though, is it?"
She worked her way up and down his calf and thigh and said, "If you had taken a couple Advil when you got off the plane this morning you'd have been fine, but you had to be tough."
Steve put a Darvocet in his mouth and washed it down with some water, then said, "It didn't hurt that much, Liv."
She spat her next words at him. "Two Advil, Steve. Stop being tough and start being smart. What if this had happened while you were chasing some suspect?"
"Then I guess I would have had a problem," he said sarcastically. He was tired of being lectured.
"Dammit, Steve! You sure as hell would have," she agreed angrily.
As if the tears hovering at the corners of her eyes weren't enough, the uncharacteristic use of profanity told him just how upset she was. "Liv," he said soothingly, "calm down." He reached for her hands, but she stood up and moved away from him.
"I will not calm down!" she snapped. "I hate to see you hurting. It hurts me. I love you and I need to know that you will take care of yourself. I can handle the risks that go with your job, but not if you're going to amplify them with self-neglect."
Steve opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, but she turned her back on him. She went to the far end of the diner and started collecting napkin holders and salt- and peppershakers to refill before the lunch crowd arrived. Steve sat in the booth and sulked, knowing he couldn't follow her until the medication kicked in. After a while, Irene came over to freshen his coffee. She poured herself a cup and sat down across from him.
"Quite a firecracker, isn't she?"
"I've never seen her so angry," Steve said, dejectedly.
"That's only because she cares so much," Irene assured him. "She only cusses at the people she really loves." She picked up the bottle of Steve's medication and read the label. "Darvocet? That's some pretty powerful stuff, isn't it?"
"I haven't used it in weeks," Steve said defensively.
"Oh, I wasn't judging you, hon," Irene said. "Actually, I was just wondering. What happened?"
Steve was quiet a moment.
"I'm sorry, I'm prying. It's a bad habit." She got up to leave.
"Wait, Irene," Steve said, "It's ok."
He stirred his coffee for a moment as he framed his thoughts.
"I got shot up on the job back in August. I just got back to work the first of this year."
Irene whistled softly.
Steve nodded, "Yeah, that about covers it. I still have some lingering problems, but Liv has promised me if I do what I'm supposed to they won't interfere with my life or my job."
"And you're supposed to take something as soon as you feel pain, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you?"
Steve rubbed both hands over his face and said, "I played football in high school, used to ride dirt bikes, and served two tours of duty in Viet Nam. Since I became a cop, I've been beat up more times than I can count. I've been shot, knifed, blown up, and run down. A while back, I rolled a car in a high-speed chase, tore up my knee, and was deliberately infected with staphylococcus bacteria while I was recovering in the hospital. Just after I met Liv, I was shot seven times and fell from an iron stairwell to a concrete floor. The fall broke my collarbone and some ribs, and gave me a concussion. The bullets shattered my pelvis, my left thigh, and blew away so much of my right leg, Liv had to use a special device to stretch it as it healed so it would be the same length as the left. Sometimes I get stiff in the mornings, and my right leg aches and cramps up. Other than that I'm good as gold."
Irene just shook her head at the litany of injuries Steve recited.
Steve shrugged his shoulders and gave a slightly bitter laugh. "Anyway, after your body takes so much abuse, you kind of get used to living with low-level pain. If you can walk it off, sleep it off, or work it out, you just ignore it."
Irene nodded, and jerked her head in Olivia's direction. "You need to explain that to her, kiddo."
"I doubt she'll listen."
"Make her hear you."
Irene filled his coffee cup one more time then left him alone with his thoughts.
He sat rubbing and stretching his sore leg as he watched Olivia fill the napkin holders, salt- and peppershakers, and ketchup and mustard bottles at the counter and every table except his. She wiped down the counter, the tables, the seats, and the menus, but carefully avoided him. Then she fixed herself a cup of tea and sat at the counter, turning slightly on the stool to keep her back to him.
Finally, he felt a blessed relief as the Darvocet kicked in. When he went to her, he didn't want to be limping. He wanted her to see him whole and healthy. He waited a few more minutes for the medication to take full effect.
"Liv," he called quietly.
He saw her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh before she turned around to face him. He could still see anger lingering in her eyes and the set of her jaw. Sliding out of the booth, he walked toward her. He put a confidence in his stride that he did not feel. He could tell from her face that she was not fooled. Damn if she couldn't read him like a cheap supermarket tabloid! Well, he was going to follow through anyway.
She sat staring at him impassively for a few moments as he searched for words. Out of patience, she slipped from the stool and stepped around him to go to the table he had just vacated. He took her arm and pulled her close to him.
She froze. "Let me go."
"Hear me out?"
She nodded, and he let her go. She slid back up on the stool and fixed him with a hard stare. "Talk to me."
He put his hands on her shoulders, ran them down her arms, and held her hands. They were ice cold.
"Liv, I…" What could he say? He understood why she was mad, but until she told him, he hadn't even realized that how he dealt with his pain affected her. What's more, he hadn't recognized the stiffness when he got off the plane as a signal of something worse to come. By the time they got busy at breakfast, he was hurting, but not bad enough to justify ducking out on Liv and Irene.
"Steve, I'm not going to wait forever. If you have something to say, say it. If not, let me finish refilling the tables."
He looked down for a moment, and then he looked in her eyes. He saw pain there, and sadness, too.
Nodding toward their booth, he said, "Let's sit."
She followed him, and sat across from him.
He took her hand and said, "I need you to try to understand me. I'm not sure how to explain this so it will make sense to you, but I've got to try."
She said nothing.
He stared at the ceiling a moment to organize his thoughts, and then plunged ahead. "This is new to me, Liv. I've had aches and pains since I was fifteen and started playing high school football. I'm not being tough or hardheaded; I'm just being me." He gave her a lopsided grin, "If I took something every time I hurt, I'd have spent the past thirty years on drugs."
She still didn't respond.
"Liv, I need you to be patient with me, and I need you to help me. I'm just beginning to realize I'm not the same person I was before this happened to me. I've gotten so used to…ignoring…a certain level of discomfort. I've developed a high tolerance for pain, so I don't necessarily recognize warning signs when they hit me."
He looked down at the table and doodled on the surface with a fingertip for a minute.
"This has…changed me. I need you to teach me to…deal with it. I don't want you to worry about me, but you need to understand that I'm not used to…limitations. I'm sorry if you're still mad, but you have to believe that I really am trying to take care of myself. I just can't tell the difference between normal aches and pains and…trouble."
He looked up at her just in time to see a tear drip from her face to the tabletop.
"Liv, don't cry."
"Oh, Steve, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself." She looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. "I promised you you'd recover, but you're still suffering. Every time I see you hurting, I remember that I let you down. I made you a promise I couldn't keep. I'm so, so sorry. I should have done more."
"What could you have done, Liv?"
She shrugged.
"Look at me, honey." When she didn't look up, he took her by the chin and gently forced her to meet his gaze. When he could look her in the eye, he said, "If it weren't for you, I would have been crippled for life. You did everything you could, and I know that. I'll be forever grateful to you, because you gave me my life back.
"You didn't promise me that everything would be the way it was before I got shot. You promised me that if I did what I was told, I would be all right. Well, I am all right. I just need to learn to recognize my limits, and I need your help with that. What do you say?"
She looked at him and gave a teary smile.
"Do you forgive me?"
"Liv, there's nothing to forgive. You did more for me than anyone could have imagined. By all rights, I should be in a wheelchair now; but I'm not, thanks to you. Will you continue to help me?"
She dried her tears, gave him a genuine smile that lit up her eyes, and nodded. "Of course I will. I need to keep you limber so you can keep up with me."
"Sweetheart, I don't think anyone could ever keep up with you." He laughed, leaned across the table, and kissed her.
Suddenly, the affectionate little peck that they had intended became electric. Steve tasted her with his tongue, and she parted her lips to let him explore. She rubbed the back of his hand so softly it sent fire and chills chasing each other along his nerves to his brain and his groin.
Steve caught his breath enough to whisper, "Are we going to your place, or will we have to find a hotel?"
The sound of someone very nearby clearing his throat cut off her answer. Olivia jumped, screamed, and giggled. Steve blushed and cursed to himself. To their credit, the two deputies standing beside the table didn't laugh.
When Olivia stopped giggling, she introduced them to Steve.
"Steve, you already met Arnold Beech, and this is Kenny Stephens." She smiled and said, "Kenney, you look good. How are things going?"
