Page 88 of Surly Sheriff
They had all been so fucking real.
Cursing, he straightened, and lifted the mug from its perch and took a sip.
He swore again as the liquid burned a trail all the way down to his gut. He walked to the sleeping alcove, placed the coffee on the chest of drawers, and entered the bathroom to empty his bladder. Back before the dresser, he grabbed running shorts, tank top, socks, and quickly donned them. Sipping his coffee, he followed Kismet’s earlier path down the steps into the garage.
As per usual, the hound’s timing was perfect, pushing his way through the dog flap installed in the side door of the garage as Beau reached the bottom step. Together, they made their way to the mudroom. It was the only part of the house he still used, never venturing into the kitchen and beyond.
“She’s back,” he said, scooping a cup of dog food from the container stored beside the dryer. “With a kid. And a dog.” He frowned, slugging back his coffee.Why a Rottweiler?It was a large and powerful breed, leaning more toward a guard dog than a pet.
“Ruff!”
Beau blinked, then chuffed a short laugh. “Sorry, boy,” he said, setting his mug down. He added the medicine and emptied the kibble into Kismet’s bowl, placing it on the floor, and refreshed the bowl of water. He donned his running shoes,letting himself out the door into the semi-dark, hoping the exercise would help him sort through his churning thoughts.
But as his feet pounded the streets, so the questions pounded his brain, and when he returned forty minutes later, it was to one certainty — he had to find out if Jack was his son.
And the rest …
Well, he would figure that out after he got the results of the paternity test.
*
He didn’t waste time, and just under ninety minutes later, he pulled his official vehicle up to the curb.
But his knock went unanswered.
Disappointment, strong and sharp, surged through him.
She’s gone.
Gone.
Again.
He turned his back on the door and gripped the railing, looking out into the neighborhood. It was quiet, not even eight in the morning during the summer holidays, and there were no vehicles moving around the shaded streets. Birds flitted through the dense treetops, squirrels darted across the empty pavements and up the thick trunks. A cat walked along the top of the wooden fence dividing this property and the next, its tail swooshing from side to side.
So ordinary and peaceful, a juxtaposition to his heaving emotions.
He wanted to rail to the heavens; lament the sliver of hope that had taken hold of his mind during his sleepless night; bellow his utter foolishness at believing she had finally returned to him.
The shrill ringing of a bell, like the ones on a bicycle, penetrated his thick skull. It was followed by the deep bark of a dog and a low reprimand from a human. A woman.
He twisted his neck and looked toward the intrusive sounds.
The bell was from a red BMX with training wheels ridden by a kid with a red helmet. The bark from a large Rottweiler. And the reprimand fromher.
His Rae-Bae, dressed in tight black shorts, a loose grey tank, and orange running shoes.
He blinked, sure it was a hallucination. Rae eschewed exercise.
“Momma! It’s the man from last night. Hey, Mister!” The kid waved.
The dog strained on the leash. “Woof!”
“Xena. Relax,” she said.
They slowed their approach, and the kid turned into the driveway, stopping midway between the garage door below him and the street.
Rae, shielding her eyes with a hand, looked up at him. “Beau.”
