Story Wayne's New Beginning

Chapter 10​



Wayne was up before the sun had burned the mist off the river, too full of anticipation to lie still another minute. He had not been fishing in longer than he cared to admit, and the thought of easing his new boat across that brown, slow-moving water stirred up a boyish excitement he thought life had long since wrung out of him. After a quick breakfast, he made sure Rover had food, water, and a comfortable place to nap, then drove down to the marina.

“Good morning, Sheila.”

Sheila smiled like she had been watching for him. “Well, good mornin’ to you, Wayne. Jay’s been carryin’ on about this trip since before daylight. I got you some coffee while he finishes up his breakfast.”

Wayne greeted Jay and eased into a chair as Sheila set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

“You ready to go wet a line?” Jay asked, his eyes bright beneath the brim of his old cap.

“I sure am,” Wayne said, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. “I haven’t fished in years. Truth be told, I’m about as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.”

Jay chuckled and reached for his cane and hat. “Well, that makes two of us. I ain’t been out in a good while neither, and I’ve missed it somethin’ fierce. A man can carry a lot on his shoulders, but get him out on the water and some of it just seems to drift off.”

“Now, you boys keep yourselves out of trouble,” Sheila teased, though her voice held more affection than warning. “And don’t come back empty-handed. I expect enough fish to put in a skillet.”

Wayne grinned. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll see what the river’s willing to give us.”

By noon, they had a mess of fish in the boat, though they had spent most of the morning just riding the water and letting the day unfold slowly. Jay showed Wayne how to handle the boat, pointing out his favorite fishing holes around the Oxbow and the bayous where they emptied into the main river downstream. After opening her up on a run down to the dam, Jay guided them back to the top of the Oxbow, past Wayne’s house, and eased the boat in under Miller Bluff.

“You know your property line comes out right above us on them bluffs and runs clean down to the banks of the main channel?” Jay pointed, and Wayne followed the line from the crest to the river. “You own all that ground we call the island. Truth is, it’s tied on at the upstream end. Story goes, years back, some farmer got in his head to put cotton on all that rich bottomland, so they hauled in rock and gravel and closed off the channel. Don’t reckon anybody could get away with that these days, not with all the government rules and such. Anyhow, it was cotton fields to start with. Then, back in the sixties, Mike turned it over to pasture for beef cattle.” Jay’s voice dropped a little. “I ain’t rightly sure what the renter’s doin’ with it now.”

Wayne looked along the island’s shoreline, taking in the sweep of trees, muddy banks, and slow river water with new eyes. “When I was a boy, I used to run around out there,” he said, his voice going quiet. “I never knew it belonged with the place. I still haven’t gone through all the files and maps Leonard left me, but I believe I’ll sit down with them tonight.”

“Around this bend is a good place to bank fish and set lines overnight,” Jay said. “Fine place to camp, too. Your uncle and me spent more than a few nights there, fishing and drinking and talking till the fire burned down to coals.” He pointed toward the east side. “See that fence line up yonder in the trees? That’s your property line. Past that, folks got no business wanderin’ unless you say so.”

Wayne nodded, his gaze holding on the woods like they had something left to tell him. “I see it. Thank you, Jay. It’s been a long time since I walked beneath these trees.”

Later that afternoon, they sat down to fried catfish, sweet corn on the cob, and steak fries, the kind of meal that left a man quiet and grateful. Sheila fussed over the plates like feeding people was a sacred duty, and Jay kept glancing toward Wayne with the satisfied look of a man who had managed to share more than fish.

Full as a tick and worn down in the best sort of way, Wayne went home and headed straight for the big desk in the library. He pulled out Leonard’s files and studied the legal descriptions, tracing each piece of land on the plat maps with his finger. The more he studied, the less the property felt like a simple inheritance. Lines became boundaries. Boundaries became questions. By the time he found the island on the survey, he was no longer thinking about fish or river wind. He was thinking about who had been using land that belonged to him. After an hour, the day finally caught up with him. He took a quick shower and went to bed with the smell of river water and fried fish still clinging to his memory.
 

Chapter 11​



At six that morning, Wayne and Rover sat on the screened porch—Wayne with coffee, Rover with a treat. It felt like a small apology for leaving her behind most of the day before, and Rover accepted it with the solemn dignity of a dog who knew exactly what she was owed.

He had a few errands to run in town, nothing complicated, or so he told himself. After the mess the other day, Harbor Freight had moved to the top of the list. He also wanted a new mattress set for the big bedroom and he wanted to look at a utility vehicle sturdy enough for the property.

