Lynda Sandoval - You, And No Other

The hand became a fist, wadding his freshly pressed shirt into a mass of wrinkles as Chief Bishop lifted him slightly off his feet. “Go ahead, you little scumbag. Try to enter my house uninvited,” Chief growled through clenched teeth. “Arresting you for trespassing would be the perfect satisfying cap to my evening.”

Jonas lost his fight, and the older man took the opportunity to shove him back.

He staggered, then caught himself on the railing. Grasping on to his remaining dignity by a thread, Jonas tried in vain to smooth his shirt. “How can you live with so much hate inside you?” He couldn’t quite keep the quaver out of his voice.

The old man ignored his question. “Cagney did leave you a letter before she and Tad headed for the dance. Good kid, that Tad Rivers,” Chief mused. “Good family.” He allowed a moment for the comment to slice into Jonas like a rusty knife before pulling an envelope from his back pocket and holding it out. “I suppose you deserve to read it since she wrote it. Against my advice, mind you. My daughter owes you no explanation.”

Explanation of what? Jonas’s mind raced, and an icy sense of dread trickled through him. Eying the man warily, Jonas stepped forward and snatched the envelope. He tore into it, hoping for some clue as to why their planned “united front” had fallen so far by the wayside. Why hadn’t she returned his calls? Made some attempt to warn him that all hell had busted loose? They’d always protected each other.

He scanned the letter quickly, recognized Cagney’s writing. And the page had been torn from her favorite school notebook, the one with paper lined in purple that smelled of grapes if you rubbed it.

Bracing himself, Jonas read:

Dear Jonas:

I would’ve told you sooner, but I just didn’t know how. You’re a nice guy and you’ve been a good friend, but Tad and I started talking a few months ago, and I fell in love with him. It just … happened. It’s easier on me, too, because Chief approves. I hope you understand …

He couldn’t bear to read another agonizing word in front of Chief Bishop. The man’s gloating was nearly palpable, and the pain in Jonas’s heart was too intense. He crumpled the letter in one hand and stared off to the side. After a moment, he glared at the smug man before him. “You did this.”

“Cut the paranoia, boy. I had nothing to do with it. Read the letter. Cagney made her choice.” His tone smoothed into an arrogant purr. “It’s for the best.”

“When have you ever known what was best for Cagney or any of your daughters?” Jonas snapped, his voice hoarse with tears he could hardly hold back. “None of them can stand you, and everyone in this town knows it.”

Chief Bishop’s face reddened. “You have your damned letter, now get the hell off my property. And don’t let me see you here ever again.”

“Don’t worry,” Jonas tossed over his shoulder as he spun and took the steps two at a time, his world collapsing around him.

But, no more.

If ever there was a last straw, he’d just received it.

It’s easier on me, too, because Chief approves. Chief approves.

Approval.

He’d exhausted himself trying to attain that ever-elusive approval, with zero luck. Facts were facts: this town had been nothing but unwelcoming, if not downright hostile, to him and his mom from the moment they’d made the mistake of setting foot in it.

Just today, the owner of one of the bars Mom frequented kicked her out because she was two dollars short for her tab.

Two measly dollars. Literally.

The man left his mom humiliated and sobbing on the curb, as if she hadn’t poured enough money into that dive over the years. Jonas might not approve of his mother’s behavior, but she was kind and broken and vulnerable, and her coping skills weren’t the best, to put it mildly.

Now this.

All he and Mom had was each other.

That much was crystal clear.

The Gulch? Jonas was done with the whole damn place. Done. He might be poor, but he was whip smart and motivated, unlike so many of his classmates. He’d taken enough credits that he’d technically graduated in December, but had held out to go through the spring ceremony with Cagney.

His gut cramped.

As things stood, the school could send him his diploma, or keep it, for all he cared, because he never wanted to see any of his fellow students again, and that included Cagney. The only good thing about Troublesome Gulch had been her, and unbelievably, even their relationship turned out to be a lie.

Pain unlike any he’d ever felt seared through him. He needed to escape this hellhole as soon as possible. That was the benefit of living in a minuscule month-to-month rental, though. Not much to pack. If he had anything to say about it, he and his mother would be boxed up and out of this nightmare town tonight, and he’d never look back. He’d find a place for them to live where people judged you for what was in your heart, not your bank account. He’d work and he’d study and he’d show them all just how wrong they were about him.

One day, so help him God …

Jonas chucked the orchid corsage out of his window, clear plastic container and all, then spun gravel leaving the Bishop property. Who cared if doing so meant another point against him with Chief? None of that mattered anymore.

The prepaid cell phone he’d scrimped and saved for rang, and a stupid spark of hope had him wrestling it from his jacket to check the caller ID. Maybe, just maybe—

Tad Rivers.

Betrayal lanced through him, stealing his breath.

He ignored the rings and waited until the secondary tone told him he had a new message, then dialed in to listen to it.

Cagney.

From Tad’s phone.

Stars swirled in his head. So, it was true. All of it. She’d gone with Tad and didn’t even tell him. She’d let him waste money on a tux and flowers, then humiliate himself in front of Chief. How could she, of all people, do that to him?