Kenny was not cordial.
"This isn't a social call, O."
Olivia stiffened and asked, "You're not here to harass me on account of your brother, are you? Remember, he dumped me."
"Of course not, O. I love you like a sister. I'm not happy that you let him drive you off, but if he was too angry to know what a gem he had, I can't blame you. Of course I would hope you'd have more respect for him than to be caught necking like a teenager in the biggest window on main street. Five more minutes and I could have charged you both with public lewdness."
"Well, then, what brings you here?" she asked frostily.
Beechie answered. "It's bad news, O. I asked Kenney to come with me when I told you. I thought maybe having him here would make it easier to take. Maybe I was wrong." He shot the younger deputy a disapproving glare.
At least Kenney had the grace to be contrite. "I'm sorry, O, I've just…never seen you with anyone but Keith."
"Never mind that." Worry and confusion were still written on her face. "What the matter, Beechie?"
Beechie took a deep breath and said, "Ted's out again. We just got word a little while ago."
"O," Kenney said, "I think you should go back to California. It's just not safe for you here right now."
Steve watched as Olivia took a deep breath, pressed her hands flat on the table, looked at her friends, and said, "I was halfway expecting this. It just felt like it was time. I'm through running. I came back here to confront my past before I start a new future with Steve."
Steve noticed that Kenny tried hard to conceal his reaction, but he was clearly disturbed to find another man had taken his brother's place in Olivia's affections.
"If he's loose, it's because he's meant to be. If I went back to LA, he'd eventually find me there. No place is safe for me as long as he's alive, but I'm not afraid of him any more."
"He's a crazy son of a gun, O," Beechie reminded her.
"Schizophrenic love-obsessed stalkers usually are, Beechie."
The deputy gave her an aggravated look. "If you insist on staying, at least stay in town instead of going out to that drafty old house of yours."
She looked at Steve. "I want to stay. And I want to stay at my house. I have a rifle and a shotgun there, and I brought my .38 with me from LA…legally transported, of course. I have a carry permit in LA, and Pennsylvania is a 'shall issue' state. The sheriff knows me. I should be able to get a non-resident carry permit with no trouble. As a police officer, you won't need a permit. We can get you a weapon by Saturday."
She looked at Kenney and said, "It is just the federal five-day wait for a new purchase, right?"
Kenney nodded.
She looked back at Steve. "He's come after me three times. I will not run again, I will not hide, and I will not live in fear. I will not stop living my life because of him ever again. This is a small community, and he'll know we're here soon enough. He'll be coming after you, too, because you're with me. You can go home if you want and come back when he's in jail again, but I'm staying right here until all of my ghosts are put to rest."
"Do you understand what you're saying, Liv?" Steve asked her carefully.
"I am saying that I am alive again, it feels good, and I'm not going to give it up just because some madman wants a piece of me. I'm not looking for trouble, Steve, but I'm not going to hide from it any more."
Steve thought for a moment. He studied her carefully. She was eerily calm. Her mind was made up, and she had complete faith that everything was going to be ok.
"How'd you get your LA permit, Liv?"
"Well, you know how hard it is for the average citizen to get a concealed carry permit in LA."
"That's why I asked."
She shrugged. "I know someone who knows someone. He verified that I had 'good cause' and got the issuing officer to expedite the process. I took the safety and use of force courses, paid the fee, and got my permit. It was all legal and above-board, my friend just made it a little easier."
Steve nodded thoughtfully and asked, "Was the friend my father?"
"No. Don't ask who it was. I won't tell you."
He nodded again and looked at the deputies, not sure what he wanted to ask. Kenney told him what he needed to know anyway. "She's a good shot and level-headed. She won't freak out in a crisis," he smiled affectionately at Liv, "but she might fall apart afterward. I'd trust her to watch my back any day."
Steve looked Liv in the eye and said, "It's a hard thing to shoot a man."
"I know. I've done it twice before and it sucked." She didn't flinch or look away, but she didn't seem proud of it either. She was just giving him the facts. "I don't want revenge, and I don't want to kill Ted, but if it's him or me…well..."
Steve took a deep breath, puffed his cheeks, and let the air out. He nodded and said, "I'm staying. Let's go see the sheriff."
Olivia looked at the tabletop a moment. Then she looked up at Steve and said, "Thank you."
Steve had been surprised to learn that Olivia was licensed to carry a handgun in LA. He knew she was serious about protecting herself, and he knew she was stronger on the inside than anyone he had ever known. But at the sheriff's office, he saw a completely new side of her personality. She knew she was a force to be reckoned with, and she wasn't ashamed to throw her weight around to get what she wanted. At first, Steve wasn't comfortable with what he saw, but soon he realized that she could have used her influence more often and more selfishly than she did. He was glad to see that she saved her big guns for the big problems.
"Dangit, Rick, I know it's unusual, but these are special circumstances. You know me. You can do the background check by the end of business today, and, thanks to my acquaintance with Ted and Keith, half your own deputies can provide character references."
"I know that, Livvie, but you don't need to carry."
"But I have the right to, and I want to, for self-defense."
"Look, Livvie, there's also a little issue about mental stability that I have to consider. You have a history of…well…"
"Breaking down. I know. But the law only prohibits you from issuing a permit if I have been confined to a mental facility. I never have, and I am stable now. I haven't come unglued since Keith cancelled the wedding, and when I have fallen apart, I have never, ever, been a danger to anyone but myself. Issuing this permit is entirely at your discretion. I have held a concealed carry permit since I was twenty-one. Except for Chicago, where they don't have a concealed carry permit, every place I have lived has seen fit to grant me one, even California, which is one of the most restrictive states in the nation that still issues permits. Except for hunting, I have fired exactly four rounds outside of the practice range, all of them in self-defense, all non-lethal, and all at Ted when he was after me."
"The first one was at his head, Livvie."
"You wrote the report yourself, Rick. Would you have done any differently? I'm not going to start shooting at every squeak and bump in the night."
The sheriff raked a hand over his bald scalp and said, "Livvie, go home. Come back when he's in jail again."
She hopped up on the counter, crossed her legs, folded her arms, and said, "I am home, Rick, and I have a right to visit my friends, and I have a right to defend myself, if necessary. I intend to exercise both of those rights. I want a permit to carry."
The sheriff took hold of Olivia's wrist and tried to coax her off the counter. She grabbed his thumb and gave it a twist, and Steve watched in amazement as the big man sank to his knees in pain.
"Now, Rick," she lectured calmly, still holding his thumb, "I used to help Ted and Keith study for their exams when we were in college. This is a public building, during normal business hours, and while my behavior may be unorthodox, it is hardly illegal. You are a law-enforcement official who just put his hands on me in order to make me comply with a request…a request mind you, not an order, because you can not order me to leave a public place during normal business hours as long as I am not endangering anyone or interfering with the regular routines of this office. If I recollect correctly, and I'm sure I do, that amounts to false arrest."
"And what you are doing is assault on a police officer," the man gasped.
"The way I see it, it's self-defense, especially if I prove false arrest, which I have no doubt I can do. When I prove that I could have used my medical knowledge to destroy the use of your opposable thumbs thus dropping you one rung below the great apes on the evolutionary ladder, but used only the force necessary to contain the perceived threat instead, I expect I'll win any assault case you might bring. Shall we find out? Who do you think can hire a better lawyer, me, or the county? Keep in mind that the county will be defending a sheriff who could have avoided the whole problem with a signature on a piece of paper."
"I could say I was putting you into protective custody."
"How would you justify that to a judge when you just finished telling me I didn't 'need' to carry a weapon for protection?"
Steve watched in fascination as a muscle in the sheriff's jaw twitched.
"All right," he conceded. "I'll have Kenney and Beechie fill out the character references." Olivia smiled and turned him loose. "But I want to talk with the shrinks you've seen since you moved out of town. If something happens and I have to explain myself, I want to be able to verify that I looked into your state of mind and mental stability before issuing the permit."
Olivia took a pad and pen that were on the counter and wrote down some names and phone numbers.
"Have them fax you the release of information forms. Now, about Steve," she said as she slid the pad to the sheriff.
Steve could see a rebellious look in the man's eye for only a moment before it disappeared with a sigh as he recognized that he was already beaten. He ran a hand over his shiny pate again and turned to Steve.