He stopped at Harbor Freight first and picked up flashlights, headlamps, and a cordless drill driver. By nine, he was at the implement dealer looking at UTVs. It did not take long to find the one he wanted: a Kawasaki 3010 Mule with a diesel engine, a winch, four seats, and a bed in back for hauling supplies. When the salesman showed him the tilt-and-dump feature, Wayne was sold.

It was pricey, but the property was too big to manage by stubbornness alone. He arranged to have it delivered at noon with a full tank of fuel. From there, he went to a furniture store for a new box spring and mattress. It took a while to find one firm enough to suit him, but by the time he left, delivery was scheduled for Monday morning.

On the way home, he stopped at a liquor store, bought two cases of Lone Star beer imported from Texas, and tried not to think about how many strangers might be waiting for him at Jay and Sheila’s barbecue.

He expected the UTV delivery to be late, but the driver missed noon by only five minutes. The machine looked even better in his garage than it had on the lot: camouflage finish, automatic transmission, low gear for hauling or pulling, and enough weight to feel dependable. When Wayne started it up, Rover jumped into the passenger seat as if the purchase had been made for her. They took off across the property. On the island, most of the cleared ground was ready for planting. Some of the windbreaks had begun to spread and needed brush-hogging, but he could drive around most of the fenced area without trouble. He made note of several fence repairs, then followed the route upstream until he reached a padlocked gate. He found a key that fit. Beyond it, the trail climbed into the woods, overgrown in places and narrow enough to make him slow down. He would need the plat book and maps before he trusted his memory of the property lines. On the backside of the bluff, he found no fencing at all, which bothered him more than he expected.

Heading back toward the house, Wayne glanced at Rover. “Well, girl, I guess I’d better clean up and get ready for that barbecue.”

After parking the UTV in the garage, he stepped back and studied it with quiet satisfaction. Then he pulled out his notebook and added diesel fuel to the list.

They went inside—Wayne to clean up, Rover to collapse into a nap as though she had personally inspected every acre.

After making sure Rover had fresh water and dinner in her bowl, Wayne loaded the cooler with beer and headed for the party.

There were more people at the barbecue than Wayne expected. Laughter rolled across the yard, smoke drifted from the pit, and music hummed low beneath the voices. Before Wayne had the cooler out of the vehicle, Jay came over and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Wayne,” Jay said. “Might as well introduce you around proper before folks start makin’ up stories.”

“That’d help,” Wayne said. “I don’t know anybody here.” He grabbed a beer, and they wandered from group to group. Most people greeted him with easy smiles and open curiosity, eager to meet the new man in the neighborhood. A few did not smile at all. They watched him with the fixed, sour attention of men who had already decided he was in their way.

Wayne tipped his chin toward them. “What’s with those guys, Jay? They look like they swallowed poison.”

Jay’s expression cooled. “Fat one there is Coonrod, the deputy I told you about. The other two are kin to you, believe it or not. Cousins, more or less. They ain’t real pleased with how that will shook out.”

“I didn’t realize I had that many relatives,” Wayne said. “They weren’t at the reading.”

Jay scanned the deck, his eyes missing nothing. “A lot of ’em are shirttail kin, second cousins and such. Mike had a big family, and so did Margrethe. Some parts of this parish, you can’t turn over a rock or a log without bumpin’ into one or two of ’em.”

He chuckled, then looked up as a tall, middle-aged man in a cowboy hat approached with the steady stride of someone used to people making room.

“Jay,” the man said, eyeing Wayne with polite interest. “Who’s your friend?”

“Sheriff,” Jay said. “This here’s Wayne Dupre. Margrethe’s boy.”

The sheriff’s face softened at the name. “Glad to meet you, son. I got your message down at the station, and I appreciate you stoppin’ by. I wanted to meet you myself.” He offered his hand. “I’m real sorry about Margrethe. She was a special lady. When I was a kid, I caught my share of whoopin’ from that wooden spoon of hers.”

Wayne laughed and shook his hand. “You did? I thought I was the only one who knew about that spoon.”

“No, sir. She looked after us sometimes, and she didn’t put up with foolishness from nobody. This was probably before you came to live with them. My brothers and I used to get ourselves in trouble playin’ around the Oxbow. Mike had to rescue us once when our raft sank.” He smiled, but the smile narrowed as his attention settled more directly on Wayne. “Now, Mr. Dupre, I’m gonna be blunt, and I don’t mean no offense. I don’t like trouble in my parish. Are you fixin’ to be a problem? Drugs, hard drinkin’, loud parties—anything I need to know about?”

“Hell no, Sheriff. I probably like trouble less than you do. No drugs, no parties. I do enjoy a cold beer now and then.”

