"Rootbound, Sheriff Muldoon. That's your problem." The
spry old fellow standing in the open doorway swept the
gray felt hat from his head, sucked his teeth and squinted
hard. "Got no room to grow. And if you don't do something
about it and quick, well, I ain't one to be a prophet of
doom, but if you don't make a change soon, there'll be no
hope at all."
Kurt shuddered as if a cold wind had overtaken him. The
portent of a coming storm.
"Come on in, Moonie." He tried to sound gruff. Amused but
gruff. "Tell me what's on your mind — not like I could
stop you from it."
Unstoppable. Somebody would be hard-pressed to find a soul
in Wileyville, Kentucky, who would argue with that
description of Solomon "Moonie" Shelnutt.
The older gentleman took a few steps inside the sheriff's
stuffy office and jabbed one gnarled finger at the potted
plant bullied into a windowless corner beside cardboard
boxes and outdated computer equipment. "That plant."
"What plant?" Kurt pivoted in his squeaky chair to eye the
thin-stalked palm, its fringed leaves tinged with brown.
"That one." This time, Moonie motioned with his familiar
hat. "Needs room to spread out. To stretch and grow and
realize its full potential. Never going to happen if you
keep it confined to this place."
Kurt blinked to ease the ever-present burning in his eyes
from the flickering fluorescent lights overhead and
sighed. "I know just how it feels."
"I'll get my daughter April to come 'round and look after
it for you, if you want." April, Moonie's stepdaughter,
was hardly a girl but to the man who had raised her and
done everything possible to keep her and her sisters with
him even after their mother abandoned them, she would
always be his "girl". Kurt respected and admired that even
if the old man's suggestion made him cringe.
"No!" It startled even Kurt how sharp his refusal came
out. But any contact between him and April Shelnutt was
something he could not encourage in good conscience.
Not with April. Not now. Not ever.
Not that there was anything wrong with the independent,
unpretentious woman with the golden-brown braid and smile
that could light a man's way out of the darkest despair.
He rubbed his forehead, as if that action could erase her
image from his mind. Not that it mattered. Even if he
succeeded in ridding himself of the memory of her face,
the feelings she evoked in him would always remain deep
within him. And that was where they had to stay. Deep
within. For both of their sakes.
If it didn't hurt so much, it would be funny. The irony of
it all. After so many years for both of them to finally
find each other, only to meet in a time and place...
Impossible. It simply could not be. That part of Kurt's
life was dead and over.
April Shelnutt was the one woman he could have finally
chosen to make a life with. Problem was, she was the kind
of woman who wanted a real life — marriage, a home and
everything that went with it. Right out in the open where
people could stick their big, fat noses in and start with
what they'd call advice or, worse, support. Yes, they
would be well-intentioned. Well, most of them would be but
in the end, the result would be the same. Kurt would end
up hurt and hurting the people he loved, those who should
have trusted him most.
He could not let that happen. Not again. Not to April
Shelnutt.
That was why he insisted that if they were to see each
other, the relationship had to remain on his terms. For a
while, April had gone along with his intense need for
privacy. They had met in secret. Taken separate cars
to "run into each other" at outof-town restaurants. They
never acknowledged each other much in public.
"Fine afternoon, huh, Sheriff?" she would murmur in
passing.
"Yes, ma'am." He'd tip his hat and, in the shadow of the
brim, sneak in a smile and sometimes a wink.
She'd walk away with an extra spring in her step. He knew
because he'd watch her in the side mirror of his county
car.
If Kurt had his way, none of that would have changed.
But April's life had changed, and with it came the need to
do what Moonie prescribed for the palm in the corner. She
needed to stretch and grow, to break free of the confines
of her old ways and find new directions that would allow
her, at long last, to blossom.
Kurt couldn't blame her. He, of all people, understood the
roles that loss and self-examination played in shaping
life choices. The death of his wife, Carol, had certainly
determined how he would live out the remainder of his days.
As an ex-army officer, the town's sheriff and a man of
honor and faith, what choice did he have really?
He had to do the right thing for April, even if it was the
worst thing for him. He had to stay as far away from her
as possible.