"We can avoid the waiting period if I issue you a weapon, but I can't do that unless I deputize you. There is a provision in the county statutes allowing me to do that in…special circumstances." Shooting a glance at Liv, he said, "I suppose these circumstances are special enough. It even allows for a nominal salary. I'll need approval from your supervisor."
Steve took the pad from the sheriff, wrote down Captain Newman's name and number, and handed it back.
"Satisfied?" the sheriff asked.
"Eminently," Liv beamed.
The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose, and Steve sympathized. He recognized the signs of a tension headache too well. "I have found that if you follow in her wake instead of trying to swim across it, your head won't hurt as much, sir."
The sheriff gave him a tired smile and said, "You'd think I would have learned that years ago, and call me Rick, detective."
The two men shook hands, "Call me Steve."
"You always were your mama's slow child," Olivia said, giving the sheriff a peck on the cheek. "We'll wait in the break room, thanks," and she led Steve through the building to a small lounge with a few snack and drink machines, a TV, and some comfortable chairs. Steve had the definite impression that Olivia had spent almost as much time here as she had at the diner.
It took some time, but as it turned out, the sheriff didn't need to deputize Steve. Instead, Captain Newman got permission to lend him to the county sheriff exclusively for Olivia's twenty-four-hour protection. The sheriff would issue Steve a gun, the county would pay the LAPD, and the LAPD would pay Steve's salary.
The sheriff led Steve back the hall to the gun cage and introduced him to a deputy in a wheelchair.
"Steve Sloan, this is Keith Stephens, you met his brother Kenney at the diner." The men shook hands as the sheriff said, "Keith and Livvie go way back."
"So I've heard," Steve said amiably, as he noted the other man's grip tightening uncomfortably. Steve squeezed back a little harder and narrowed his eyes. After holding Stephens's gaze for a moment, he sent the sheriff a look that should have killed him.
The two men sized each other up in silence. Each obviously knew what the other meant to Olivia. Steve saw the man he could have become had Olivia not been there when he was shot. Stephens was an angry man. His left leg was gone at mid thigh, and the right was missing from the knee down. His hips were slim, his upper body, massive. He had dark brown eyes and wore his black hair so short it was almost a crew cut. He had a receding hairline. His face would have been pleasant enough if it weren't wearing an angry scowl. In spite of his unmasked hatred, Steve could see something in him that would appeal to a woman like Liv. There was a dignity and integrity in the man no amount of rage or hate could hide.
Keith saw the man he should have been, tall, strong, lean, and whole, a man who could keep up with O's frenetic pace and give her everything she deserved. Sloan was handsome and athletic, with a muscular frame, a great tan, wavy brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes. He wore faded jeans that fit tight, faintly showing the definition in his thighs and a black, suede jacket that was clearly well filled out. Keith hated him instantly, but he could see how O would fall for him. He could tell Sloan was friendly enough and compassionate, and for all of his Hollywood good looks, the guy was unmistakably decent and probably tough as hell.
Stephens snorted derisively, saying, "My brother said she was tooling around town with some beach bum. So, you're it. She could have done a lot better for herself."
Steve refused to be baited. He loosened his grip on the handshake, feeling his fingers tingle, and said with a forced grin, "I agree, but she insists that she likes me. I guess she must if she brought me home to meet her friends."
Stephens looked him over a moment longer, then released his hand and said in a defeated tone, "Choose your weapon and bring it to me so we can fill out the paperwork."
The selection was slim, but Steve put it down to a tight budget. He chose something that suited him while Stephens and the sheriff talked hunting and sports. Then he took care of the paperwork as quickly as possible and left the gun cage with the sheriff as an escort.
As soon as the were out of earshot, Steve said, "That was dirty, sheriff."
"You'll live."
Steve stopped and looked the other man in the eye. "Why did you do it, to be inhospitable to me or cruel to him?"
Instead of answering, the sheriff reached behind Steve, opened a door, and shoved him roughly into a tiny windowless room apparently meant for interviews. Steve could almost hear the music from 'Deliverance' again.
"Sit down, beach bum."
"I'd prefer to stand."
"Suit yourself. Just understand this. When Livvie's brother Benny went off to Viet Nam, I promised to take care of her. She has done a lot for this department. Since she came into her money, none of my people have ever had to pay medical expenses of any kind regardless of whether they were injured on or off duty. She…or rather one of her foundations…covers what insurance and workman's comp won't, not just for my people, but for their wives and kids, too. When we needed equipment that the county couldn't afford, she loaned us the money. We have had two deputies and three state troopers killed in the line of duty in this county since she got rich. She made sure their mortgages were paid and their kids were educated."
"And?"
"And you just need to be aware, if you hurt her, every cop in this county will have a bullet with your name on it always chambered in his weapon. At the slightest provocation, one of them will fire."
There it was, 'Dueling Banjos'. Though he knew he was being threatened, he wasn't scared. This time, he was mad. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, then twenty. The sheriff was Liv's friend; Steve didn't want to make him his enemy.
Steve forced himself to speak softly when he really wanted to beat the man with a big stick.
"Sheriff, I think we're on the same page, here. A while back, I was badly hurt on the job. Liv, more than anyone, put me back together, body, mind, and soul. Like everyone I've met since I've been here, I, too, would tear apart anyone who tried to hurt her. Now, I still want to know, what did you hope to accomplish by having Keith Stephens and me cross paths like that? Which one of us were you trying to mess with?"
The sheriff narrowed his eyes. "Neither of you. I don't give a hairy rat's behind how you and Stephens feel about each other. I introduced you to spare Livvie." To Steve's surprise, the man actually blushed faintly. "I've always been fond of that kid. Now that you and Keith have met for the first time, she doesn't have to go through that particular minefield. And if you like, you can still call me Rick."
Steve counted ten. It seemed some of Olivia's eccentricities were really just part of the local flavor. The sheriff's colorful language evoked an image so ridiculous, Steve almost laughed, and in one sentence, his tone had switched from animosity to friendliness. Steve peered at the man intently to be sure he was sincere. He saw no guile in the other's face, so he gave in.
"Ok, Rick, and you can still call me Steve."
Steve and Olivia left the sheriff's office in time for a late supper at the diner. After eating, they finally went to Olivia's house. Steve was as impressed with the place as he was exhausted, and he was glad when Olivia suggested that the grand tour wait for tomorrow.
He was delighted to curl up in her big old-fashioned four-poster under a soft electric blanket and an antique quilt and close the heavy velvet curtains around the bed. When Olivia lay down beside him and sighed contentedly, he knew he never wanted anything more than to be with her, and could hardly contain his impatience at waiting for her to work out all the issues of her past. He fell asleep with her head on his chest, her fingers drumming the rhythm of his heartbeat against his ribs, and her lovely voice humming an old love song.
Disclaimers:
The author has family and friends in Punxsutawney, but, except for Aunt Dottie in the previous chapter, any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidence. Even the author sometimes hears the strains of Dueling Banjos when she visits the kinfolk in Punx'y and surrounding areas, but she still apologizes to anyone who might be offended. They are truly good people, kind and generous to a fault, with an unwavering sense of right and wrong, and a patient acceptance of those who do not fit their mold. All references to __Deliverance__ are meant to be a tongue-in-cheek joke told with infinite affection.
(Chapter 33. February 1. Casey's diner.)
At first sight, Steve was completely taken with Casey's Diner. It was one of those old-fashioned, aluminum-sided, art-deco places from the fifties and still appeared to have the original counter, booths, stools, juke box, and menu. They served typical diner food--hamburgers, French fries, onion rings, and the like; with eggs, sausage, homefries and other good stuff for breakfast any time of the day. Though he got some odd looks from the regulars, the waitress made him feel quite welcome with a steaming cup of coffee on the table before he even settled in his seat.
Sliding a menu to him across the table, she said, "My name's Irene, sugar. We're already shorthanded 'cause the other girl is out sick, and we're about to get real busy with the mines, the paper mill, Woodley's, and the cheese plant all changing shifts at once. You must be here for Groundhog Day, right?"
"Uh, no. Actually I'm with a friend who's from here and came home for a visit. She should be here any minute."
"Oh, all right. Well, anyway, if you need something and I don't get around to you soon enough, just holler my name, 'kay?"
"Well, I wouldn't want to jump ahead of any of your regulars who've been waiting," Steve demurred politely.