Jay gave Lonnie a look over the rim of his cup. “Now, Lonnie, you best ease up on Wayne here. He’s a good young man, and he can be counted on. Don’t make me holler for Sheila.”

Lonnie lifted both hands, surrendering with a grin. “No need to ruffle Miss Sheila’s skirts. I was only throwin’ it out there to see how he’d answer.” His gaze returned to Wayne, sharper now, though not unfriendly. “Truth is, I already checked you out. You’re clean, Mr. Dupre. Impressive military record, too. A friend of mine told me some of what you did in Iraq. I honor you and your service to this country.”

“Just Wayne is fine, Sheriff. And no hard feelings. The Army was the right thing for me when I was eighteen and didn’t know what to do with my life. The lifestyle suited me, so I stayed the full twenty. I’m glad to be out now. Time to settle in and settle down.”

“Well, Wayne, you can call me Lonnie when we’re standin’ around at a barbecue. If you need anything official, call the office. I spend most of my life there anyhow.”

“Thanks, Lonnie. I’ll remember that. I do have a couple of questions, if you have the time.”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Lonnie said.

Wayne took a moment before answering. He could feel Jay watching him, could feel the attention of the sour-faced men across the yard as if it had weight. “First, I’d like to confirm that you—or someone from your office—sent me a text saying I needed to meet you.”

“That was me,” Lonnie said. “When I talked to Leonard a few days ago, he gave me your cell number. I hope the message didn’t come across too cryptic.”

“It was a little strange,” Wayne said, keeping his voice even, “especially since it came moments after I received two threatening texts telling me to sell the property and leave the area.”

Lonnie’s expression changed at once. The easy barbecue warmth left his face. “What?” he said, low and sharp. “I had no idea you’d been threatened. My text was just a coincidence.” His eyes flicked toward the crowd, then back to Wayne. “You got any idea who might’ve sent those messages?”

“I’ve already had a couple of minor altercations with men claiming to be developers,” Wayne said. “One was James Bonneville. The other was Brian Jessup.”

Lonnie’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. Those two are rough customers. Bonneville’s tryin’ to put a clean shirt on what’s basically a family-run gang. Jessup’s a hard-core developer, and he’s been competin’ with Bonneville for years. They both want land around here for vacation properties.” He paused, weighing his next words. “Of the two, I’d say Bonneville is the bigger troublemaker. But don’t mistake that for me callin’ Jessup harmless.”

“Thanks for the information, Sheriff. That helps explain their behavior. I’ll let you know if I have any more run-ins with either of them.”

“That’s a good idea, Wayne.” Lonnie’s smile returned, but it did not soften his eyes. “Try to stay out of trouble.” He tipped his hat. “Jay. Wayne. See y’all later.”

After Lonnie stepped away, Wayne watched him cross the yard. “Is he always like that, Jay?”

“Only with new folks,” Jay said. “He’s a little rough around the edges, but he means good. And when Lonnie gets serious like that, you best listen.”

“That’s good,” Wayne said, though his gaze drifted back toward Coonrod and the cousins. “I don’t need trouble. The land speculators and relatives are already a bit much.”
 
Zoomer said:
Thanks, Yes, it is a long intro. I have additional chapters completed and edited, but I am afraid if I feed the MOAR hounds too much, too fast, the will get stomach aches and won't be happy when the pipeline slows down. I am currently on chapter 60 (102,000 words) the first 12 chapters have been edited. I plan to release a chapter a week, usually on Thursdays or Fridays.
Click to expand...
Really liking this. I have Pepto for stomach aches, feed me. :spns::spns:
 
For the hounds...

Chapter 12​



Sheila had been watching the exchange, and the moment the sheriff stepped away, she came over with purpose in her stride. “Hey there, Wayne,” she said, sweet as cane syrup and twice as dangerous. “I got some folks you need to meet.” Before he could answer, she took his hand, tucked it through the crook of her arm, and started steering him away.

Jay leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Wayne, you in trouble now. She’s fixin’ to parade you around like the last bachelor at a church supper. That’s what women do when they see a single man breathin’.”

“You hush up, Jay,” Sheila said over her shoulder. “I’m just introducin’ him to friends, is all.”

“Of course, Miss Sheila. Whatever you like,” Wayne said. He hooked his arm through hers with exaggerated gallantry, and she gave him a pleased little pat as she escorted him toward a group of three people standing by the deck railing overlooking the bayou.

“This is Mr. and Mrs. Simpson and their daughter Melissa,” Sheila said. “And this here is our new old friend, Wayne Dupre. He just got out of the Army, and he’s come home to stay.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Wayne said, shaking their hands.