"Don't bother your daughter on my behalf, Moonie. It's,
uh —" he gazed at the sad specimen struggling to survive
out of its element — not unlike a certain career army man
who had plunked down in his old hometown without any real
sense of purpose " — it's just a plant."
"She won't mind. Got a servant's heart, that one. Good
girl. Fix you right up, she would."
Kurt didn't doubt April's abilities for a moment. And
being reminded of her again and again made him all the
more terse when he wheeled his chair around and rested his
forearms on the edge of his desk. "You sure you're in the
right office, Moonie?"
The lines in the man's face deepened. His bushy white
eyebrows inched downward. "What?"
"Well, if you've come to discuss agriculture, you want the
county agent's office, not mine."
"Agriculture? No, sir." He laughed. "Aggravation. That's
what's on my agenda for today."
"Well, at least you're up-front and honest about it."
Which was more than Kurt could say about a lot of people
around town. "What is it you've come to aggravate me about
today?"
"Me? I'll have you know, I ain't aggravated a soul in —"
Kurt cleared his throat. "Hours," Moonie finished, a slow,
sly grin working across his face. "But seriously, son, I
didn't come here to vex you none. I came to warn you."
Not what Kurt had hoped to hear. He edged forward, his
eyes keenly trained on the man. "Warn me? About what?"
"That meddling bunch of the COCW, that's what."
"The Council of Christian Women?" Kurt didn't know whether
to laugh or grumble under his breath. Either way he'd
regret it. He didn't want to hurt the old man's feelings
or break his commitment as a man of God and a town role
model to keep his language clean. "What's the matter,
Moonie? That wild gang of ministers'wives, church ladies
and vigilante prayer warriors up to no good again?"
The man narrowed his eyes. "Worse."
"Worse?"
"Instead of being up to no good, they are up to some good.
And I have to tell you, that's when their kind becomes
most dangerous!"
"Up to what?"
"Guess you ain't heard about the project then?"
"Project?"
"Yup. To mark this time leading up to Easter." He nodded
toward the calendar. "You know how some folks give
something up at this time of year?"
"Sure."
"Well, this crowd has got it in their collective fancy,
hairdo-ed heads that them that don't practice the service
of sacrifice should go over and above and out of their way
to do more, to give something back."
"Back?"
"To the community. To the churches. Whoever they deem
needs it."
"Needs what?"
"Well, that's the rub, ain't it? The what!"
Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and scoured his forehead with
callused fingers. "Moonie, you do realize I am armed and
cranky?"
"Meaning?"
Kurt grinned, just enough to keep things friendly, then
slammed his fist on the desk hard enough to make his
nameplate clatter but gently enough to avoid starting an
avalanche of the piled-high files.
"Get to the point, man!"
"Okay, here it is." Moonie leaned forward and, twisting
the brim of his hat ever so slightly, whispered, "Watch
your back."
"My back?"
"And your front, for that matter. I know these women.
They're tricky. They could be coming at you from all
directions."
The image of silver-haired ladies in floral dresses and
combat boots crouched around every corner of Wileyville
popped into Kurt's head. He laughed. "I've been trained in
hand-to-hand combat, heavy artillery and personal
firearms. I think I can fend off a pack of church ladies."
Moonie shook his head. "You just don't get it, boy."
"What's to get? The nice Christian ladies want people to
be kinder to one another for a few weeks. I say, let them
go for it." He pushed his hand through his hair and
suddenly recalled his mother's admonition not to do that,
as it tended to make the gray in his usually nondescript
light-brown hair stand out.
"You've had such handsome brown hair your whole life and
now you move home and suddenly you go gray," his mother,
who had gone white-headed at a young age herself, had
tsked him. "What will people say?"
What people would say mattered to Kurt's mother. A lot.
And why wouldn't it? When you are the town's biggest
gossip, you have a unique vantage point from which to
understand just how vicious and vulgar rumors and idle
chatter can be.
"Anyway, I don't see how anything the COCW does applies to
me. I don't have a home church these days." And he wasn't
looking for one. Talk about a way to open yourself up to
people — no way. "I think of myself more as a free-range
Christian."