“Jonas,” the message said, “please, please answer your phone. I want to talk to you about this. To explain. I’ll call you back. Okay? Please answer.”

Yeah, she’d call him back. Sure she would.

From Tad Rivers’s phone.

With his temples pounding, he glanced down at the letter that had nearly ripped the heart from his chest. Tears blurred his vision, and he wiped angrily at them with the back of one hand.

Done. Finished. Finito.

The words on those pages were all the explanation he needed from Cagney Bishop, now or ever.

Hadn’t his mom always told him love couldn’t be trusted?

Present day …

Cagney glanced around the large parking area of High Country Medical Center at the snaking vehicles and foot traffic slithering slowly in. She couldn’t believe how many people were showing up for a stupid press conference. Then again, this was Troublesome Gulch, Colorado, where curiosity reigned. Where else would a simple media event merit this level of police presence?

She adjusted her gun belt to rest more comfortably on her hip bones, waved at one of her fellow officers who’d been assigned to work the event, too, then checked her watch. Barely nine o’clock in the morning, and she was already bored out of her mind. Go figure. Just another day in the life of Officer Cagney Bishop.

She hated crowd control almost as much as she hated traffic duty. In fact, she hated most of her duties, unless they included dealing with disadvantaged kids or truly helping people, and honestly, how often did that happen?

Inside, she groaned. How many years until she could retire? She began calculations in her head, just to pass the time.

As if sensing her need for a break in the monotony of a job that fit her like a cheaply-made dress, Cagney’s cell phone rang. She freed it from the pouch on her duty belt, checked the caller ID, then smiled and flipped it open. “Hey, Faith. How’s the baby?”

Faith Montesantos Austin had given birth to her and Brody’s first daughter three months earlier and was riding out the tail end of leave from her job as counselor at Troublesome Gulch High School. They’d named the baby Mickie, after Faith’s late sister who died in the prom night crash along with Tad, Kevin and Randy.

“She’s perky and great, as usual. Woke me up three times last night, though, so she’s fat-bellied and chipper, while I’m beat, bloated and bitter.”

“Ugh.”

“Tell me.” Faith groaned. “It’s why they have to make babies cute, you know.”

“Puppies, too.”

“So true. Huh, Hope?” The scruffy puppy Brody had given her during his marriage proposal barked once in the background. Faith laughed, then asked, “What are you up to? Are you coming by?”

When duty allowed, Cagney stopped in for a morning coffee visit to keep Faith sane during her extended maternity leave.

Faith’s tone turned plaintive. “I need adult contact, Cag. Girl talk, someone to reassure me that the baby weight really is melting away. I mean, my God, have you seen Erin?” she added, referring to their close mutual friend, Erin DeLuca, a Troublesome Gulch firefighter. “Granted, she had Nate Jr. a few months before Mickie’s grand entrance, but she looked like an Olympic athlete freakin’ three weeks after she gave birth. So not fair.”

“True, but remember, she only gained nineteen pounds with her pregnancy and she’s a workout maniac.”

“Casey Laine Bishop, are you calling me a slug?”

Cagney laughed softly. No one ever called her Casey anymore. “Not at all, hon. Erin’s just in a different physical class than most of us. We have to accept it and move on, or we’ll fall into the body image self-loathing pit and never scratch our way out.”

“Lucky wench, that Erin. It’s a good thing I love her so much, or I’d hate her.”

“Don’t hate her because she’s bionic,” Cagney teased.

“Seriously, I’m regretting every single time I uttered the word supersize during those nine months of blinding French-fry cravings and zero self-control.” Faith sighed. “So, now that I’m totally depressed and fat, are you coming over, or what?”

“Can’t. Sorry. Chief assigned me to crowd control at the hospital, oh, joy.” She rolled her eyes.

“The hosp—Oh! I’d forgotten that hoopla was today.” Mickie started fussing in the background, and Faith shushed her gently. “What’s up with the new wing anyway? Any insider info?”

“None.” Cagney raised her chin to acknowledge the hand signal from the cop working traffic control at the entrance about fifty yards away from her, then waved a sleek, black limousine past the barricade she guarded. The mystery guest of honor, of course. Who else rode around in a stretch limo in Troublesome Freakin’ Gulch?

She strained for a peek through the heavily tinted windows but saw nothing. Her hat brim and dark sunglasses didn’t help. “Cops don’t rate insider info. Not this cop, at least. Anyway, surprise benefactor, surprise wing, blah blah blah. Supposedly something that will put Troublesome Gulch on the map.”

“Ooh,” Faith mocked. “I swear, they’re always trying to put Troublesome Gulch on one stupid map or the other, and yet our claim to fame remains being ‘that mountain town with the horrible prom night tragedy from way back when.’ Sorry for the ugly reminder,” she said quickly, “but really, all this municipal social climbing is futile and annoying.”

“Believe me, I agree. But you know how old Walt loves his publicity,” Cagney added wryly, referring to the camera-loving city manager. “I’ll fill you in as soon as I get any kind of scoop whatsoever. It’ll probably be anticlimactic after all the buildup, though.”