“Nice to meet you, Wayne,” Mr. Simpson said. “Have you found work yet?”

The question landed a little too hard, but Wayne kept his smile easy. “No, sir. I haven’t even had a chance to look yet, but I will. Right now, I’ve got a fair bit to do around the farm. The place needs some TLC.”

Mr. Simpson nodded. “Right you are. Miss Margrethe kept the house and garden in fine shape, but the rest of that property got to be too much for her as she got older.”

Mrs. Simpson tilted her head. “Wayne, you pretty much grew up here, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I started living with my aunt and uncle about the time I began preschool. I finished high school here, then joined the Army after Uncle Mike passed.”

Mr. Simpson asked, “Did you retire?”

“Yes, sir. I did twenty years. They were starting to cut back, so I decided it was time.”

Mrs. Simpson brightened. “Melissa teaches at the elementary school.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Melissa,” Wayne said. “I’m always impressed by teachers. I can’t imagine how hard that work must be.”

Melissa colored a little. “They say practice makes it easier. I’m still waiting for that part to start. A lot of the kids struggle with things at home, and it follows them right into the classroom.”

Sheila squeezed Wayne’s arm before Mrs. Simpson could steer the conversation any further. “Come on, cher. We need to mingle a little.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Wayne said as Sheila tugged him away.

“That was a little embarrassing,” Wayne murmured.

“Sorry about that, Wayne,” Sheila said, not sounding sorry at all. “Mrs. Simpson worries that girl’s gonna end up a spinster if somebody don’t take matters in hand. I tell you what—we’ll go over to that group, and I’ll introduce you all at once. If folks want to talk, they can come to you.”

Wayne grimaced. “All right, Sheila. Just be ready to rescue me.”

They walked up to nearly twenty people gathered around the fire.

Sheila raised her voice over the chatter. “Hey, y’all. This here’s Wayne Dupre, our new neighbor. Now don’t all of you pounce at once. Introduce yourselves like civilized folks.” With that, she slipped away to talk with a few of her lady friends.

It worked better, but after an hour of names, questions, and polite smiles, Wayne felt wrung out. There was no chance he would remember everyone. At last, he escaped to the buffet table, filled a plate with enough food to justify retreat, and headed toward Jay and several older men gathered at a picnic table.

“Mind if I join y’all?” Wayne asked, gesturing toward the larger group. “I need to get away from all that before I start answering to the wrong name.”

The men laughed, and one of them waved him in. “You sure can. This here’s a safe place. Women don’t bother us much at this table.”

Wayne sat down to eat and let the older men’s talk roll around him.

One of them asked, “What kind of skills you got, Wayne? Farming? Engines?”

“No, sir. None of that. I joined the Army after high school and served as a combat engineer in the sandbox. I’m good at building things, blowing things up, and tinkering with electronics, but I don’t know much about the real world.”

That drew a good laugh from the table. One of the older men leaned forward. “You say you don’t know much, but the way this country’s headed, we may have need of your kind of skills yet.”

“I haven’t paid much attention to the news in a while,” Wayne said. “After too many years in the Army, I got burned out on politics. Since moving back home, I’ve been too busy getting settled to catch up.”

“They count on that, I think,” another man said. “Keepn’ folks too busy working for a living to keep both eyes on Washington. Imagine that.”

Jay nodded, his easy humor dimming. “Wayne, you really ought to start checkin’ the news some. Things are changin’ fast, and not in a good way. Economy’s slowin’ down around here. Folks are losin’ work.”

Someone else interjected, “Not just here, either. Across the whole country, the news is talkin’ about the economy. Damn politicians don’t seem to know how to stop the slide.”

Wayne said, “I caught a glimpse of the news the other night. It didn’t sound good here or anywhere else. As soon as I get a moment to sit down, I’ll learn more about what’s going on.”

Jay smoothly turned the conversation before it sank too deep. “You been busy this past week, no doubt. I’m mighty glad you ain’t sellin’ out. Developers get their hands on that place, they’ll tear the heart out of this bend.” The others murmured agreement.

Wayne met their eyes one by one. “I’m here to stay.”

A fresh wave of approval moved around the table. Then Wayne glanced toward the deck and noticed a striking blonde woman who had just joined the party near Mr. and Mrs. Simpson. She was tall, confident, and entirely comfortable being watched. “Jay,” Wayne asked quietly, trying to sound casual and failing, “who’s that over there?”

“Ahh,” Jay said, following Wayne’s gaze. “That’s Connie Bradshaw—Sheila’s niece. Smart as a whip, pretty as a picture, and she knows it, too.” He tipped his beer toward her. “Sad start in life, though. Lost her folks young and had to grow up quick. Don’t take kindly to people tellin’ her what a proper woman ought to be.”

