Page 9 of Shelter for Sharla

He watched as Sharla’s hands slid up and down her beer bottle, and he wondered what they’d feel like gripping something of his that would be just as hard but a lot warmer. “Yeah. The three of them lived in family housing. That’s supposed to be reserved for families with children, but their advisors all got together and found a way for it to happen since they really couldn’t afford dorm fees. They’re all going to school on student loans. I can barely make ends meet as it is. I can’t pay for college for one kid, much less three. Ridiculously expensive.”

“It was ridiculous when I was in college. I can’t imagine what it costs now.”

“You went to college?” Carter nodded. “What was your major? Oh, wait. Let me guess. Criminal justice.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sure was. Master’s degree.”

“And how long have you been sheriff?”

“Going on fourteen years now,” Carter answered, then realized how pathetic that sounded. Sheriff of a tiny county in western Kentucky. It was certainly no claim to fame.

“Wow! That’s quite a career! I’m assuming you worked for them as a deputy before you became sheriff.”

“Yes, ma’am. Deputy, then detective, then ran for sheriff and won. And I’ve won the last three elections, so I guess they like me well enough.” He took a draw of his beer and thought about how many sleepless nights he’d spent on the job.

“You’re very professional. I think I’d be comfortable with you as sheriff if I lived in your county.” The woman smiled as she said it, and Carter almost blushed. Kindness like that wasn’t something he ran into every day. Most days he spent his time with people who’d rather kill him than look at him.

“Thank you. That’s a really nice thing to say.”

“You’re a nice man.” She turned back to her beer bottle and Carter couldn’t help but notice the slope of her cheeks. He’d seen prettier women, but she was… striking. That was the term he’d use. Almost regal.

Small talk wasn’t his thing, so it took him a minute to fish around for something to say. “So where do you work?”

“The hospital.”

“Methodist or County?”

“County. I’m a respiratory therapist. I work mostly with postoperative patients. You know, trying to get the anesthesia out of their lungs and get their breathing back to normal.”

“Sounds like an interesting job.” Actually, it didn’t, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s okay, I guess. I wanted to go into radiology. I find all the equipment and technology fascinating. But that just wasn’t in the cards. The courses were full, and they were begging for respiratory people, so I just signed on and here I am.”

“Here you go, ma’am,” the bartender said as he appeared with Ms.Barker’s food. “Do you need some ranch dressing for dipping?”

“Yes, please,” she answered, then turned to Carter. “They have the absolute best chicken tenders on the planet. I love them. What did you order?”

“One of those burgers. Oh, here it comes.” The bartender stepped up and placed the plate in front of Carter. “That looks delicious.”

“Thank you, sir! Need ketchup to go with those fries?”

“Yes, please.” He watched as discreetly as possible as Ms.Barker dipped one of the chicken tenders and chewed slowly, almost meditatively, and he wondered if that was her way of enjoying the one meal she bought for herself every week. The bartender returned with his ketchup and the two of them ate in silence.

He was halfway through his burger before she spoke. “So what’s going to happen to Chelsea and Lionel?”

“Nothing, as far as I know, although we sure would like to have their help.”

“Oh, you’ll get that.” Dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, she smiled. “They’ll cooperate or I’ll have their hide. I’m just glad my sister’s not around for me to have to tell her how I screwed up with her kids.”

“You didn’t screw up. Your niece was twenty-two. An adult. You couldn’t control that.”

Her eyes were sad, a thing that tore at his heart, knowing how hard she worked and the difficulties she had to be facing. “If I’d spent more time with them, maybe she?”

“That’s nonsense. They were college kids. They don’t want to spend time with parents, or aunts, or anybody who’s an adult or represents authority of any kind. You know that.”

“I guess, but still?”

“Stop beating yourself up. You’ve done a good job with Chelsea, and Lionel seems like a good kid.

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