Irene made a dismissive sound and said, "Those geezers? Shoot, they're just a bunch of old farmers and storekeepers who don't have enough to do in the winter. They've been here since before the roosters crowed this morning." She raised her voice a few notches and said, "They just like to suck down the free coffee and shoot the breeze. They sure don't know how to tip, and the only reason Casey keeps them around is all that hot air keeps the heating bills down."
Steve just nodded and smiled at the friendly brunette. She was an older lady, in her early sixties, he'd guess, with sparkling green eyes and a mobile mouth. He wasn't sure, but he thought the hair color might have come out of a bottle. She had a way of looking at him that said, "I might not know who you are, but it's good to see you anyway," and from that, Steve knew why Liv had wanted to stop here.
He didn't know why she had parked down the block and sent him ahead.
He looked up to see Irene waiting expectantly.
She smiled and asked, "You want to order, sugar?"
"Huh? Oh…umm…what's good?"
She grinned. "Everything, honey, but the best dish in the house ain't on the menu."
One of the old farmers at Steve's end of the counter hollered, "I think she's talkin' about you, young fella."
Steve could feel a blush warming his face when he heard Olivia call from the kitchen, "She better not be Mr. Hargrove! He's with me." Then to Steve she called, "Two eggs over easy, hot cakes, sausage, homefries, and oj coming up, Steve!"
From his table at the end of the counter, Steve could see jaws drop all along the line and hear the old men muttering, "That's Big john Regis' girl! Livvie's come home. What in the world is she doing here? Who's the fella with her? Maybe he has something to do with the cheese packing plant. Why didn't Jud tell us she was coming back to town? We could have had a nice welcome home ready for her."
They all seemed too stunned to talk aloud until Olivia emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron and carrying a tray laden with breakfast. As she walked the length of the counter, she favored each of the old men with a smile, a nod, and a word.
"Mr. Breth, Mr. Peace. On the way in, I noticed you've both gone over to Christmas trees. Is business good?"
"Well, it's predictable."
"And one bad year usually won't ruin your whole harvest."
Olivia gave them a thoughtful look. "I hadn't considered that."
"Mr. Crandoll, I saw your son-in-law and we chatted for a while. He's looking well. Good morning, Mr. Beech. I'm sure you're both so proud of those grandkids."
Crandoll sat stone-faced, but Steve could hear the warmth in his voice when he said, "Yeah, I had my doubts at first, but Lou got herself a good-un."
Beech said, "She sure did, Louis, but Arnie got the better half of the deal."
Crandoll nodded to acknowledge the compliment to his daughter.
"And, twins no less," Olivia marveled.
"Well, you know, they run in both families, Livvie."
"No kidding?"
"Yup," Beech said, "I had a twin brother who died as a baby."
Crandoll continued, "And Lou's mother was a Hargrove."
"You don't say. I never realized that."
Moving down the counter, she started another conversation. Steve enjoyed watching her work the crowd.
"Mr. Strawcutter, how's business at the lumberyard?"
"Right fine, Livvie. I got me a new partner and we're managing to expand in spite of those big national chains."
Liv raised an eyebrow, "Oh, who's your partner?"
"Me," said the man next to Strawcutter. "Otis here came up with the idea. 'Bout three years ago, after my hardware store burned, I took the insurance money and used it to help him build a hardware store onto the custom cabinet shop at the lumberyard."
"Well, that's wonderful, Mr. Redmond. I'll be sure to stop by while I'm in town."
"Do that. The kids will be glad to see you," Redmond said. "Susie is our bookkeeper, and Cliff, Jr. manages the lumberyard."
"Yeah," Strawcutter cut in, "and in the spring, my Alice is going to start an interior design shop in the back room."
Liv laughed. "Keeping it in the family, huh?"
Redmond grinned. "Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if Cliff and Alice make us all family before the year's out."
"Oh, really?"
Strawcutter agreed. "They've been serious for a while. I imagine working in close quarters will speed things up a bit. It'll be interesting."
"I'm sure it will," Liv said with a knowing look.
Working her way to Steve's end of the counter, she said, "Mr. Hargrove, you know Irene will refuse to serve you if you keep picking on her."
"That's right, Kent," Irene agreed, "So just mind your manners."
"Oh, yeah, you old harpy? Just wait until you get snowed in again and see who hauls you and your old man back and forth to this tin can."
Olivia set the plates she was carrying on the table in front of Steve, and sat in the booth across from him. "And Irene, if you don't quit hitting on my boyfriend, Casey's going to send you packing and Steve and I won't help you with the breakfast rush. You know I can wait tables, and Steve's got his own restaurant back in LA, so he can pretty much do whatever you need."
At the word "boyfriend" all the other conversation in the diner stopped. As one man, the crowd at the counter turned to scrutinize Steve anew, and again he felt that familiar, uncomfortable warmth rising from his collar. Olivia reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. She turned sideways in her seat and said, "Everybody, this is Steve. He's a police lieutenant with the homicide division of the Los Angeles PD. I moved out there in August. He's my boss' son. And yes, you heard me say 'boyfriend.' We've been an item since Thanksgiving."
She gave them a cool look and said, "Anybody got a problem with that?"
There was a general murmur of 'no's' and 'of course not's,' after which Olivia smiled brightly and said, "Good. Steve, this is everybody. You'll learn their names later."
When the natural buzz of conversation returned, Irene slid into the booth beside Olivia and said, "What are you trying to do, Livvie? Scare him off?" Patting Steve's hand, she continued, saying, "Don't let them worry you, honey. After Livvie's folks…"
Irene's voice trailed off.
"It's ok, Irene, he knows."
The woman looked singularly relieved, and continued her story.
"Well, anyway, we all kind of adopted her. Any boy she liked had to pass muster with this bunch of dried up old turnips as well as Judson and May Stephens."
"Not to mention Ted, Keith, and Kenney," Olivia added.
Steve's confused look at the mention of more names prompted Olivia to explain, "Jud and May took me in until I petitioned to be emancipated at sixteen. Keith, my…ex…is their son, and Kenney is his younger brother. You know about Ted."
He nodded in understanding.
"Kenney's a deputy, now," Irene said.
"Really? It runs in the family, huh?"
"I guess so. Jud's dad and his uncle and a couple of cousins were police officers. Anyway," Irene changed the subject, looking back to Steve, "with all the people looking out for her, it's no small wonder this poor child didn't get to date until she was in her twenties. For all that, I must say she has excellent taste for one who's never had much practice."
Olivia winked and said, "And pretty good luck, too, huh?"
"He's a hot one, all right," Irene whispered and left a blushing Steve and a wickedly grinning Olivia to finish their breakfast.
As they ate, Olivia filled him in on some of the history she had with the people in the diner. After her family had died and the Stephens had taken her in, she used to ride in to town early with Judson Stephens and have breakfast with him and the other regulars. Every one of the men at the counter had a daughter who was a member of Cloud Nine, and many of them had other children Olivia or her brothers had gone to school with. After school, she'd come back to the diner and hang out until her various clubs, meetings, and practices started. She'd help wait tables when things got busy or she got bored, and in return, Casey and Irene helped her with some of her schoolwork and kept her cup filled with hot chocolate.
"It was a nice place to hang out until I got tired enough to go back to a house that wasn't home," she said distractedly.
Steve was not surprised to find Olivia had been involved in choir at church and school, but he was impressed to know she sang the National Anthem at every home football, basketball, and softball game for four years. He'd heard what a beautiful voice she had, but he knew the National Anthem was notoriously difficult, even for seasoned professionals, let alone a kid. She was also active in Bible Study, Youth Fellowship, and drama (again, no surprise as he remembered the Christmas party at CG). Steve was however, astounded to find that she had also been an athlete and a cheerleader. It wasn't hard to picture her as a cheerleader, but she seemed awfully short for volleyball and just too small for softball.
She grinned, holding her hands about eight inches apart, "My strike zone was about that big," she said impishly, "I was fast, and if they slid into the base and tried to spike me, I'd tag them hard enough to bruise their ribs whether I had the ball or not."
Steve laughed and said, "You were vicious, weren't you?"
"Oh, yeah."
Mr. Hargrove was eavesdropping, and he chose to interject, "That was nothing compared to her volleyball serve. She was so short it came over the net at an angle that was almost unhittable. My twins, Sophie and Sylvie, played on the varsity team with her, and I used to watch all the games. I once saw this kid win an entire game on serves alone. The other team never hit the ball back."