Wayne’s brows rose. “And what exactly does she do that gets people riled up?”

Jay chuckled. “She drives a truck, makes her own money, takes care of her family, and don’t pretend she needs permission for any of it.” He took a sip and lowered his voice. “Truth is, she enjoys pokin’ the busybodies. Watchin’ ’em clutch their pearls is her hobby.”

Wayne shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Sounds like they’re the problem, not her.”

Jay’s grin widened like he had just set the hook on a big catfish. He leaned back and raised his voice. “Connie! C’mere a second, chère. I want you to meet somebody.”

Wayne shot him a look. “Jay—” He lowered his voice, though the warning had already lost some of its force. “I just told the sheriff I wasn’t looking for trouble.”

“This ain’t trouble,” Jay said, entirely unrepentant. “This is me bein’ neighborly.”

Connie made her way over at an easy pace, a few people stepping back as she made her way through the crowd. Her eyes flicked to Wayne—quick, assessing, amused—then back to Jay. A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she leaned in to hug him. “Uncle Jay, did you just embarrass this poor man?”

“Yes, he did. A little,” Wayne said, offering his hand. “Wayne.”

Connie took his hand with a firm grip and a steady gaze. “Connie,” she said, still holding his hand. “Relax, Wayne. If Jay’s startin’ trouble, you’ll see it coming. He telegraphs.” She let go of Wayne’s hand and rested her hands on her hips. Her eyes slid to Jay. “Loudly.”

The teasing edge in her expression softened. “Uncle Jay and Aunt Sheila have been an important part of my life forever. Your aunt, too, in her own way. I’m sorry about Miss Margrethe, Wayne. She was a sweetheart who babysat my siblings and me when we were little.”

Wayne’s throat tightened. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “She was… all I had left.” He cleared his throat, fighting back more emotion than he wanted to show.

Connie’s brows lifted. “So,” she said, easing the mood with a look that was far too deliberate to be innocent. “You don’t remember me?”

Wayne blinked. “I—” He tried again, slower. “I’m sorry. Should I?”

Connie’s smile widened. “I’m teasing,” she said, though she made no move to let him off the hook. “You were in high school, and I was nine or ten. I used to follow you around this place like a stray cat, convinced you were the coolest person in Rapides Parish.” She paused, enjoying the way his expression changed. “And before you ask—yes, I had a crush on you.”

Wayne let out a low laugh that sounded steadier than he felt. “Well, that explains the confidence.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage. Twenty years is a long time.”

Connie’s eyes traveled over him, slow and unapologetic, then came back to his face. “Mm-hmm. I changed.” She tipped her head. “You mostly grew into what I pictured.”

Jay made a sound into his beer like it had gone down the wrong way. “Lord, Connie,” he said, delighted, “you fixin’ to make that man forget his own name.”

Wayne’s ears went warm. “Jay,” he warned, though it came out rougher than he meant. He looked back at Connie. “That’s…” He stopped, then tried again. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The smile he tried to hide betrayed him anyway.

Connie’s tone turned casual, but her eyes stayed on him. “So tell me, Wayne—what made you come back here?” She softened the question with a half-smile. “And don’t give me the polite version.”

Wayne exhaled slowly, shaping an answer he had been carrying around longer than he realized. “I retired from the Army after twenty years,” he said. “I stayed near Fort Hood in Killeen because I didn’t have a better place to go. I had a job I didn’t like and an apartment that never felt like home. I kept myself busy so I wouldn’t have to think about what came after the uniform.” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “This is my hometown. When my aunt passed and all this landed on me, I figured it was time to stop drifting and start over.”

Connie’s expression changed—still warm, but quieter at the edges. “That kind of busy,” she said, “isn’t really living. It’s surviving.” She held his gaze. “I’m glad you made it back. This place can be rough, but it’s honest. And if anybody deserves a little peace after two decades of everybody else’s problems, it’s you.”

Wayne’s throat worked once. “Peace and quiet sounds real good right now,” he admitted. “Back there, I had a freeway outside my window—always noise, always movement. Out here…” He looked past her toward the trees and the darkening water of the Oxbow. “Out here feels like I can finally relax. Like I don’t have to keep my head on a swivel.”

Connie nodded. “I get that. I do trucking—mostly short hauls, longer ones when the money’s worth the miles. I see plenty of country, but I am always alert with all the idjits on the roads. I always come back home so a can relax a bit.” Her smile returned, touched with mischief. “Some folks need the road. Some folks need a porch and a gate that closes.” She paused, letting the words settle between them. “You look better already, you know. Like you’re remembering how to breathe.”

