The Widows of Wichita County

November 6

Streets of Clifton Creek

The weather turned ugly a few hours before dawn, coating the streets with what the locals called "Satan's Ice." A sheet of ice so thin it was invisible on the highway, but if you hit it, you might slide right into hell.

Meredith crept toward school in her old Mustang with the bald tires. Almost there, she passed Sheriff Granger Farrington. He stood beside his car parked behind a van that had slid off the road and taken out the school crossing sign and ten feet of an old chain-link fence.

Waving at him, Meredith moved past. When she glanced in her rearview mirror she noticed him watching her.

She felt sorry for him having to work in the cold. It usually took a few hard freezes before the college kids wised up and slowed down.

As the day progressed, Meredith thought of Granger when the snow moved in on top of the ice. She doubted he would have time to go home for a set of dry clothes or even have time to eat. The thought of him out in the weather made her shiver even in her warm classroom, for she knew he was spending the day pushing people out of ditches, jumping cars with their lights left on, and directing traffic.

At four, with most of the school empty, Meredith borrowed the office phone and finally called the sheriff.

"Sheriff Farrington's office. This is Inez. How can I help you?" Inez sounded official and bored.

Meredith smiled into the phone. Inez usually only worked mornings. Whenever Meredith was at the courthouse on holidays Inez always found the time to stop in for a visit. Slit, seemed to think her breaks lasted until someone from the sheriffs office yelled her name down the hall.

"May I please speak to the sheriff?" Meredith kept her voice formal not wanting to have to explain why she way calling.

"Sure, Meredith. I'll put you right through. No problem at school, I hope?"

Meredith closed her eyes. Of course, Inez would have caller I.D. and from there it would be no mystery to figure out who was calling. "No problem at school. I just have a question about the weather."

"It's ringing," Inez said, a moment before Meredith heard a click.

"Yes!" Granger almost shouted. "What's the next problem?"

Meredith almost hung up the phone. He sounded busy.

"Go ahead," he snapped.

Meredith glanced around the tiny office to make sure no one was listening. "Sheriff Farrington, this is Meredith Allen."

There was a silence on the line and she wondered if she had lost the connection.

His voice finally came, slower this time. "Are you all right, Meredith?"

The concern seemed more than just professional, but she could not be sure. "I'm fine," she answered, knowing his question was not just a way of passing time. "And you?"

Granger laughed. "I'm standing knee-deep in snow and mud trying to dig a car out right now. I'm cold, wet and hungry, but other then that I'm just fine, Mrs. Allen. Maybe we could talk…"

"I understand this is not a good time to visit." Meredith knew she had to hurry. "I called to ask if you would like to come to dinner tonight. I want to pay you back for buying me dinner and I thought tonight you might like getting off work and having a meal ready."

The silence lingered so long she was sure he was thinking of how to turn her down, but then he answered, "What time?"

"I'll have it ready at seven but I can leave it on warm if you're late."

"I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

"I understand." She could almost hear him trying to think of an excuse to get out of coming.

The connection ended. He obviously was not a man who wasted time with goodbyes.

Meredith gathered her bags and headed home. She had a great deal to do before seven. She hadn't cooked a meal in a month. During lunch she had made a list of what she needed from the store, but there was still the house to clean.

Rushing like a madwoman, Meredith had everything ready by seven and then she relaxed. She was glad as the minutes ticked away giving her time to rest. But by nine o'clock she knew he wasn't coming and the disappointment surprised her.

As she stood to put the food away, a tap sounded at the door.

The sheriff had already backed away to the steps when she answered. "I'm sorry I'm so late." He looked tired. "If you'd like to try it another night, I'd understand."

"No." She motioned him in. "I put supper in the oven. It won't take me but a minute to set it on the table."

He removed his hat and coat before following her into the kitchen. "We could make it another time." He tried again. "I know you've got to teach tomorrow."

He looked tired. She almost changed her mind. But she had cooked the food. They might as well eat. Plus, she had been looking forward to seeing him all day. Now, she was not sure why. "Please, Sheriff, sit down."

He watched her, studying her. But he did not make her nervous like most people did.

After a few minutes she had to ask, "What is it?"

He grinned. "I guess I've never seen you wearing anything but boxy sweaters that are usually wallpapered in nursery rhymes. It seems strange to see you wearing jeans and a T-shirt."

"Do I need to change to make you feel comfortable?"

"No. Of course not. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You look great just the way you are. I'll just have to get over missing the nursery rhymes."

He leaned against the bar and continued watching her. They both seemed to have run out of anything to say, and she was still setting the table. The sheriff was no good at small talk, and all she usually talked about was school. The greeting they paid one another in the hallway of the courthouse was about their limit.

The warmth of her house seemed to help him relax. Finally he talked of his day, but it sounded more like a report than conversation. When she did not add much he went back to watching her. She could almost read his thoughts. She wasn't his type. He looked like he counted the minutes until he could say good-night.

"Help yourself to a beer," she said with her back to him as she pulled food from the oven.

"Beer? Mrs. Allen? Are you telling me teachers are allowed beer?"

She glanced in his direction. "Do I need an ID?"

He smiled. "Wearing that Texas Tech T-shirt you look almost young enough to card. But no, you're old enough." He reached for two longnecks and leaned back against the counter as he opened them.