Olivia smiled pleasantly and said, "How are the girls, sir?"
"Oh, they're fine, Livvie. They're both teachers across the street now. They take turns coaching varsity and JV volleyball."
"Hey, that's great."
Hargrove shook his head and said, "Not this year, it ain't. They're also teaching my grandchildren to drive those God-awful jeeps you got them to buy."
"Oh. Well if it's that bad this year, next year will have to be better."
"I s'pose."
Olivia wrinkled her forehead. "Mr. Hargrove, the girls can't possibly have children old enough to drive yet, can they?"
"Oh, not for another year or so, but Russ' boys…"
"Chuck and Jeff?"
"Yep, they just got their permits."
"My God, are they that old already?"
"Yes, m'dear, they are, and so are you and so am I," the old man said with an affectionate smile as he came to stand beside their table. "Amazing how time flies when you're grown, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir, it is, but you always used to warn me it would."
Hargrove rested a huge weathered hand none-too-gently on Steve's shoulder and said, "Now, young fella. Steve, or is it Steven?"
"Steve, unless I'm in trouble," he said with a grin, suddenly aware what a mountain of a man Hargrove was. Years of hard work may have aged him, but he was still a massive six feet four inches, and a lifetime of physical labor had layered his body with solid muscle.
"Well, then…Steven," the man said with some emphasis as the diner went silent. "Have you ever seen one of them old black and white horror movies where the farmers storm the castle with pitchforks and scythes and hack the monster to bits?"
Steve's grin faded. He met the older man's eyes, and replied with a troubled frown, "Yes, sir." He had to swallow a rock in his throat as the tune from "Deliverance" ran through his head.
"All of us old farmers here love this girl," Hargrove said gravely, squeezing Steve's shoulder a little harder than necessary. "Her daddy was one of us, and we have taken it as out solemn duty to protect her. We've let her down a couple of times, so you can understand if we're a mite touchy about how you treat her, can't you, Steven?"
There was that stress on his full name again. Steve nodded, knowing he couldn't force words past the rock. The strains of 'Dueling Banjos' grew louder in his mind.
"Very good, then. Remember, son, if you hurt her you will know how the monster in those movies feels, and you won't be the first in these parts to have that experience. Do you understand?"
Steve had gone pale. He knew a threat when he heard one. The farmer's grip on his shoulder tightened, making him wince. He swallowed hard a couple times as the rock turned to gravel, licked dry lips, and said, "Ye…" He swallowed and tried again, "Yes, sir." Much to his chagrin, he could only manage a whisper.
The old man nodded and said, "Good." He turned and shuffled slowly toward the door.
Steve's hands were shaking so badly he needed both of them to hold his glass as he took a sip of orange juice to clear the dust the gravel had left in his throat. He put the glass down and rubbed his shoulder. Soon he became aware of Olivia's trembling. Instantly he thought to comfort her, but as his eyes met hers to offer assurances he did not feel, she fell sideways on the bench and collapsed in a fit of giggles. The diner roared with laughter, and much to Steve's relief, he knew he'd been had.
He laughed good-naturedly at his own expense as he watched Hargrove strutting the length of the counter getting handshakes and slaps on the back from the other men. Olivia came up gasping for air and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes and said, "He's done that to every guy I've ever brought in here. It's a good test of character to see if you can take a joke. I'd have warned you, but I knew you'd be ok, and they would have been so disappointed if it hadn't worked. It's not very often they get fresh meat up here in the mountains."
"I'll get even for this," Steve promised with a grin, then went to shake Hargrove's hand.
"You really had me going there, sir," Steve told him, extending his hand. "But I meant what I said. I'll be good to her."
Hargrove took his hand and shook it enthusiastically as some of the others gave him friendly pats on the back. "You better be, son. She deserves it. And welcome to the family."
Somehow, Steve got turned around in the warm, friendly crowd that had finally welcomed him, and he caught a glimpse of Olivia, beaming happily at him from the end of the counter. It did feel like family, and he was grateful they had accepted him. She made her way toward him through the crowd. "All right, you goobers," she said with a laugh, "you've had your fun with him. Now pay your bills, tip your waitress…"
"Thank you!" Irene called from the kitchen.
Olivia waved, "…and be on your way so Steve and I can finish our breakfast before the late breakfast crowd arrives." She looked at Steve and said, "Sweetheart, would you mind if we helped with the breakfast rush? Casey says Irene and Judi can barely keep up with it together now days, and Judi's home with the flu. With the holiday, it's going to be a mess in here."
"Sure, I'd be glad to help," Steve agreed, wondering how big a rush such a small town could produce.
She gave him a peck on the cheek and said, "Thank you."
Steve collapsed into the booth across from Olivia and Irene at about ten thirty with a thunderous groan.
"Where did all of those people come from? This town is not that big!"
Olivia and Irene exchanged looks and laughed. "Size isn't everything, hon," Irene said.
"Steve wouldn't know about that, Irene."
Olivia's jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide in absolute shock at the words that had just slipped from her own mouth. Her hands slowly came up to cover her brilliantly red face as she started to giggle.
"Oooo, Livvie, talk about kiss and tell!" Irene teased.
Olivia continued to giggle, tears of mirth…or perhaps embarrassment…sitting at the corners of her eyes. As Steve caught Irene sizing him up anew, he began to feel a bit uneasy, but took comfort in the fact that Olivia was still blushing enough for both of them. He decided to rub it in.
"Olivia," he said in a shocked tone as he stirred his coffee. "This is a side of you I've never seen before." Suggestively he added, "And I thought by now I'd seen them all."
Liv finally caught her breath, and still blushing furiously, said, "It must be the company, Steve." She shot a look at Irene. "I thought I'd outgrown that kind of humor, but I guess this place is bringing it out of me again."
Steve gave her his most charming smile and said, "Humor? I thought it was a compliment."
If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he never would have believed that Olivia could blush redder, but she did. He watched delightedly as she dissolved in giggles and dropped onto the seat, hiding from his view behind the table.
"Anyway, Steven," Irene said in a warning tone as she came to her younger friend's rescue, "Punxy's the biggest town for twenty miles in any direction, and we're right on the main drag, such as it is. With people crisscrossing the county to get to and from work, we usually get a rush at breakfast and dinner. Breakfast is the worst, though, because we have kids and teachers from the school coming by, too. With tomorrow being Groundhog Day, we've also got a lot of tourists hanging around."
"I see. Well, that explains that, I guess. You certainly seem to do a brisk business."
Olivia finally sat up and rejoined the conversation. "If you think this morning was busy, you should see this place after the football and basketball games."
Irene turned to Olivia and said, "There's a game tonight. I'm sure if we called Mr. Jenkins, he'd be glad to have you sing."
Olivia shook her head adamantly, "Oh, no, Irene. It has been years since I sang in front of a big crowd."
"That's ok, honey, it's been years since we've heard you sing. Hey, Casey! Call the school and tell Mr. Jenkins Livvie's back in town and wants to sing before the game tonight."
"Casey, no!" Olivia shouted down Irene's suggestion, "I'm not ready to do that."
Irene shook a finger at Liv and said, "I'll get you over there yet."
"Yeah," Olivia agreed. "You keep badgering me and you probably will. Right now, just let us help you get ready for lunch."
"Sure thing, I'd appreciate the help."
As the ladies talked, Irene noticed Olivia shooting Steve narrow-eyed glances, but she hadn't noticed that Steve was growing pale. As the three rose to go back to work preparing for the lunch crowd, she heard Steve suck air through his teeth and saw him drop back to the seat.
"Uh, Liv, I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be," he said through clenched teeth.
"I was expecting that. Leg acting up, is it?"
He nodded tensely as he arched back in his seat and tried to stretch his leg as much as the tight space under the table would allow.
"I saw you limping when we got off the plane this morning and while you were waiting tables during breakfast. I was hoping you'd have the sense to take something on your own. If it's any consolation, you must be getting stronger. I'm surprised how long you were able to go before it cramped up on you."
Steve was panting in pain as he said, "You can lecture me all you want later, Liv. Right now I need something fast."
"I've got some Advil in my locker, honey."
Steve moaned and shook his head no. "Thanks, Irene, but that won't do it."
"Would have if you had taken some this morning," Olivia said acidly. Then turning to a very worried Irene, she said, "My purse is on the floor beside your locker, Irene. Would you please bring it, and a glass of water?"