Connie glanced up and caught Sheila watching her. She sighed as if she had been caught doing something enjoyable. “I better go before Aunt Sheila decides I’m being rude.” Her eyes returned to Wayne, and her voice lowered just enough to feel private. “But I’m glad we talked.” She leaned in, close enough that he caught the faint scent of citrus and lavender. She reached out and gave one shake and squeeze to Wayne’s right hand. “Welcome home, soldier.” Then she straightened, smiled for the room, and slipped back into the crowd.

Jay looked around and winced. “Well now, I see the women gettin’ all stirred up over what I did. I’m gonna’ catch an earful tonight.” He huffed a laugh. “Yep. Here comes Imelda. Mayor’s wife. Brace yourself.”

“Really?” Wayne asked, glancing toward the approaching woman while Jay looked around as if searching for an escape route.

Jay turned to the women as she approached and put on a big smile. “Evenin’, Imelda. You enjoyin’ your visit?”

“Don’t you evening me, Jay Landry. You know exactly what I think of that woman.”

Jay raised his hands in mock defense. “Now, that ain’t fair, Imelda. Connie’s a smart girl, used to doin’ things her own way, and she seems mighty good at it. She just don’t want to act the way you think she ought to.” He wore a wide, innocent smile as Imelda spun on her heel and stomped back to her friends.

“Sorry, Wayne,” Jay said, laughing under his breath. “They can get a little high-and-mighty sometimes. But every now and then, you got to poke the bear just to hear it growl.”

“Wow,” Wayne said. “The mayor’s wife, huh? I guess I won’t be spending much time in that circle.” He glanced toward the edge of the yard, where the shadows were beginning to thicken. “It’s late enough, Jay. I think I’m going to head home. I’ll say goodbye to Sheila, then get out of here. Thanks for the good time.”

Wayne spotted Sheila walking over. “Hey, Sheila. It’s been a long day, so I’m going to head home.”

Sheila studied his face with genuine concern. “I hope Imelda didn’t sour the night for you, cher. I did see you enjoyin’ your talk with Connie, though.”

“I really enjoyed meeting Connie,” Wayne said, unable to keep a small smile from slipping through. “And no, Imelda surprised me, but I’m not upset. Good night, Sheila.” As he passed the cluster of women, he added, “Good evening, ladies.”

Wayne was almost to his truck when Deputy Coonrod stepped out of the shadows and planted himself in the path like he owned the space. He stood too close. Close enough for Wayne to smell the sour mix of sweat, beer, and old anger on his breath. “Listen up,” Coonrod said, voice low enough that it felt more dangerous than shouting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna’ make this simple. Keep your nose clean. Keep your mouth shut. And stay the hell away from Connie.”

Wayne did not back up. He did not square up either. He simply went still, and he could see how badly that calm made Coonrod itch. “Coonrod, is it?” Wayne said, letting the name sit between them. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going home. I don’t look for trouble, but I don’t take orders from you—or anybody else—about who I can talk to.” His eyes held Coonrod’s. “Connie makes her own choices. So do I.” He turned toward the door handle.

Coonrod’s face darkened. He took a half step forward, crowding Wayne’s space, one hand hovering near his belt as if the badge gave him permission to become something worse. “Hold it right there, Mr. Dupre.” His smile was thin and ugly. “I think I’m gonna take a look in that vehicle. Got reason to believe you’re carryin’ something you shouldn’t.”

Wayne let his hand fall away from the door and looked at him with the flat patience of a man who had already decided how far he would be pushed. “No, you don’t. Not without a warrant, and not without probable cause. If you want to search my truck, you can explain it to a judge first.”

Coonrod’s voice cracked loud enough to cut through the party behind them. “I don’t need a damn warrant to do my job!” he barked. “You want to get sideways with me, I can make your life real inconvenient. I can keep you here all night. I can tow this truck. I can find a reason.” He leaned in, eyes cold and eager. “Last warning.”

A sharper voice cut through the threat. “That’s enough.” Sheriff Maybre stepped in from the side, his expression flat and dangerous in its own quieter way. “What exactly is going on here, Deputy?”

Coonrod jerked his chin toward Wayne. “This guy’s giving me attitude. Refusing a lawful search. Acting like he’s got something to hide.”

Maybre did not even glance at Wayne. His eyes stayed on his deputy. “Coonrod—no. You will not search anything without a warrant unless you have clear, articulable probable cause, and you don’t have that here.” His voice hardened. “So tell me, right now, what crime you believe Mr. Dupre committed.”