Meredith walked past him delivering food to the table. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Smells good."

She almost asked if he was talking about the food or her.

"And peaceful here," he added. "Or maybe it's not the place but you that makes everything seem in order."

She knew what he meant. They were not playing games; they were simply becoming friends. They were just two people about to have a meal. Then he would go on his way and the next time he saw her in the hallway at the courthouse, they might talk a little longer than before. Maybe they would ask about more personal things than the weather, like "Did you have a nice weekend?" or "Hope you haven't caught the flu going around this season."

"I made barbecue." She broke into his thoughts. "I hope you like it."

"Sounds fine," he mumbled before taking a drink of the beer.

She watched him run his hand though his hair, as if pushing memories aside and relaxing.

Meredith reached into the oven for the pan of rolls. The crocheted pot holder slipped in her hand. She jumped backward, trying to avoid the pan hitting her legs and feet.

A second later, her elbow struck the beer in Granger's hand. He let it fall as he grabbed her around the waist to steady her.

Beer and dinner rolls hit the floor, splattering and turning everywhere. He pulled her close, leaning back against the bar as they watched the mess collect at their feet.

It took her a moment to realize she was in his arms. Her body pressed against the length of him, warming him after his cold day. He suddenly felt better than he had in a long time.

All she had to do was step away. His hands at her waist only steadied her. She was not the kind of woman to flirt, much less come on to a man. But she did not want to move away. She wanted to stay if only for a few more minutes. She could feel his breath and his heart pounding.

The beer slowly dripped on the floor, but neither reached down to clean it up.

Move, she shouted inside her mind, but her body didn't cooperate. Step away and act like this didn't happen. But to the very core of her being Meredith knew she did not want to move away. She wanted to be even closer.

The sheriff also seemed to be struggling. All he had to do was say "Pardon me" and walk to the other side of the bar, then they could both pretend she had not been so close. They could avoid each other's eyes and act as if they had never touched. In time, maybe they would forget.

But to start the process of forgetting, one of them had to move.

She felt his fingers pressing against her shirt. The need to touch must be as strong inside him as it was in her.

He moved his hand down her body and took her hand. Lifting her fingers up, he whispered, "Are you burned?"

Slowly, he turned her hand over.

"No," she answered. She moved her fingers into his hair as she had seen him do only moments before. "I'm all right. Don't worry about me."

Granger spread his hands along her middle. The feel of her seemed to feed the hunger of a lifetime. "You are far more than all right, Meredith."

She heard the evening news coming from the small set in the living room. The smell of beer blended with the barbecue aroma. Yet everything seemed faraway except her sense of touch.

He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and brushed the band of her jeans and the skin just above.

This could not be real, she told herself. Nothing like this had ever happened before in her life. He was not the kind of man who flirted or who women talked about. And she was a good woman no one ever spread rumors about.

And right now, the good woman was silently telling him what she wanted. They might have trouble talking, but he had no problem understanding what she was trying to communicate.

She wanted to be touched.

He moved his hand to the warmth of her middle, and she leaned her head back against his shoulder. With trembling fingers, she guided his touch higher.

Her brain pounded with all the reasons why she should stop as his fingers pushed aside her bra and closed around her breast.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"I'm sure," she whispered as she stretched and let his other hand slide down the front of her jeans. "And you?"

"I-I'm not a big enough liar to tell you I want to stop, Meredith. If your wanting to be with me is just a stage of the grief you are going through, I'll still be here, but I'd like to know from the first. Because my wanting to be with you has nothing to do with anyone else but you."

Meredith smiled. "I'm not sure what you are, Sheriff, but you're not some therapy I'm taking." She leaned closer and pressed her lips against his throat.

He undressed her slowly, then led her into the bedroom. She felt him watch her as she climbed on the bed and lay down atop the covers. There was no fear or doubt or hesitation in her, only need. He undressed and folded his clothes on the room's only chair.

He pulled the thin white ribbon from her hair and twisted it in his hand. Somehow the action was more intimate than removing her clothes. His hand, half-covered in white satin, slid over her full hips.

"I don't like to be touched when I'm making love," he said as his hand stilled, waiting for her response.

"All right," she answered.

He moved his fingers down her body.

She kept her arms at her sides making no attempt to reach for him.

His hands brushed over her, boldly caressing. There was no need to kiss her, or to say anything. They had gone beyond any game of seduction in one move.

She closed her eyes and grinned as he explored her curves. For the first time in her life lovemaking was all about her. And the knowledge of it being so made her almost explode with joy.

"Say my name," he insisted above her. "I need to know that you know it's me here with you."

"Make love to me, Granger." She read his mind. "No one but you."

He made love to her more completely than she ever imagined a man could make love to a woman. He treated her as a gift that had been handed to him. He could not get enough of her. He was gentle and kind and starved for the feel of her.

She kept her hands at her sides, but moved with him, gently pressing close. Without any words, she knew what he wanted, what he needed. She made no sounds of passion.

The air was warm and still and quiet around them as if brand-new. No mood music, no candles. Only Granger's arms.

She never tried to be shy or coy. She offered her body to him, honestly, completely. And he took her in the only way he knew how, completely.

It was after midnight when he moved his hand along her body, damp with perspiration. "I have to go," he whispered against her ear.

She did not answer, and he slipped away from her side. She fell asleep listening to him dress.