Page 33 of The Sound of Sleighbells

By now the girls were tired. Ruth fed them each a cookie and a glass of milk and sent them to their room to lie down. With luck, they’d go to sleep and give their mother some peace and quiet.

Needing fresh air, she slipped on her jacket, stepped out onto the porch, and sank into the Adirondack lawn chair left from warmer days.

The late-November weather was unsettled, just as she was. Clouds churned in the west, the wind blowing in restless gusts, changing directions as it stirred the last of the fallen leaves in the gutters. Was she doing the right thing, allowing Skip and Judd to spend time together without either of them knowing they were father and son? How long did she think she could keep up the charade—especially with Digger around—before the situation blew up in her face?

She’d believed her life would be easier once Ed was in jail and the judge had granted her an instant divorce. But things weren’t any easier now, just different.

Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes to rest them a moment. She might have begun to drift, but the growl of an approaching engine startled her to full alertness. As the growl became a roaring crescendo of sound, she saw a vaguely familiar Yamaha bike rounding the corner and heading down her street. Her heart sank as she recognized the driver.

She stayed where she was as Digger’s bike neared the house. What was he up to? Did he expect to be invited in? Had he come to threaten her? To tease her?

But he didn’t even slow down as the bike came up to her front yard. Instead, he made a spectacular doughnut turn, and raised the front wheels, like a cowboy on a rearing horse, before he sped back the way he’d come.

Seconds later, he was gone, as if he’d never been there. But Ruth had glimpsed his face as he put on his brief show. His cocky grin was sending her a message—one she understood without the need for words.

I know where you live. I know your secret. And I know how to use it.

Chapter Eight

It was late afternoon. Skip had just left when Judd got the call from Buck Winston. “I don’t know if this will come as good news or bad,” the sheriff said. “Your friend has met the conditions of his release. His parole officer is in Cottonwood Springs. He says Digger has reported in right on schedule. He’s passed every drug test. All he needs to do is find a place to live and a job, and he’ll be a solid citizen.”

“In other words, if I don’t want Digger hanging around, I’m on my own,” Judd said. “I’m glad he appears to be following the law, but damn it, something doesn’t smell right. I don’t trust him.”

“Did you check the VIN on the motorcycle?”

“No good. It’s been gouged out. But that doesn’t prove Digger stole it.”

“Then all I can do is wish you luck. But keep your eyes open and trust your gut. If you find out he’s up to something, let me know.”

“Thanks, Buck.” Judd ended the call and returned to the latigo he was tooling. Maybe he was wrong about Digger. Maybe his old friend had paid his debt to society and just needed help to make a new start. Didn’t he deserve a chance to prove himself?

Trust your gut. That was what the sheriff had told him. Judd respected the younger man’s judgment. But he had to be fair as well. Years ago, he had saved Digger’s life. Was he justified in turning his back on the man now?

But this was no time to ask that question—not when he had more pressing responsibilities. Ruth had trusted him with her son, and Trevor would be under his care as well. As long as the boys were here, he owed it to their families to keep them safe. That included keeping them away from a convicted drug dealer.

For now, the safest decision was no decision. He would keep an open mind, taking things one day at a time, protecting the boys and giving Digger enough rope to either prove himself or hang himself.

Meanwhile, he would remember Buck’s words and trust his gut.

* * *

When Skip arrived at Abner’s house, his mother and sisters were already there, waiting for him. The girls were playing with Abner’s dog in the parlor. Through the kitchen doorway, he could see Ruth at the kitchen table drinking coffee with Abner. When he noticed the way she sat, with her spine clear of the chair’s back, he knew she had something on her mind.

“Is everything all right, Mom?” he asked.

She rose and hurried toward him.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, clearly lying. “I was just worried about you. It’s getting late.”

Skip glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “I said I’d be here at five thirty. I’m right on time.”

“Oh—so you are. Come here, son. I want to show you something.”

He followed her back into the kitchen, where an open box, well-padded and made of sturdy cardboard, sat on the table. When Skip looked inside, he saw a ceramic manger set—the ceramic figures elegantly tall and beautifully worked.

“These are Lladró,” Ruth said, as if that was something he should know. “A set like this one is probably worth several thousand dollars. They were in with the Christmas boxes Abner gave us. His wife collected them over the years—one every Christmas until she had the full set.

“I tried to give them back. When Abner refused to take them, we had a long discussion. Tell Skip what we decided to do, Abner.”

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