Coonrod’s mouth worked like he had more to say, but nothing smart came out. His glare fixed on Wayne—promise and threat tangled together—before he turned and stalked off into the dark.

Wayne kept his voice even, though the line in his jaw did not soften. “Sheriff, I came back here to live quietly and handle my own business. I’m not looking for trouble, but I’m not going to be bullied, either.” He nodded toward the darkness where Coonrod had gone. “You need to tell your deputy to stay off my property, away from my truck, and out of my personal life. I’ll respect the law. I expect the same from him.”

The sheriff studied Wayne for a long beat, then nodded once. “I hear you,” he said. “And you’re right to set that boundary. But I’m gonna’ tell you straight—Coonrod’s been a problem before, and tonight didn’t make it better. I’ll talk to him but watch your back.”

Wayne left the party as the last light faded to dusty rose in the west. When he slowed at his driveway and waited for the gate to open, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. The feeling arrived clean and certain: he was being watched. He scanned the mirrors while the gate rolled open, then kept checking them as he drove up to the house. Nothing moved. No headlights idled behind him. No figure stepped from the trees. But the certainty stayed with him. He let Rover out of the house and kept his eyes on the gate. Rover showed no alarm, so Wayne went inside, grabbed a Lone Star, and settled on the front porch. “Good thing you didn’t have to deal with that mess, girl.” Rover looked up at him, panting in the lingering heat, a few drops of drool falling to the porch floor. Wayne watched the dark shadows gather across the yard, and for a long while, the night watched back.
 

Chapter 13​



The next morning, Wayne let Rover out and carried his coffee to the back porch, watching the sun climb over the bluffs to the east. For a few quiet minutes, the world felt almost ordinary. Then Rover’s head snapped up. She tore toward the front yard, barking hard enough to pull Wayne out of his chair. He followed, curiosity tightening into caution, and saw a red Jeep Grand Cherokee rolling up to the gate.

Connie stepped out wearing jeans that fit her like they had been made with her in mind and a red blouse that drew Wayne’s attention before he could pretend otherwise. He walked down to meet her at the gate. A big smile on his face, trying for casual and not entirely succeeding. The sight of her so early in the morning lifted something in his chest he had not expected to feel. “Hi, Connie,” he said, setting his coffee on top of the brick gate-control post.

She didn’t waste time with small talk. “May I come in?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes searched his face as if she needed to know what last night had done to him.

Wayne blinked, then nodded once. “Sure.” He hit the button on the post, and as the gate slid open, he scanned the tree line across the road. Nothing moved, but the feeling remained—the old prickling certainty that someone was watching.

Connie eased her Jeep through while Wayne walked alongside the driver’s door. She kept pace with him at a slow crawl, close enough that he could see the tension at the corner of her mouth. “I heard about what happened after we talked last night,” she said. “Coonrod. That crazy jerk.” The name came out clipped and cold.

Connie’s jaw tightened. “And before you ask—no, there isn’t some messy history between me and him.” She kept her voice steady, but the words came out like she had rehearsed them too many times. “He’s been circling for a while. Showing up where he shouldn’t. Acting like a badge makes him entitled to my time. I’ve told him no more than once, but he hears it like a challenge.” She checked her mirror, then looked down the drive as if expecting to see a cruiser idling beyond the trees. “In a small town, people call it flirting when a man won’t take no. It’s not.”

Wayne’s expression went still in the way it did when something crossed from annoying into unacceptable. “I’m glad you told me,” he said quietly. “And for the record, your no is enough. You don’t owe him politeness, and you don’t owe anybody an explanation.”

Connie glanced over at him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it went sideways. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Wayne said, but he softened his tone so she would believe it. “It surprised me more than anything. I don’t plan on spending much time around the mayor’s crowd—or Coonrod.” He managed a short laugh, then, when she parked, opened her door without thinking twice. “You want some coffee? I’ve got a pot inside.”

“I’d love some,” she said, and the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. Inside, she paused in the doorway. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this house,” Connie said quietly. “Your aunt watched my brother and sister and me a few times when Momma needed help. Being back here reminds me of her hands on a cutting board, talking while she worked—like the world couldn’t touch you as long as you stayed busy in the kitchen.”

Wayne nodded, his throat tightening in a familiar place. “Yeah. Same for me.” He glanced around, taking in what was now his. “The house is in good shape, but the grounds need attention. I’ll do what I can and hire out what I can’t.”

“I know somebody dependable,” Connie said. “My younger brother’s trying to build his landscaping business. He’d be grateful for the work, and he’d do right by you.”

Wayne nodded, distracted in the way he got when he was trying not to show he cared. “Yeah. I’ll think about it. Leave me his number, and I’ll call.”

