Falling for the Lawman. Ruth Logan Herne

that look on his father’s face. It wasn’t a game he ever wanted to play again.

      * * *

      “You didn’t need to take time off.” Marty Harrison poured a cup of coffee, gaze down, grinding the words that evening. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

      “Dad, I—”

      “And I don’t need someone hovering over me 24/7. What I need is...” Marty stared out at the fields beyond, the adjacent dairy farm a reminder of all he’d lost due to a medical error, a mistake that had triggered a bunch of wrong decisions. Decisions made by Zach.

      His father’s grim expression increased Zach’s guilt. “I didn’t take the time off because of you, precisely. I realized that if I’m going to get that deck done out back, I’d better do it before summer ends. I thought I might be able to enlist your help with it. If you want to, that is.”

      “Keep the old man busy?” Bitterness deepened his father’s already cryptic tone. “That way I won’t get into any trouble?”

      Easing Marty back into a semblance of normalcy was going to be harder than he expected, Zach realized. His father’s flat gaze deepened Zach’s concern, but other than good old-fashioned time, how could he help Marty’s mental and physical recovery? “We could drive down to the lake,” Zach suggested. “Or take a walk.”

      “A walk to nothing is still nothing.”

      Zach knew that wasn’t true. He’d often walked on his own as a kid. He continued the habit now, as an adult. Quiet walking time cleared his head. Eased his mind. The measured pace allowed him to be at peace. Notice the birds, the winged creatures chronically busy but generally unworried.

      In a job that dealt with the seamier side of humanity too often, walking soothed him. If Marty Harrison wasn’t walking to something, to be somewhere, the walk wouldn’t make sense. But things were different now, and—

      Marty’s shoulders squared. His jaw softened. He held the coffee cup higher. Tighter.

      The sound of children laughing drifted across the evening air. A host of them, from what Zach could hear. Another shout of laughter had Zach noting the time. Almost eight o’clock. That must mean ice cream at the dairy store. He moved to the back door and swung it wide. “Dad, come on. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

      “I’m not walking down to the lake for ice cream.” His father’s ludicrous look said Zach was crazy and annoying. “It’s nearly a mile.”

      “Come on.” Zach pointed southeast and gave his father a lazy smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

      Marty’s face darkened. His eyes looked down for several beats, but Zach had outwaited tougher guys than his father lots of times. He stood, patient and persevering, allowing his father time to take that first step forward. Shouts of childish laughter tempted Marty outside. By the time they skirted the near pasture and worked their way around the closest barn, the sight of children laughing, playing and shrieking paused Marty’s step.

      “What are they doing here?” he asked.

      “Ice cream after the game.” Zach pointed toward the dairy store tucked on the protected side of the barn they’d just rounded. “Just like you did with us when we were kids.”

      Not exactly. His father hadn’t been a mainstay at soccer games or Friday night football. On a farm there was always something to do, fix or tend. Running kids to games had fallen to his mother.

      That brought to mind Piper that afternoon, hanging over the tractor, trying to put big, heavy things right when she should have been spraying crops or turning cut hay. Guilt speared him for not taking the time to help. He knew farm equipment. And his size made tractor parts a whole lot easier to handle, although she’d probably jab him in the solar plexus if he suggested such a thing. And she’d done all right on her own to this point, so why was he torturing himself about it?

      Kids of all ages dashed here and there. Some sported baseball attire. Others were dressed in soccer gear. Parents sat or stood in small circles across the wide yard, watching the antics with small-town comfort. “I wonder if they’ve got Parkerhouse cherry?”

      Marty’s hopeful expression made Zach wince inside. Whatever this cherry thing was, he was pretty sure the inviting ice cream window was about to disappoint his father. Frankly, Zach wasn’t sure how many more downturns his father could handle, which was exactly why he’d taken emergency leave for the next couple of weeks. Maybe just having Zach around would help Marty through the worst of this adjustment period.

      The short lines moved quickly. Lights lit up the parking area, while the scattered picnic tables set beneath sprawling farmyard trees remained more shadowed. When they got to the front of the line, Zach was surprised to see Piper, Lucia and the same college girl he’d seen yesterday all inside the window. “You work here at night?”

      The sound of his voice got her attention, and unless Zach had lost his policing skills in the twelve hours he’d been off duty, she looked happy to see him. Excited, even.

      Which made two of them.

      Her smile inspired his, but he felt a moment of abject fear when Lucia asked, “What can we get for you, gentlemen?” Zach dreaded the thought of Marty’s disappointment over something as simple as ice cream.

      “You got Parkerhouse?”

      Lucia’s quiet frown said they didn’t. Zach was ready to point out the long list of flavors they did have, but Piper’s voice interrupted him. “Sir, do you like amaretto-based Parkerhouse or vanilla?”

      Marty’s eyes lit up. “The almond stuff.”

      She threw him a smile, winked and scooped a generous serving onto a cold stone set off to her left. Taking a tong’s worth of cherries with just a little juice, she worked the ice cream between two flat paddles for about thirty seconds. She arched a glance back toward Marty. “Did you say cone or dish?”

      “I didn’t,” he replied, the more appreciative tone in his voice making Zach breathe easier. “A cone,” he decided. “One of those.” He pointed to the waffle cones and Piper’s smile said she approved.

      “These waffle cones are the best,” she told him as she plied the ice cream mix into the cone. “In my humble opinion...”

      Lucia’s cough said Piper’s opinions might not be as humble as she thought. Her timing deepened Marty’s smile, which then eased some of Zach’s concern.

      “...the cone makes the treat,” Piper declared. She sent Marty an arch look. “Too soft, too sweet, too well-done.” She shrugged narrow shoulders clad in a T-shirt beneath the ice cream apron. “The best ice cream deserves a solid cone.”

      “I concur.” Marty took a taste of the cone she handed him. She watched, waiting, clearly hoping she’d pleased him, and in that moment Zach discovered more to like about her. Patience in an impatient world. Concern, as if Marty’s satisfaction mattered. And a hinted joy as if she loved the task at hand, taking care of business after working in hot fields and barns all day.

      “Delicious. And an almost perfect balance of cherries to ice cream.” Marty smiled at her, and Zach was pretty sure that was the first genuine smile he’d seen since bringing his father home postsurgery five days before, even though the smile was accompanied by veiled criticism with the word almost.

      Zach had lived with those “almosts” for a long time. Almost smart enough, almost good enough, almost strong enough...

      But Piper just laughed out loud. “You come back tomorrow or whenever and I’ll add more, okay? Although the secret to a perfect Parkerhouse cherry ice cream—” she shortened the distance between them by leaning out the window. Marty bent closer “—is to make the palate long for that next bite of fruit. Too much and the texture is messed up. It’s all about ratio, but you come back,” she repeated, “and I’ll use more cherries. Deal?”

      “Deal.” Marty