Pecos flopped onto his back and stared at the crack in the ceiling. The Lanes would never see him as part of their family. To Mr. Lane, Pecos was just the boy who knocked up his only child. Pecos had thought about telling Mr. Lane the truth, but he’d promised Kerrie he never would. The guy she’d had sex with hadn’t wanted to ever see her again, and Pecos stepped up when she needed him. No one would ever know the secret they shared. It bonded them even more than the marriage.
He shrugged and winked at her. “I don’t care what your dad calls me, you’re my wife”—he brushed her tummy—“and this is my baby, no matter what your parents want to talk about today.”
Kerrie’s words came soft, almost apologetic. “How about you walk me over to the house, then go have coffee at the bakery. I’ll text you when I’m finished. Then we could come home and help Mr. Winston cook. He’s invited some of the crowd from the flea market, as always.”
“Fleas or vendors?”
He laughed at his own joke as she thumped him on the forehead.
Pecos slowed his breathing. She’d called this place home, not the big house down the street where her parents lived.
“I could pick up a pie for the fleas while you talk to your parents. I can hang out there until you text, if it’s still raining. If it’s not, I like to walk around the square. Honey Creek is feeling more and more like my town.”
She tossed the covers. “I’ll race you getting dressed.”
He didn’t pick up the challenge. He always lost anyway, because he’d end up stopping to watch her. Lately she needed help getting on her clothes and tying her shoes.
Half an hour later, as they walked toward her parents’ home in the rain, neither said a word. He made it to the porch steps, then turned back.
“Later,” she said as she disappeared.
Pecos picked up his speed as he headed to the town square and the one bakery in town. Since Pecos had helped save the people in the city hall fire and married Kerrie Lane, everyone now knew who he was, and seemed to care about him more than his own parents ever had. To tell the truth, he liked being around Kerrie’s folks more than his own parents, even though the Lanes still held a grudge against him.
Pecos stepped inside the bakery and took a deep breath of the warm cinnamon air. He bought a cup of coffee and a couple of kolaches. He had to wait for a few minutes, holding his bag and coffee, before he snatched a tiny table in the corner.
Finally, he sat on the three-legged chair and began to watch people. Now that he was part of law enforcement, he knew secrets about some of them. Unpaid parking tickets, records of shoplifters and peeping toms. He’d read so many reports, he was starting to see people and wonder what their file had in it.
Marcie Latimer walked in, fighting with a broken umbrella.
He thought she looked uncomfortable, out of her element. Pecos knew who she was from her singing, but he’d never talked to her before Boone Buchanan’s trial. He’d noticed her sitting alone during the trial. No one talked to her; after all, she was the bad guy’s girlfriend. Boone never looked in her direction. But Pecos had watched her cry when the mayor, Piper Mackenzie, testified that she feared she was going to die in the fire that Boone had set.
Today the town treated Marcie like she was bad news blowing around in an old weekly newspaper. Most acted like she was invisible.
Pecos knew how it felt to be invisible. He’d spent most of his days at school standing in the center of a crowd with no one to talk to. So, he started nodding hello and waving goodbye the last few weeks of the trial. Once he sat across from Marcie in a crowded hamburger joint and they talked about the weather. She was shy, but she thanked him when he said he loved her music.
When the trial was over and he saw her standing in the stairwell crying, he stopped long enough to say he was sorry for her loss. Pecos considered that to be proper, since Boone would be over a hundred before he was eligible for parole.
When Pecos looked up again, Marcie was standing on the other side of his little table. She had the littlest cup of coffee the bakery offered. It didn’t cost anything. It was meant for people to sample different blends.
“Mind if I take this chair?” Her words were polite but the sorrow in her eyes touched him. She reminded him of those ads about dogs at the pound. They seemed to look up with no hope left.
“Of course.” He half stood as she sat down.
He watched her as she pulled off her coat and set her purse by the wall. She was thinner than she had been a few months ago. Sadder.
Pecos looked down at his two rolls. “You wouldn’t want one of these, would you? My eyes are bigger than my appetite. I’d hate it to go to waste.”
“I’ll try one,” she answered.
“How are you doing?” he asked as he passed her the roll. She was almost ten years older than he was. Too old to hang out with anyone he knew, so he had no idea how life was treating her.
“I’m doing fine. Surviving.”
“I’m glad.” He’d decided months ago that she hadn’t deserved all the gossip. “You hear I got married?”
“No. News rarely makes it to Someday Valley unless it’s bad,” she answered. “Will your wife be mad that you’re eating breakfast with another woman?”
“Nope. She knows I’ve been nuts about her since we were in grade school.” He shrugged. “She also knows I like to talk to folks.”
Marcie almost smiled. “Does she feel the same about you? You know, nuts about you?”
Pecos shook his head. “No, but I’m growing on her. Even my mother said I’m not much to look at. Too skinny.”
“You’re a good man, Pecos Smith. That matters more than looks. I think kind men are always handsome. You were the only one who talked to me that day when Boone’s trial ended. I have a feeling that as the years pass you’ll grow more handsome and that wife of yours will love you dearly.”
“Thanks. Mind if I ask why you’re in town so early? Nothing is open but this bakery and the gas stations. Most folks are sleeping in or getting ready for church.”
Her eyes turned cloudy again, and for a moment he thought she might start crying. Then she straightened, as if deciding to be honest. “I’m looking for a place to live, but I can’t find something I can afford. I’m singing and working a few nights at a bar in Someday Valley, but I have to get a day job. I hoped I’d see a sign in a window of one of the shops or on the Help Wanted board down at the grocery.” She was silent for a minute, then added, “I’ll take anything—housecleaning, waitress, any honest work. I don’t know how to do much, but I’m a fast learner.”
Pecos knew he should probably stay out of her business, but she had those puppy dog eyes and he knew how it felt to be low.
“I don’t know of any work, but I know where you’d be invited to lunch. Lots of us eat at Mr. Winston’s on Sundays. Someone might know of a job.”
“Would I be welcome?”
“You bet.” He wrote Mr. Winston’s address on a napkin just as his phone binged. “I got to go. That is my wife telling me it’s time to pick her up. Don’t forget to show up at twelve thirty. These folks are mostly old, but I swear they’re the brain-trust of this town.”