Page 22 of The Sound of Sleighbells

Skip had noticed the Yamaha in the shelter of the open shed. “Hey, that’s a cool bike,” he said. “I didn’t notice it yesterday. Is it yours?”

If he was to protect this curious young man, nothing would do but the truth, Judd decided. “It belongs to an old friend of mine who dropped by for a visit,” he said. “But pay attention, Skip. I didn’t invite the man, and he’s not a person you want to be hanging out with. Until I send him on his way, I want you to promise me that you’ll stay in the shop and work. There’s food for you in the fridge. If he happens to wander in, you can be polite, but don’t get into a conversation with him. Understand?”

Skip looked startled, but he nodded. “I guess, if you say so.”

“I do. And leave that bike alone. I promised your mother I’d keep you out of trouble. And trust me, that man could be trouble. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Judd changed the subject. “Have you had breakfast? I could whip you up some pancakes.”

“Thanks, but Mom fed me before we left home. I’m ready to start work.”

“Good. Let’s get—” He broke off as an all-too-familiar figure strolled around the corner of the house. Digger appeared to have showered, but his beard was as scruffy as ever, and he was wearing the same clothes he’d arrived in yesterday. Maybe they were all he had.

“Good morning, Digger,” Judd said without giving him a chance to speak. “This is Skip, my assistant. He just got here from town, and he was about to go to work.” He dug in his pocket for the keys and tossed them to Skip. “Go let yourself in. You know what to do. I’ll be along.”

Skip caught the keys. With a curious glance at Digger, he went into the house, from which he could cut through the breezeway and let himself into the shop.

“Nice-looking lad,” Digger observed. “For a minute there, I thought he might be yours. He looks enough like you to be your kid.”

“Can’t say as I’ve noticed,” Judd said with a shrug. “He’s just one of the town boys. His mother dropped him off here a few minutes ago. He’s doing a special project for me.”

“I saw that old station wagon out the window. Pretty lady driving it, but then you know me, I’ve always had an eye for good-looking women.”

Judd took a breath. At least Digger hadn’t recognized Ruth, probably because of her short hair. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if he had. Maybe Digger was nothing worse than a harmless derelict. But Judd’s instincts told him to protect Ruth and her family from this man. They’d had enough trouble in their lives.

As soon as he got a moment to himself, he would make that call to the sheriff. His next step would depend on what he learned.

A flock of crows rose from a nearby field, spiraling against the sunless sky. The morning air was frigid. He thought of Ruth, driving her car on the icy roads. She’d made it here, Judd reminded himself. She should be all right driving back to town. Still, he couldn’t help worrying.

But meanwhile, there was Digger, standing in front of him, the rank smell of weed wafting from his clothes.

“Did you get some breakfast?” Judd asked him.

“Instant coffee and stale toast. I guess that’s better than starving.” Digger’s voice had taken on a whining tone. “And the shower was so cold I could barely stand it. But beggars can’t be choosers, can we?”

“So, what’s your plan, Digger?” Judd asked.

“For today, you mean? Or down the road?”

“Either.” Judd took a deep breath. “You know you can’t stay here. I don’t have work for you, and I’m not equipped, mentally or financially, to take on a long-term guest. I’ll give you a few days to get on your feet. But you need to start making plans.”

“Plans?” Digger scratched the stubble on his chin. “Well, since I’m flat broke, I thought I’d just hang around here for now. I can’t get very far without money, can I?” He brightened. “How about you advance me a few dollars—say, enough to fill my gas tank at the convenience store, maybe buy me a few snacks and a couple of beers?”

“All right. But you’ll be expected to earn it first. There’s a shovel in the shed, where your bike’s stored. You can use it to break up the ice and clear it off the front steps and the walkway. I’ll pay you now, so you won’t need to bother me at work. But I want your word that you’ll get the job done before you leave.”

“It’s a deal.” Digger held out his hand. Judd took two twenties out of his wallet and slapped them across his palm. The amount was more than generous for the work to be done, but if it would get Digger out of his hair for a few hours, it would be worth the money.

Inside the house, he waited for the sound of the shovel scraping ice. When he felt sure Digger was busy, he picked up the kitchen phone and dialed the sheriff’s office.

Helen Wilkerson, the department’s longtime secretary, took the call. Having served under four sheriffs, she knew everyone in town and most of their past histories. Her discretion was known to be solid gold.

“What can I do for you, Judd?” she asked. “Is something wrong at your ranch?”

“Nothing urgent,” Judd said. “I was just hoping that the sheriff could check the status of a man who showed up at my ranch last night. I knew him years ago, and I know he has a record. I just need to make sure he’s not on the run.”

“I understand,” she said. “It makes sense that you’d worry about harboring a fugitive. But Sheriff Winston isn’t available. His wife went into labor early this morning. He’s with her at the hospital in Cottonwood Springs. I promised I wouldn’t bother him unless it was a life-or-death emergency, which this isn’t.”

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