Steve was sitting in the passenger seat of the dark red '62 Ford pick-up, one hand on the open window frame, the other pressed against the seat. He had tried to brace his good right leg against the dashboard but it was too awkward. Despite the slow pace, the truck was bouncing wildly on the very uneven ground.
One of the Rutter grandsons was driving, trying his best to find the smoothest path. It was an impossible task and he kept glancing over at the wincing cop with an almost apologetic smile.
Steve tried to smile back encouragingly, gritting his teeth. As uncomfortable as all this was, it did provide him the opportunity to finally react to the sight that had met his eyes when he'd stepped through the front door onto the porch.
Instinctively he had glanced towards the Kearney patrol car. His eyebrows had climbed rapidly when he caught a glimpse of Deputy Carruthers, still behind the wheel, taking a sip of coffee. The Kearney cop nodded at him as he raised his cup in greeting. Seconds later, he held a dessert plate of pie up to the windshield and as he cut a piece with the fork, grinned happily.
The pick-up truck finally slowed to a stop and was immediately surrounded by the family members that had been walking in its wake. The passenger side door was opened and the crutches, which had been in the bed, were handed to Steve as he turned in the front seat.
Nodding his thanks, Steve slid out of the truck, balanced himself on the crutches, and then began to follow Robert and Ruth-Anne as they led the way. "Careful now," Robert said quietly, "the ground is pretty uneven here."
Steve looked up, surprised to see a large, well-tended family cemetery stretching out before him. In the absence of marble or granite headstones, the Rutter family had opted for the more traditional crosses but each one was large, and immaculately carved and decorated.
As Steve followed Donny Lee's parents through the rows, he tried to glance at the dates on the markers they were passing. He saw two from the 1840's and another dated 1853. He was sure there had to be earlier ones as well. Some of the graves were so old the ground had sunken in.
It wasn't hard to find Donny Lee's; the dirt was still fresh and piled high. There was no cross.
Steve stopped between the grieving parents. Ruth-Anne got down on her knees and put her hands against the dirt. She was trembling but biting her lip trying not to cry.
Robert stood looking down at the final resting site of his youngest son, his hands jammed into his pants pockets. He looked sideways as the California cop.
Steve turned his head slightly to meet his eyes. "This is a beautiful place. He'll rest easy here, Mr. Rutter." He saw Ruth-Anne look up at him and smile.
Robert looked back down at the grave and cleared his throat. "I, ah, I was trying to think of what to put on his cross…" He glanced at Steve. "I know now, 'cause of what you said. I'm gonna put 'An Honorable Man'."
Steve could feel tears sting his eyes as he stared at Robert's profile. "I think that's just perfect. "
# # # # #
Deputy Carruthers glanced across the front seat. Steve was staring out the passenger side window as the Caprice bounced along the dirt track on its way back to the county road. The city detective hadn't said anything since he had gotten into the car almost fifteen minutes earlier.
The small town cop cleared his throat gently and Steve seemed to snap back to the present. He turned his head sharply, glancing at the deputy. "Oh, ah, sorry, Lonny, it's just, ah…." His voice trailed off.
"Hey, don't worry. It, ah, it seemed like you an' the Rutters really got along there, hunh?"
With a self-conscious smile, Steve nodded, his gaze still far away. "Yeah, ah, a hell of a lot more than I would've thought. They were, um, incredibly gracious to me. I never expected that."
"Well, growing up around these parts, you kinda learn real quickly that people are not always what they seem, an' that old adage about 'Never judging a book by it's cover'? Well, I haven't been to many other parts of the country, but I've always found that people tend to think that hill folk are all these lawless, gun-totin', violent anarchists.
"And, you know what? They're right!" He laughed heartily, startling Steve, who stared at him sharply then joined in. "But there's always at least two sides to everything, right? An' there always seems to be a tiny bit of good in almost everyone, if you dig deep enough. I've always found that with the folks around here."
He glanced over at Steve and smiled. "Oh, there's always one or two exceptions, an' it's you an' me that end up havin' to deal with 'em, right? But for the most part, like a wild animal, show a little kindness or faith or whatever ya wanna call it, an' ya can sometimes be surprised by what ya get back."
Steve nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think you just might be right about that. You know, when I first started working with Mike, he used to tell me that all the time. When I'd judge someone too quickly or too harshly without knowing all the facts, he would make me take a step or two back and rethink things. And, you know, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he was right."
"Yep. Now if we could only get the whole world to do somethin' like that, I think it would be a happier place." Carruthers smiled. "But let's not fool ourselves. Things're goin' to go back to what they always are around here, once this business with you an' Mike and Donny Lee is over an' forgotten. The four families'll go at it again, an' maybe even worse now because of all this. I know things are gonna get a lot worse between the Rutters an' the Scobies, I'll make book on it."
On that sobering thought, Carruthers once more concentrated on the driving. With a heavy sigh, Steve leaned back in the seat and turned to stare out the side window.
Eventually the Caprice turned onto the paved county road, and the trip back to Harlan was made in relative silence.
# # # # #
Steve opened the passenger side door and was hoisting himself to his feet when Carruthers handed him the crutches, then went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. The detective was halfway to the hospital entrance when the cop caught up with him and Steve noticed a cardboard box in the deputy's hands.
