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Authors: Lindsay McKenna
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But I can tell you right now— ain't nothin ' gonna come from my investigation. She pulled the same stunt when her daddy blew himself up with that box of dynamite in the back of his pickup. That girl came loose at the hinges, a wild banshee swearin ' up and down that Mr. Summers had murdered him. Well, wasn't no such thing. Thatcher blew himself to smithereens all by himself. Pure and simple."
"I'm interested in anything you find, Sheriff," Wolf said, settling his hat back on his head.
"How's the girl doin '?"
It was obvious to Wolf that Noonan didn't respect women. Nor, plainly, did he see Sarah as the woman she had become. "She's going to be on crutches for a week."
Noonan's eyebrows rose a bit. "Too bad. I suppose she's heading back to her cabin out there in the middle of nowhere?"
Wolf shook his head. "No, I've offered her a place to stay until she can get mobile again. The doctor wants her off her feet for a while."
"Harding, the town'll talk."
"Let them."
"Your landlady, Mrs. Wilson, won't take kindly to that sort of arrangement."
Giving him a flat stare, Wolf said, "The only arrangement Ms. Thatcher has with me is that I've offered her a roof over her head and some food to eat."
With a grin, Noonan nodded his head. "Just remember, Harding—you've got a wildcat living under the same roof with you. Better watch it, or she'll turn around and bite the hell out of you. Anybody who gets mixed up with her is courtin ' big trouble."
Wolf said nothing, turning on his heel and leaving the small, cramped jail facility. Sarah's paranoia about people in general—and especially strangers like himself—was becoming more understandable all the time. No wonder she feared trusting anyone but herself. What the hell had happened to her? Grimly he walked back out to the forestry pickup, where Skeet was waiting in the cab. He'd already picked up Sarah's clothes—what there was of them.
She'd also had him pick up some of her lapidary equipment. There was a large grinding machine with several wheels attached that would polish a stone to perfection. And the faceting machine, about as large as a dinner plate, with a round, movable surface, would allow her to continue working and bringing in some income while she stayed off her feet. Faceting was easy, she'd assured him.
As he'd moved through her cabin, collecting her few belongings, the financial deprivation Sarah suffered became very clear to Wolf. She hadn't embellished the reality of her situation.
Driving out of the parking lot, Wolf headed home. How good that word sounded to him. Home. Having Sarah there made it seem like one. Wolf couldn't hide from the fact that for many years he'd dreamed about a home and a family. But his life had veered off in another direction, one that he'd never forget, not until the day he died.
Twilight washed Philipsburg in an apricot hue as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The orange color softened the aging Victorian buildings, built during the silver and copper boomtown period so many years before. It was a town that had relied on mining to keep it alive. Now that the mining, for all intents and purposes, had been stolen from the earth and sold, Philipsburg had died. But, like many towns Wolf had seen, this one was resurrecting itself slowly, one new building at a time, because of tourism and Montana's nationwide reputation as a hunter's and fisherman's paradise.
With a grimace, Wolf thought how his own life paralleled that of the town. So much of him had died down in South America. The rebuilding had barely begun. Taking leave from Perseus had been the first step. Wolf knew instinctively that Sarah was touching the new, emerging chords within him as a man, touching his soul in some wonderful yet undefined way.
Perhaps it was the wildness Noonan had accused Sarah of that appealed to his primal nature, the part of him that, although wounded, had survived. Wolf didn't really perceive Sarah as wild. She'd merely used her instincts to
"I'm interested in anything you find, Sheriff," Wolf said, settling his hat back on his head.
"How's the girl doin '?"
It was obvious to Wolf that Noonan didn't respect women. Nor, plainly, did he see Sarah as the woman she had become. "She's going to be on crutches for a week."
Noonan's eyebrows rose a bit. "Too bad. I suppose she's heading back to her cabin out there in the middle of nowhere?"
Wolf shook his head. "No, I've offered her a place to stay until she can get mobile again. The doctor wants her off her feet for a while."
"Harding, the town'll talk."
"Let them."
"Your landlady, Mrs. Wilson, won't take kindly to that sort of arrangement."
Giving him a flat stare, Wolf said, "The only arrangement Ms. Thatcher has with me is that I've offered her a roof over her head and some food to eat."
With a grin, Noonan nodded his head. "Just remember, Harding—you've got a wildcat living under the same roof with you. Better watch it, or she'll turn around and bite the hell out of you. Anybody who gets mixed up with her is courtin ' big trouble."
Wolf said nothing, turning on his heel and leaving the small, cramped jail facility. Sarah's paranoia about people in general—and especially strangers like himself—was becoming more understandable all the time. No wonder she feared trusting anyone but herself. What the hell had happened to her? Grimly he walked back out to the forestry pickup, where Skeet was waiting in the cab. He'd already picked up Sarah's clothes—what there was of them.
She'd also had him pick up some of her lapidary equipment. There was a large grinding machine with several wheels attached that would polish a stone to perfection. And the faceting machine, about as large as a dinner plate, with a round, movable surface, would allow her to continue working and bringing in some income while she stayed off her feet. Faceting was easy, she'd assured him.
As he'd moved through her cabin, collecting her few belongings, the financial deprivation Sarah suffered became very clear to Wolf. She hadn't embellished the reality of her situation.
Driving out of the parking lot, Wolf headed home. How good that word sounded to him. Home. Having Sarah there made it seem like one. Wolf couldn't hide from the fact that for many years he'd dreamed about a home and a family. But his life had veered off in another direction, one that he'd never forget, not until the day he died.
Twilight washed Philipsburg in an apricot hue as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The orange color softened the aging Victorian buildings, built during the silver and copper boomtown period so many years before. It was a town that had relied on mining to keep it alive. Now that the mining, for all intents and purposes, had been stolen from the earth and sold, Philipsburg had died. But, like many towns Wolf had seen, this one was resurrecting itself slowly, one new building at a time, because of tourism and Montana's nationwide reputation as a hunter's and fisherman's paradise.
With a grimace, Wolf thought how his own life paralleled that of the town. So much of him had died down in South America. The rebuilding had barely begun. Taking leave from Perseus had been the first step. Wolf knew instinctively that Sarah was touching the new, emerging chords within him as a man, touching his soul in some wonderful yet undefined way.
Perhaps it was the wildness Noonan had accused Sarah of that appealed to his primal nature, the part of him that, although wounded, had survived. Wolf didn't really perceive Sarah as wild. She'd merely used her instincts to
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