As Irene left to get the requested items, Olivia moved to the other side of the booth. She helped Steve turn so his long legs stretched across the seat, and she massaged his cramping muscles. Her warm, strong hands felt good, and as always, he was amazed at what strength those delicate hands possessed. Something was missing, though.
"Why are you mad at me, Liv?"
"What makes you think I'm mad?"
"You're not talking to me," he said with strained patience. He jumped as a particularly powerful spasm sent knives of pain slicing along his nerves. After catching his breath, he continued. "Usually you talk and try to comfort me when I'm hurting. That helps at least as much as the massage."
She sighed and continued to massage his calf. After a moment, she told him, "You should have taken some Advil this morning."
He nodded. "If you saw me limping, why didn't you say anything?"
She pressed her lips together and said in exasperation, "Because if it happened on the job, I wouldn't be there to tell you what to do about it. You have to learn to listen to your body."
Irene came back and set Olivia's purse and the water on the table. Steve hunted for his medication while Olivia continued to massage his leg. Sensing that she was intruding, Irene retreated to the kitchen.
"You need to recognize the warning signs your body sends you and act before something like this happens."
Steve winced as she bent and flexed his knee and ankle. "That's not what's bothering you, though, is it?"
She worked her way up and down his calf and thigh and said, "If you had taken a couple Advil when you got off the plane this morning you'd have been fine, but you had to be tough."
Steve put a Darvocet in his mouth and washed it down with some water, then said, "It didn't hurt that much, Liv."
She spat her next words at him. "Two Advil, Steve. Stop being tough and start being smart. What if this had happened while you were chasing some suspect?"
"Then I guess I would have had a problem," he said sarcastically. He was tired of being lectured.
"Dammit, Steve! You sure as hell would have," she agreed angrily.
As if the tears hovering at the corners of her eyes weren't enough, the uncharacteristic use of profanity told him just how upset she was. "Liv," he said soothingly, "calm down." He reached for her hands, but she stood up and moved away from him.
"I will not calm down!" she snapped. "I hate to see you hurting. It hurts me. I love you and I need to know that you will take care of yourself. I can handle the risks that go with your job, but not if you're going to amplify them with self-neglect."
Steve opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, but she turned her back on him. She went to the far end of the diner and started collecting napkin holders and salt- and peppershakers to refill before the lunch crowd arrived. Steve sat in the booth and sulked, knowing he couldn't follow her until the medication kicked in. After a while, Irene came over to freshen his coffee. She poured herself a cup and sat down across from him.
"Quite a firecracker, isn't she?"
"I've never seen her so angry," Steve said, dejectedly.
"That's only because she cares so much," Irene assured him. "She only cusses at the people she really loves." She picked up the bottle of Steve's medication and read the label. "Darvocet? That's some pretty powerful stuff, isn't it?"
"I haven't used it in weeks," Steve said defensively.
"Oh, I wasn't judging you, hon," Irene said. "Actually, I was just wondering. What happened?"
Steve was quiet a moment.
"I'm sorry, I'm prying. It's a bad habit." She got up to leave.
"Wait, Irene," Steve said, "It's ok."
He stirred his coffee for a moment as he framed his thoughts.
"I got shot up on the job back in August. I just got back to work the first of this year."
Irene whistled softly.
Steve nodded, "Yeah, that about covers it. I still have some lingering problems, but Liv has promised me if I do what I'm supposed to they won't interfere with my life or my job."
"And you're supposed to take something as soon as you feel pain, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you?"
Steve rubbed both hands over his face and said, "I played football in high school, used to ride dirt bikes, and served two tours of duty in Viet Nam. Since I became a cop, I've been beat up more times than I can count. I've been shot, knifed, blown up, and run down. A while back, I rolled a car in a high-speed chase, tore up my knee, and was deliberately infected with staphylococcus bacteria while I was recovering in the hospital. Just after I met Liv, I was shot seven times and fell from an iron stairwell to a concrete floor. The fall broke my collarbone and some ribs, and gave me a concussion. The bullets shattered my pelvis, my left thigh, and blew away so much of my right leg, Liv had to use a special device to stretch it as it healed so it would be the same length as the left. Sometimes I get stiff in the mornings, and my right leg aches and cramps up. Other than that I'm good as gold."
Irene just shook her head at the litany of injuries Steve recited.
Steve shrugged his shoulders and gave a slightly bitter laugh. "Anyway, after your body takes so much abuse, you kind of get used to living with low-level pain. If you can walk it off, sleep it off, or work it out, you just ignore it."
Irene nodded, and jerked her head in Olivia's direction. "You need to explain that to her, kiddo."
"I doubt she'll listen."
"Make her hear you."
Irene filled his coffee cup one more time then left him alone with his thoughts.
He sat rubbing and stretching his sore leg as he watched Olivia fill the napkin holders, salt- and peppershakers, and ketchup and mustard bottles at the counter and every table except his. She wiped down the counter, the tables, the seats, and the menus, but carefully avoided him. Then she fixed herself a cup of tea and sat at the counter, turning slightly on the stool to keep her back to him.
Finally, he felt a blessed relief as the Darvocet kicked in. When he went to her, he didn't want to be limping. He wanted her to see him whole and healthy. He waited a few more minutes for the medication to take full effect.
"Liv," he called quietly.
He saw her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh before she turned around to face him. He could still see anger lingering in her eyes and the set of her jaw. Sliding out of the booth, he walked toward her. He put a confidence in his stride that he did not feel. He could tell from her face that she was not fooled. Damn if she couldn't read him like a cheap supermarket tabloid! Well, he was going to follow through anyway.
She sat staring at him impassively for a few moments as he searched for words. Out of patience, she slipped from the stool and stepped around him to go to the table he had just vacated. He took her arm and pulled her close to him.
She froze. "Let me go."
"Hear me out?"
She nodded, and he let her go. She slid back up on the stool and fixed him with a hard stare. "Talk to me."
He put his hands on her shoulders, ran them down her arms, and held her hands. They were ice cold.
"Liv, I…" What could he say? He understood why she was mad, but until she told him, he hadn't even realized that how he dealt with his pain affected her. What's more, he hadn't recognized the stiffness when he got off the plane as a signal of something worse to come. By the time they got busy at breakfast, he was hurting, but not bad enough to justify ducking out on Liv and Irene.
"Steve, I'm not going to wait forever. If you have something to say, say it. If not, let me finish refilling the tables."
He looked down for a moment, and then he looked in her eyes. He saw pain there, and sadness, too.
Nodding toward their booth, he said, "Let's sit."
She followed him, and sat across from him.
He took her hand and said, "I need you to try to understand me. I'm not sure how to explain this so it will make sense to you, but I've got to try."
She said nothing.
He stared at the ceiling a moment to organize his thoughts, and then plunged ahead. "This is new to me, Liv. I've had aches and pains since I was fifteen and started playing high school football. I'm not being tough or hardheaded; I'm just being me." He gave her a lopsided grin, "If I took something every time I hurt, I'd have spent the past thirty years on drugs."
She still didn't respond.
"Liv, I need you to be patient with me, and I need you to help me. I'm just beginning to realize I'm not the same person I was before this happened to me. I've gotten so used to…ignoring…a certain level of discomfort. I've developed a high tolerance for pain, so I don't necessarily recognize warning signs when they hit me."
He looked down at the table and doodled on the surface with a fingertip for a minute.
"This has…changed me. I need you to teach me to…deal with it. I don't want you to worry about me, but you need to understand that I'm not used to…limitations. I'm sorry if you're still mad, but you have to believe that I really am trying to take care of myself. I just can't tell the difference between normal aches and pains and…trouble."
He looked up at her just in time to see a tear drip from her face to the tabletop.
"Liv, don't cry."
"Oh, Steve, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself." She looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. "I promised you you'd recover, but you're still suffering. Every time I see you hurting, I remember that I let you down. I made you a promise I couldn't keep. I'm so, so sorry. I should have done more."
"What could you have done, Liv?"
She shrugged.
"Look at me, honey." When she didn't look up, he took her by the chin and gently forced her to meet his gaze. When he could look her in the eye, he said, "If it weren't for you, I would have been crippled for life. You did everything you could, and I know that. I'll be forever grateful to you, because you gave me my life back.
"You didn't promise me that everything would be the way it was before I got shot. You promised me that if I did what I was told, I would be all right. Well, I am all right. I just need to learn to recognize my limits, and I need your help with that. What do you say?"