"What's that?"
Carruthers beamed. "Oh, ah, it's a little care package the Rutters put together for ya." He lowered the box so Steve could look in. There was a mason jar of clear fluid and what looked like a dinner plate covered with a gingham tea towel.
"What is it?"
"Well, it seems Donny Lee's mother wanted to make sure Mike got a piece a her apple pie, so she sent him one – a whole pie, that is; an' the mason jar is 'shine."
Steve looked at him sharply, brows furrowed. "You're kidding, right?"
Beaming, Carruthers shook his head. "Nope. Pure 'shine. The Rutters make some a the best in the state."
"Isn't it illegal?"
"To sell, yes. The law about making it is still worded kinda funny." He was grinning so broadly that Steve couldn't resist mirroring the look. "Listen, Steve, why don't you an' Mike just, ya know, sample it an' then ya can decide what ya want to do with it. But just the fact that the Rutters gave you a jarful, well, that says a lot to me about what they think of you two, an' they didn't even meet Mike!"
Touched and slightly overwhelmed, Steve just shook his head and continued on towards the entrance. "For God's sake, Lonny, let me tell Mike what it is. He has, how shall I put it, very strict morale guidelines on what he considers 'appropriate' behavior. And I'm not a hundred percent sure what he thinks of moonshine."
Chuckling, Carruthers followed Steve to the entrance. "You got it. I know all about that. Sheriff Noble is kinda the same way."
They had made their way into the hospital and Steve stopped at the counter to find out if Mike was back in his room. He and Carruthers were at the desk when Steve heard his name called and turned to see Olsen coming towards them.
"You were gone a long time," the captain said as he approached.
"Yeah, it, ah, it was quite the day. How's Mike?" Steve asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. Having been out of touch all day had only heightened the sense of foreboding that had niggled in the back of his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that all was not well.
"Oh, ah, he's back in his room. Come on, I'll take you up there," Olsen said calmly as he turned towards the elevator and the others followed. He'd noticed the cardboard box in the deputy's hands but elected not to comment for the moment.
As they got to the elevators, Dr. O'Neill came around the corner. "Steve!" he called out as he crossed to them quickly. "I was wondering when you were gonna get back. Glad you're here." He glanced at Olsen. "So, did Rudy fill you in?"
"Fill me in?" he asked, sudden concern in his voice as his eyes flashed briefly at the captain then back to the doctor.
"Ah, yeah," O'Neil said hesitantly, "about Mike… Look, he's fine, he's great. He's back in his room and all is well. It, ah, it just took us a little longer to get there."
The elevator door opened and O'Neil gestured them inside. Steve kept his eyes on the doctor's face as they all entered and the doors closed. "What do you mean?"
O'Neil took a deep breath. "Okay, so when, ah, when Dr. Patel got here, he was concerned when he saw the x-rays. He said it was worse than what he was expecting, but then he assured us that although it would take a little longer than first thought, he foresaw nothing that couldn't be fixed.
"So it turned out that an operation that we were expecting to take about an hour, ended up taking close to three. But everything that Dr. Patel wanted to do got done, and when he left," O'Neil glanced at this watch, "about an hour ago, he was more than pleased with the results and he said Mike will make a full recovery with no lasting effects."
The elevator doors opened and O'Neil stood in the open doorway to let everyone exit then fell into step beside Steve as Olsen led the way down the corridor.
"He's really okay?" Steve asked quietly.
O'Neil nodded, smiling. "He's perfectly fine. It's just took us a little longer to get there than we'd hoped, that's all."
"Is he awake?"
The doctor shook his head. "He wasn't the last time I went in. He woke up in Recovery of course, but he was in a lot of pain. We doped him up pretty good and he was awake when he brought him back up here. I think he was trying to stay awake till you got back, but I don't think he made it."
They had arrived at a hospital room door and O'Neil put a hand on Steve's arm. "He'll probably be out until morning. Now I know you're worried, but you don't have to be. So I'll tell you what. Why don't I have a nice big comfy armchair brought up here and you can spend all the time you want with him, even overnight if you want? How does that sound?"
Hearing Robert Rutter's words echoing in his mind, Steve smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that. Thank you." He looked at Olsen and Carruthers, and they could all tell from his look that he wanted to be alone with his partner right now.
Carruthers, still holding the cardboard box, nodded with a grin. "I'll be waiting out here for you." He hefted the box. "I'll find some place for this."
With Olsen and O'Neil frowning at the box, Steve smiled at Carruthers. "Thanks." To the others he said, "I'll see you later," and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Balancing on the crutches, Steve stood just inside the room as the door closed quietly behind him. The overhead lights had been turned off and the bed was illuminated only in the dim light of the panel above the headboard.
The head of the bed raised about thirty degrees, Mike lay against a couple of light green pillows, his eyes closed, a sheet pulled up to his waist. Under a light blue hospital gown, his right shoulder was still heavily bandaged, his right arm strapped even tighter across his chest. His left arm was at his side, an IV needle in his forearm.
Hopping on one foot, Steve pulled the metal chair closer to the bed, laying the crutches on the floor near the wall. With a tired but relieved sigh, he sat heavily and leaned towards the bed. He picked up Mike's left hand and squeezed.