Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

Thatcher didn’t comment on that. “How’d you know I’d be on this train?”

“I knew you were in Amarillo, and the reason for your being here. I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks. But why were you keeping tabs on me?”

He smiled, a genuine, unaffected smile. “First because you’re damned interesting. Then because the more I saw of you, the more I came to believe that you had missed your calling.”

He withdrew a business card from the pocket of his vest and handed it to Thatcher. “There’s a good man, a sheriff, in Bynum. Know it?”

“No.”

“East Texas. Pretty country. Piney woods. Lakes full of fish. Bynum’s a sleepy little town where not much happens. Except that, on the county line, there’s a horse racetrack.” He punched Thatcher in the arm as he said that. “Racetracks draw sinners like moths to flame. But now that there’s no legal drinking or gambling, the sinners are restless, and the sheriff has more than he can handle. Think about it.”

He scooted out of the seat. “My stop is coming up. It’s been a pleasure chatting with you. I trust in your integrity to keep this meeting to yourself. And should we ever meet somewhere—”

“I wouldn’t give you away.”

“I know that.” He extended his hand. Thatcher shook it. Looking directly into Thatcher’s eyes, he said, “I’ve enjoyed making your acquaintance, Hutton. Take care.”

Then he turned and walked to the end of the car, opened the door, and stepped through to the next car.





Sixty-Three



One morning Laurel woke up with a grasp on that missed flicker of illumination she’d had after her night of lovemaking with Thatcher. She couldn’t let it go or even leave it to languish. It was so long overdue, she was compelled to share it without delay.

She dressed and went downstairs. Irv was finishing up his breakfast. “I left a pan of biscuits warming in the oven. Sit down, I’ll pour you some coffee.”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

He turned to her, a puzzled look on his face. “Now? Where to?”

“Just come, please.”

She lifted her straw hat off the peg and put it on, took down her purse, and went out through the back door. Mumbling something about “nutty female notions,” Irv followed.

Ten minutes later, Laurel sat down on the narrow strip of grass between Pearl’s and Derby’s graves. She motioned for Irv to join her on the ground.

“I won’t be able to get back up.”

“Yes, you will. I’ll help you.”

He lowered himself to the ground on the other side of his son’s grave. “What’s going on, Laurel? What’s the matter? Are you sad over him?”

She knew he wasn’t speaking of Derby. Thatcher had left without a word and hadn’t come back. No one knew if he would. She cried herself to sleep most nights. She was in dire need of comforting. Yet, the person who could ease her misery was the source of it.

She was furious at him for that. But her yearning for him was like a sickness. “This isn’t about him.”

“Told you not to trust him.”

“You did,” she said softly. Idly, she began pulling up the dandelions that had begun sprouting on Pearl’s grave. “Something’s come to me recently.”

“A package?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “Nothing tangible, although I do consider it a gift of sorts.”

“I think when Gert clouted you on the head, she knocked something loose.”

She laughed softly. “You might be right. In which case, I have her to thank for this.” He opened his mouth to say more, but she held up her hand. “It’s enlightenment. It’s been trying to worm its way into my consciousness. I think subconsciously I wanted it to stay put. I’ve resisted facing it. But I woke up this morning with it firmly seated in my mind. And please stop looking at me like I belong in a loony bin.”

“Well, how am I supposed to be looking at you? You ain’t making a lick of sense.”

“Then I’ll make it plainer.” She dusted loose dirt off her hands. “Irv, you know how bitter I felt toward Derby for abandoning me.”

“You had a right to be.”

“Not really. Because I also abandoned him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve never told you about our start. We met at a dance. Which was forbidden to me, of course. I sneaked out and went with a girlfriend. Derby was handsome and fun, someone I knew my parents would disapprove. I’ll admit that was a large part of the attraction. Our whirlwind romance and hasty marriage was my deliverance. Just six weeks later, he left for Europe. I was a bride. Then the war ended, and he came home. To a wife.

“If he had returned with a shattered leg, I wouldn’t have expected him to run sprints, would I? But in my selfishness and…and immaturity, I guess…I expected him to pick right back up where he’d left off. Giddy in love. Lighthearted, optimistic, oozing charm.

“But it soon became apparent that Derby was no longer that romantic hero. What’s become clear to me is that I, unintentionally, applied pressure on top of the pressure he was already feeling. I didn’t support him the way I should have.”