Connie’s mouth curved as she looked up at him through her lashes. “You did offer coffee, you know.”

Wayne huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Sorry—I get sidetracked.” The admission felt more personal than he meant it to, especially with her standing close enough he could smell the light scent of her perfume.

He poured two cups and carried them back out to the porch. They sat where the breeze could reach them, making small talk that kept brushing against things neither of them quite said.

Rover wandered over and settled against Connie’s boots like she had known her longer than an hour.

Wayne watched the dog, then glanced at Connie. “Well, that’s something.” He nodded toward Rover. “You’re my first guest here, and she’s already decided you belong.”

Connie smiled as she leaned forward and rubbed Rover’s belly, making the dog’s tail thump lazily against the boards. “Guess I pass the test.” Then she arched a brow and looked up at Wayne. “You fixin’ to turn this place into a party house, Mr. Dupre?”

“Not a chance,” he said quickly, looking away a fraction too slow. The quick answer made her laugh. Then he added, quieter, “I’m private. Always have been. But I’m glad it’s you sitting here.”

Something softened in Connie’s eyes. “Me too,” she said. “I don’t do well with people trying to claim pieces of me—my time, my choices, my quiet.” Her fingers stilled on Rover’s fur. “Last night reminded me how fast folks get bold when they think you’re alone.”

Wayne nodded once, understanding more than he said. “If you need a place to breathe,” he told her, “you come by. Any time. No explanations required.”

Connie sat up and reached for her coffee, trying to keep the moment light, but the interest in her smile slipped through. “I might take you up on that,” she said. “When I’m not on the road, I’m in a crappy apartment in a bad part of town. The worse things get, the more folks loiter, the more doors get tried, the more you hear footsteps you can’t place.” She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Sitting here feels safe. It feels quiet in the right way.”

“I get it,” Wayne said. “Apartment living makes you feel watched even when nobody’s there.” He held her gaze. “This place is mine now. That means it’s up to me to keep it calm. For me—and for the people I let in.”

Connie glanced at her watch and exhaled. “I’ve got to go do laundry and get ready. I’m hauling a load out to Wichita Falls tomorrow.” Her eyes returned to him. “I didn’t want to leave town without checking on you.” She reached out and touched his forearm, light enough to be casual and deliberate enough not to be.

Her touch felt warm and soothing, Wayne’s expression eased into something more relaxed. “I’m glad you stopped by,” he said. “You’re a whole lot easier to talk to than that crowd last night.” After a beat, he added, quieter, “And I’m glad you’re okay.”

Connie reached into her pocket and held out a small slip of paper. “Here—Connor’s number, and mine. Just in case you need something…” Her voice turned lightly teasing at the end. “Or you just want to talk.” The look she gave him was full of hopeful expectation.

Wayne took it, then handed her his number. “Thanks,” he said. “And Connie? Be careful on the road.” The last part came out like an order he did not have the right to give, and he knew it.

Connie stood. She heard the care beneath his words and hesitated, like she wanted to say more. Instead, she offered him a small, certain smile and walked away slowly to get into her Jeep. As she headed down the drive, the gate opened automatically ahead of her.

“Bye, Wayne,” she called, waving out the window as she rolled forward. “Don’t disappear on me.”

Wayne watched until the Jeep curved around the first switchback on the hill and vanished. Then he looked down at Rover. “Well, how about that,” he murmured. Rover looked up and wagged her tail.

Down the road, Coonrod sat in his cruiser where the trees cast long strips of shade across the windshield. He unscrewed a metal flask and took a pull of bourbon, the burn doing nothing to cool the anger working under his skin. Connie’s Jeep had passed him minutes ago, and he had watched her go with Wayne’s driveway still in his mirror. “Damn new guy,” he muttered. “Thinks he can just show up and take what’s mine.” His fingers tightened around the flask until the metal creaked faintly. “She don’t know it yet, but that girl belongs with me. I’ll make her understand.” He took one more swallow, capped the flask, and put the cruiser in gear. He had been keeping track of Connie for months. He knew where she lived. He knew when she worked. And now, with the road empty ahead of him, he turned toward town.
 
I put a angry face on that post. ive had to deal with country cops that thought they invented new laws.. its not a easy thing to fight against many years ago I owned a MP5.a registered legal permited machine gun, I was shooting in my own yard.. he came in thinking he could take it from me. it didnt go the way he thought it would. the sheriff had to come out and explain that its legal for me to own a papered machine gun. the deputy mumbled something about getting me later, right there the sheriff explained i was a vet and was not to be messed with in any, i heard he put that in writingand giving it to the deputy. and put it in his file.
 
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