She looked at him and gave a teary smile.
"Do you forgive me?"
"Liv, there's nothing to forgive. You did more for me than anyone could have imagined. By all rights, I should be in a wheelchair now; but I'm not, thanks to you. Will you continue to help me?"
She dried her tears, gave him a genuine smile that lit up her eyes, and nodded. "Of course I will. I need to keep you limber so you can keep up with me."
"Sweetheart, I don't think anyone could ever keep up with you." He laughed, leaned across the table, and kissed her.
Suddenly, the affectionate little peck that they had intended became electric. Steve tasted her with his tongue, and she parted her lips to let him explore. She rubbed the back of his hand so softly it sent fire and chills chasing each other along his nerves to his brain and his groin.
Steve caught his breath enough to whisper, "Are we going to your place, or will we have to find a hotel?"
The sound of someone very nearby clearing his throat cut off her answer. Olivia jumped, screamed, and giggled. Steve blushed and cursed to himself. To their credit, the two deputies standing beside the table didn't laugh.
When Olivia stopped giggling, she introduced them to Steve.
"Steve, you already met Arnold Beech, and this is Kenny Stephens." She smiled and said, "Kenney, you look good. How are things going?"
Kenny was not cordial.
"This isn't a social call, O."
Olivia stiffened and asked, "You're not here to harass me on account of your brother, are you? Remember, he dumped me."
"Of course not, O. I love you like a sister. I'm not happy that you let him drive you off, but if he was too angry to know what a gem he had, I can't blame you. Of course I would hope you'd have more respect for him than to be caught necking like a teenager in the biggest window on main street. Five more minutes and I could have charged you both with public lewdness."
"Well, then, what brings you here?" she asked frostily.
Beechie answered. "It's bad news, O. I asked Kenney to come with me when I told you. I thought maybe having him here would make it easier to take. Maybe I was wrong." He shot the younger deputy a disapproving glare.
At least Kenney had the grace to be contrite. "I'm sorry, O, I've just…never seen you with anyone but Keith."
"Never mind that." Worry and confusion were still written on her face. "What the matter, Beechie?"
Beechie took a deep breath and said, "Ted's out again. We just got word a little while ago."
"O," Kenney said, "I think you should go back to California. It's just not safe for you here right now."
Steve watched as Olivia took a deep breath, pressed her hands flat on the table, looked at her friends, and said, "I was halfway expecting this. It just felt like it was time. I'm through running. I came back here to confront my past before I start a new future with Steve."
Steve noticed that Kenny tried hard to conceal his reaction, but he was clearly disturbed to find another man had taken his brother's place in Olivia's affections.
"If he's loose, it's because he's meant to be. If I went back to LA, he'd eventually find me there. No place is safe for me as long as he's alive, but I'm not afraid of him any more."
"He's a crazy son of a gun, O," Beechie reminded her.
"Schizophrenic love-obsessed stalkers usually are, Beechie."
The deputy gave her an aggravated look. "If you insist on staying, at least stay in town instead of going out to that drafty old house of yours."
She looked at Steve. "I want to stay. And I want to stay at my house. I have a rifle and a shotgun there, and I brought my .38 with me from LA…legally transported, of course. I have a carry permit in LA, and Pennsylvania is a 'shall issue' state. The sheriff knows me. I should be able to get a non-resident carry permit with no trouble. As a police officer, you won't need a permit. We can get you a weapon by Saturday."
She looked at Kenney and said, "It is just the federal five-day wait for a new purchase, right?"
Kenney nodded.
She looked back at Steve. "He's come after me three times. I will not run again, I will not hide, and I will not live in fear. I will not stop living my life because of him ever again. This is a small community, and he'll know we're here soon enough. He'll be coming after you, too, because you're with me. You can go home if you want and come back when he's in jail again, but I'm staying right here until all of my ghosts are put to rest."
"Do you understand what you're saying, Liv?" Steve asked her carefully.
"I am saying that I am alive again, it feels good, and I'm not going to give it up just because some madman wants a piece of me. I'm not looking for trouble, Steve, but I'm not going to hide from it any more."
Steve thought for a moment. He studied her carefully. She was eerily calm. Her mind was made up, and she had complete faith that everything was going to be ok.
"How'd you get your LA permit, Liv?"
"Well, you know how hard it is for the average citizen to get a concealed carry permit in LA."
"That's why I asked."
She shrugged. "I know someone who knows someone. He verified that I had 'good cause' and got the issuing officer to expedite the process. I took the safety and use of force courses, paid the fee, and got my permit. It was all legal and above-board, my friend just made it a little easier."
Steve nodded thoughtfully and asked, "Was the friend my father?"
"No. Don't ask who it was. I won't tell you."
He nodded again and looked at the deputies, not sure what he wanted to ask. Kenney told him what he needed to know anyway. "She's a good shot and level-headed. She won't freak out in a crisis," he smiled affectionately at Liv, "but she might fall apart afterward. I'd trust her to watch my back any day."
Steve looked Liv in the eye and said, "It's a hard thing to shoot a man."
"I know. I've done it twice before and it sucked." She didn't flinch or look away, but she didn't seem proud of it either. She was just giving him the facts. "I don't want revenge, and I don't want to kill Ted, but if it's him or me…well..."
Steve took a deep breath, puffed his cheeks, and let the air out. He nodded and said, "I'm staying. Let's go see the sheriff."
Olivia looked at the tabletop a moment. Then she looked up at Steve and said, "Thank you."
Steve had been surprised to learn that Olivia was licensed to carry a handgun in LA. He knew she was serious about protecting herself, and he knew she was stronger on the inside than anyone he had ever known. But at the sheriff's office, he saw a completely new side of her personality. She knew she was a force to be reckoned with, and she wasn't ashamed to throw her weight around to get what she wanted. At first, Steve wasn't comfortable with what he saw, but soon he realized that she could have used her influence more often and more selfishly than she did. He was glad to see that she saved her big guns for the big problems.
"Dangit, Rick, I know it's unusual, but these are special circumstances. You know me. You can do the background check by the end of business today, and, thanks to my acquaintance with Ted and Keith, half your own deputies can provide character references."
"I know that, Livvie, but you don't need to carry."
"But I have the right to, and I want to, for self-defense."
"Look, Livvie, there's also a little issue about mental stability that I have to consider. You have a history of…well…"
"Breaking down. I know. But the law only prohibits you from issuing a permit if I have been confined to a mental facility. I never have, and I am stable now. I haven't come unglued since Keith cancelled the wedding, and when I have fallen apart, I have never, ever, been a danger to anyone but myself. Issuing this permit is entirely at your discretion. I have held a concealed carry permit since I was twenty-one. Except for Chicago, where they don't have a concealed carry permit, every place I have lived has seen fit to grant me one, even California, which is one of the most restrictive states in the nation that still issues permits. Except for hunting, I have fired exactly four rounds outside of the practice range, all of them in self-defense, all non-lethal, and all at Ted when he was after me."
"The first one was at his head, Livvie."
"You wrote the report yourself, Rick. Would you have done any differently? I'm not going to start shooting at every squeak and bump in the night."
The sheriff raked a hand over his bald scalp and said, "Livvie, go home. Come back when he's in jail again."
She hopped up on the counter, crossed her legs, folded her arms, and said, "I am home, Rick, and I have a right to visit my friends, and I have a right to defend myself, if necessary. I intend to exercise both of those rights. I want a permit to carry."
The sheriff took hold of Olivia's wrist and tried to coax her off the counter. She grabbed his thumb and gave it a twist, and Steve watched in amazement as the big man sank to his knees in pain.
"Now, Rick," she lectured calmly, still holding his thumb, "I used to help Ted and Keith study for their exams when we were in college. This is a public building, during normal business hours, and while my behavior may be unorthodox, it is hardly illegal. You are a law-enforcement official who just put his hands on me in order to make me comply with a request…a request mind you, not an order, because you can not order me to leave a public place during normal business hours as long as I am not endangering anyone or interfering with the regular routines of this office. If I recollect correctly, and I'm sure I do, that amounts to false arrest."
"And what you are doing is assault on a police officer," the man gasped.
