North Country(84)

“‘Local Hero Saves Woman From Certain Death.’ Oh, and there you are, lookin’ all handsome and contemplative.” Glen points at the blown-up image of me leaning against the fence, quietly watching while the bison bull grazed nearby. It’s the closest I’ve gotten to one out in the fields and Jon was there to snap a picture, unbeknownst to me. When I refused to pose for the newspaper photographer, Jon eagerly offered that up. I wanted to choke him.

“You agreed to this?” Glen sounds genuinely surprised.

“Hell no. Not at first.” Not until my mother and Sarah ganged up on me, promising that it would be a good thing. Everyone around town has been talking about me, anyway, so there’s no point hiding. We might as well give them a positive spin. Then they wrangled Emery over speakerphone and when she pushed me to do it … I never could say no to her. Plus, Margie committed to letting me give the article my blessing before it went to print.

I did not give that title my blessing, though.

Margie tracked down Carol Roth, who gave a phone interview from her home where she’s still recovering and declared over and over how grateful she is to me. I don’t know how much Margie told her about her rescuer, but ten bucks says she’s not nearly as grateful once a copy of the paper lands in her hands.

“It’s a good article. Positive, fair, balanced. Doesn’t hide your past but opens the door to a softer narrative.” Glen adjusts his glasses to read out loud, “‘Many felt the judge’s sentence imposed on Landry for his involvement in the officers’ deaths was far harsher than necessary. In speaking with him, he expressed no excuses, only regrets.’”

The article makes no mention of the added assault charge while inside, which I appreciated.

“Like I said, good article.” Glen tosses the paper onto his desk. “It’s a start for you to earn a place in your community again, but you need to be doing more.”

“More than save a woman’s life? Sure, no problem.”

“Smart-ass.” He smirks. “How about volunteer work?”

“Like what? ”

“I can’t give you all the answers. That’s for you to figure out.”

“Yeah … I’ll think about it.”

“You can’t hide on that ranch forever.”

“Watch me.”

Glen shakes his head. “Have you at least ventured over to your family’s market?”

“Sure, I drop off bags of firewood.”

“When it’s open? When you have to actually speak to people?”

“Are you my parole officer or my therapist?”

“I don’t get paid nearly enough to pretend to be a therapist.” Glen snorts.

“All right, then. Anything else or can I go—”

“Any issues with anyone lately?” he asks, ignoring my attempt to leave. “About that missing girl or anything else?”

“Nope, because I don’t leave the ranch,” I enunciate each word. Which means no questioning my alibi over missing girls, run-ins with Hank Murphy, none of this bullshit over some secret stash that I have no fucking clue about. How he hasn’t let go of that twenty-year-old bone is beyond me, but it means it must be worth something.

“That’s gonna get lonely, don’t you think?”

“Nah. I’ve got a big family, and they’re noisy.”

Glen harrumphs. “You dating anyone?”

His pivot catches me off guard. “No.”

“You’re allowed to, you know. Date women. Or men,” he adds in a rush. “I never assume.”

“Yeah, I know.” The problem is I can’t be with the one woman I want, and I have no interest killing time with any others.

Glen seems to mull that over before his focus shifts to his desktop. Does he know what happened between Emery and me? The guy seems to know—or suspect—plenty about every other facet of my life. “Fine.” Stubby fingers move over the keyboard as he begins making his meeting summary.





“Just the strong, handsome man we were hoping to find! ”

I look up from my task of dashing salt over the market’s customer parking lot to see my mother and Sarah trudge toward me, bundled for the cold. Over a foot of snow fell yesterday, shutting down schools and adding to the thick base already on the ground. The thermometer outside the garage read minus nine degrees Celsius when I got up, but with the wind chill, it’s more like minus twenty.

My mom carries a snow shovel like a staff.

“What else do you need me to clear?” I ask, double-checking the front of the Landry Market, decked out with Christmas lights, red bows, and evergreen garlands for the holiday season. I did everything there, didn’t I?

My mother smiles. “A few paths for the fine customers of Cold River?”

“We have some orders to deliver in town to elderly customers who can’t get around easily,” Sarah jumps in. “You know, ready-to-heat dishes like pot pies, soups, and pastas. It’s a thing we’ve been doing.”

“That thing Dad and Jon were complaining about last week that we should be charging for?” Jon’s convinced a ten-dollar delivery fee would be perfectly reasonable.

Mom waves it off, a flicker of irritation in her face. “They can butt out of my business, unless they want me interfering with theirs.”