Page 29 of Someone to Call My Own
Friends my ass.
“Are you Emory?” he asked as I approached his SUV.
“In the flesh,” I replied. “You must be Sheriff Rossi.”
The man removed his aviator glasses, and his icy-blue eyes assessed me from head to toe. Was he wondering what my relationship was to Jon? I’d asked myself that several times on the trip west. I half convinced myself that I was doing it for justice, which would at least be a noble reason. My conscience told me it was my guilt that propelled me to google the case and the sheriff’s number not thirty minutes after Jon left my house. My heart told me it was something more—something that I didn’t want to consider.
“Call me Beau,” he said with a smile. He extended his hand to me courteously, and I accepted it. “So, you and Jon…”
“No,” I said firmly. “There’s no me and Jon. I’m here to see if I can help you solve a missing persons case. I have to be back home on Friday for a wedding.”
“Jon told me about Josh and Gabe’s wedding this weekend.” Beau chuckled then added, “I think it might be the first wedding he’s attended.”
“Really?” Jon eluded to the fact that the majority of his past was filled with harrowing experiences, but I was surprised someone in his inner circle wasn’t married.
“Not many are brave enough to take on a portador de la muerte,” Beau replied sardonically.Death bringer?I knew Jon had blood on his hands, but I didn’t expect them to give themselves nicknames. Yet, Beau didn’t sound boastful; it was more like lonely acceptance. “Are you ready to head to your B&B?”
“Sure.” I’d booked myself into a bed and breakfast that promised the best biscuits and gravy in the US. I’d just have to see about that because Emma at the diner in Blissville made the best I’d ever had the privilege to cram in my mouth.
We were both quiet once we got inside the SUV, but at least it wasn’t an awkward silence. I had many questions on my mind, and I figured he did too. I also suspected that both of us questioned the other’s role in Jon’s life, but I didn’t pick up a jealous vibe from him. I still found it hard to believe, but maybe they were only friends.
It didn’t take us long to reach Miss Martha’s Bed and Breakfast. I looked up at the charming two-story Victorian home, complete with turrets. I had expected something a bit more rustic, but I guess it wasn’t that uncommon for city folk to have different style homes than their rural counterparts.
“This house was built two hundred years ago by a big timber tycoon as a hush payment for his mistress. She turned it into a bed and breakfast so she could be independent of men,” Beau told me. “His original ranch is still operated by a younger version of him.”
“Did the bed and breakfast stay in the mistress’s family also?”
“Yes, sir.” He tipped his head toward the wide porch where a young man exited the front of the house in haste. An older woman was hot on his heels giving him a piece of her mind. “The apple didn’t fall far from the great, great granddaddy tree. It seems Miss Martha doesn’t want Chase Kissander coming around her granddaughter.”
“I guess by the way he tucked his tail and ran that he won’t be back for quite some time.”
“Wrong,” the sheriff said. I turned to look at him when I heard the humor in his voice. “This happens at least once a damn day.”
“Miss Martha’s website didn’t tell me that daily entertainment was included with my room and meals.”
“That boy isn’t going to give up,” Beau told me. “I’ll give Chase credit because he doesn’t act like an entitled asshole like the rest of his kin.” He smiled and shook his head. “You’ve been traveling a while so why don’t you get checked in and have a bite to eat. I’ll come around and pick you up in a few hours. We’ll go over what little information I have and go from there.”
“Sounds good.”
A beautiful young lady with long, dark hair with an unhappy pout stood behind the check-in desk looking down at her phone. I instantly knew that she was the one who captured young Chase’s attention with her cornflower-blue eyes and heart-shaped face with the cutest little chin dimple. I also could tell that she wasn’t very happy with her grandmother. She squared her shoulders, put her phone in her pocket, and pasted a smile on her face when she saw I had arrived.
“Welcome to Big Timber, Mr. Jackson.”
Hearing her addressing me by name caught me by surprise, but then I remembered the online express check-in process required me to provide a photo of my driver’s license. “Thank you.”
“My name is Caroline, and I work the front desk each day until three. Give me a buzz or stop by if you need anything.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Caroline. I’ll try not to be a pest during my short stay, but I could really use something hot and tasty to eat to tide me over until dinner. If the kitchen isn’t open, can you point me to—”
“Nonsense,” Martha said when she swept into the room. “I’d never send one of my guests in search of food after traveling all day to get here. How does grilled cheese and a bowl of my homemade vegetable beef soup sound?”
“Divine,” I said just barely loud enough to be heard over my growling stomach.
“Caroline, please give Mr. Jackson his room key so he can go upstairs and get settled.” Martha turned to me and said, “I’ll bring up a tray in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, please don’t go to any trouble.”
“Nonsense,” she said again. “There’s a tray stand outside each door for occasions like this. I’ll knock on the door to let you know the food is waiting for you.”