"The way I see it, it's self-defense, especially if I prove false arrest, which I have no doubt I can do. When I prove that I could have used my medical knowledge to destroy the use of your opposable thumbs thus dropping you one rung below the great apes on the evolutionary ladder, but used only the force necessary to contain the perceived threat instead, I expect I'll win any assault case you might bring. Shall we find out? Who do you think can hire a better lawyer, me, or the county? Keep in mind that the county will be defending a sheriff who could have avoided the whole problem with a signature on a piece of paper."
"I could say I was putting you into protective custody."
"How would you justify that to a judge when you just finished telling me I didn't 'need' to carry a weapon for protection?"
Steve watched in fascination as a muscle in the sheriff's jaw twitched.
"All right," he conceded. "I'll have Kenney and Beechie fill out the character references." Olivia smiled and turned him loose. "But I want to talk with the shrinks you've seen since you moved out of town. If something happens and I have to explain myself, I want to be able to verify that I looked into your state of mind and mental stability before issuing the permit."
Olivia took a pad and pen that were on the counter and wrote down some names and phone numbers.
"Have them fax you the release of information forms. Now, about Steve," she said as she slid the pad to the sheriff.
Steve could see a rebellious look in the man's eye for only a moment before it disappeared with a sigh as he recognized that he was already beaten. He ran a hand over his shiny pate again and turned to Steve.
"We can avoid the waiting period if I issue you a weapon, but I can't do that unless I deputize you. There is a provision in the county statutes allowing me to do that in…special circumstances." Shooting a glance at Liv, he said, "I suppose these circumstances are special enough. It even allows for a nominal salary. I'll need approval from your supervisor."
Steve took the pad from the sheriff, wrote down Captain Newman's name and number, and handed it back.
"Satisfied?" the sheriff asked.
"Eminently," Liv beamed.
The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose, and Steve sympathized. He recognized the signs of a tension headache too well. "I have found that if you follow in her wake instead of trying to swim across it, your head won't hurt as much, sir."
The sheriff gave him a tired smile and said, "You'd think I would have learned that years ago, and call me Rick, detective."
The two men shook hands, "Call me Steve."
"You always were your mama's slow child," Olivia said, giving the sheriff a peck on the cheek. "We'll wait in the break room, thanks," and she led Steve through the building to a small lounge with a few snack and drink machines, a TV, and some comfortable chairs. Steve had the definite impression that Olivia had spent almost as much time here as she had at the diner.
It took some time, but as it turned out, the sheriff didn't need to deputize Steve. Instead, Captain Newman got permission to lend him to the county sheriff exclusively for Olivia's twenty-four-hour protection. The sheriff would issue Steve a gun, the county would pay the LAPD, and the LAPD would pay Steve's salary.
The sheriff led Steve back the hall to the gun cage and introduced him to a deputy in a wheelchair.
"Steve Sloan, this is Keith Stephens, you met his brother Kenney at the diner." The men shook hands as the sheriff said, "Keith and Livvie go way back."
"So I've heard," Steve said amiably, as he noted the other man's grip tightening uncomfortably. Steve squeezed back a little harder and narrowed his eyes. After holding Stephens's gaze for a moment, he sent the sheriff a look that should have killed him.
The two men sized each other up in silence. Each obviously knew what the other meant to Olivia. Steve saw the man he could have become had Olivia not been there when he was shot. Stephens was an angry man. His left leg was gone at mid thigh, and the right was missing from the knee down. His hips were slim, his upper body, massive. He had dark brown eyes and wore his black hair so short it was almost a crew cut. He had a receding hairline. His face would have been pleasant enough if it weren't wearing an angry scowl. In spite of his unmasked hatred, Steve could see something in him that would appeal to a woman like Liv. There was a dignity and integrity in the man no amount of rage or hate could hide.
Keith saw the man he should have been, tall, strong, lean, and whole, a man who could keep up with O's frenetic pace and give her everything she deserved. Sloan was handsome and athletic, with a muscular frame, a great tan, wavy brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes. He wore faded jeans that fit tight, faintly showing the definition in his thighs and a black, suede jacket that was clearly well filled out. Keith hated him instantly, but he could see how O would fall for him. He could tell Sloan was friendly enough and compassionate, and for all of his Hollywood good looks, the guy was unmistakably decent and probably tough as hell.
Stephens snorted derisively, saying, "My brother said she was tooling around town with some beach bum. So, you're it. She could have done a lot better for herself."
Steve refused to be baited. He loosened his grip on the handshake, feeling his fingers tingle, and said with a forced grin, "I agree, but she insists that she likes me. I guess she must if she brought me home to meet her friends."
Stephens looked him over a moment longer, then released his hand and said in a defeated tone, "Choose your weapon and bring it to me so we can fill out the paperwork."
The selection was slim, but Steve put it down to a tight budget. He chose something that suited him while Stephens and the sheriff talked hunting and sports. Then he took care of the paperwork as quickly as possible and left the gun cage with the sheriff as an escort.
As soon as the were out of earshot, Steve said, "That was dirty, sheriff."
"You'll live."
Steve stopped and looked the other man in the eye. "Why did you do it, to be inhospitable to me or cruel to him?"
Instead of answering, the sheriff reached behind Steve, opened a door, and shoved him roughly into a tiny windowless room apparently meant for interviews. Steve could almost hear the music from 'Deliverance' again.
"Sit down, beach bum."
"I'd prefer to stand."
"Suit yourself. Just understand this. When Livvie's brother Benny went off to Viet Nam, I promised to take care of her. She has done a lot for this department. Since she came into her money, none of my people have ever had to pay medical expenses of any kind regardless of whether they were injured on or off duty. She…or rather one of her foundations…covers what insurance and workman's comp won't, not just for my people, but for their wives and kids, too. When we needed equipment that the county couldn't afford, she loaned us the money. We have had two deputies and three state troopers killed in the line of duty in this county since she got rich. She made sure their mortgages were paid and their kids were educated."
"And?"
"And you just need to be aware, if you hurt her, every cop in this county will have a bullet with your name on it always chambered in his weapon. At the slightest provocation, one of them will fire."
There it was, 'Dueling Banjos'. Though he knew he was being threatened, he wasn't scared. This time, he was mad. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, then twenty. The sheriff was Liv's friend; Steve didn't want to make him his enemy.
Steve forced himself to speak softly when he really wanted to beat the man with a big stick.
"Sheriff, I think we're on the same page, here. A while back, I was badly hurt on the job. Liv, more than anyone, put me back together, body, mind, and soul. Like everyone I've met since I've been here, I, too, would tear apart anyone who tried to hurt her. Now, I still want to know, what did you hope to accomplish by having Keith Stephens and me cross paths like that? Which one of us were you trying to mess with?"
The sheriff narrowed his eyes. "Neither of you. I don't give a hairy rat's behind how you and Stephens feel about each other. I introduced you to spare Livvie." To Steve's surprise, the man actually blushed faintly. "I've always been fond of that kid. Now that you and Keith have met for the first time, she doesn't have to go through that particular minefield. And if you like, you can still call me Rick."
Steve counted ten. It seemed some of Olivia's eccentricities were really just part of the local flavor. The sheriff's colorful language evoked an image so ridiculous, Steve almost laughed, and in one sentence, his tone had switched from animosity to friendliness. Steve peered at the man intently to be sure he was sincere. He saw no guile in the other's face, so he gave in.
"Ok, Rick, and you can still call me Steve."
Steve and Olivia left the sheriff's office in time for a late supper at the diner. After eating, they finally went to Olivia's house. Steve was as impressed with the place as he was exhausted, and he was glad when Olivia suggested that the grand tour wait for tomorrow.
He was delighted to curl up in her big old-fashioned four-poster under a soft electric blanket and an antique quilt and close the heavy velvet curtains around the bed. When Olivia lay down beside him and sighed contentedly, he knew he never wanted anything more than to be with her, and could hardly contain his impatience at waiting for her to work out all the issues of her past. He fell asleep with her head on his chest, her fingers drumming the rhythm of his heartbeat against his ribs, and her lovely voice humming an old love song.
Disclaimers:
The author has family and friends in Punxsutawney, but, except for Aunt Dottie in the previous chapter, any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidence. Even the author sometimes hears the strains of Dueling Banjos when she visits the kinfolk in Punx'y and surrounding areas, but she still apologizes to anyone who might be offended. They are truly good people, kind and generous to a fault, with an unwavering sense of right and wrong, and a patient acceptance of those who do not fit their mold. All references to __Deliverance__ are meant to be a tongue-in-cheek joke told with infinite affection.