Page 142 of We Drank the Dawn

The urge to just get on a plane and wait for her in the driveway…

I’d considered it multiple times.

But I forced myself to slow down and take one step at a time. Flowers first, then hopefully a phone call, then maybe she’d be open to meeting with me. I would stay at my parent’s house if need be. I’d get my own apartment or stay at a hotel. It literally didn’t matter.

All I wanted was to hold her hand and talk to her.

Halfway through our meal of spaghetti, garlic bread, and broccoli, Bea spoke up. “Tag, the Sheriff just pulled in.”

Utensils stopped scrapping plates and someone stood—Tag.

“Uh oh.” Harlan’s voice held a note of mock fear. “Coop, what’d you do this time?”

Cooper didn’t laugh.

Tag said, “He’s probably just here about the Lazy L fence.” Walking down the porch, he called out over the railing, “Evenin’ Sheriff. Did Landry lose some cattle again?”

The Sheriff’s voice, distant from where I sat at the far corner of the picnic table, barely penetrated my scope of awareness. “Welp, not this time, Tag. I’m actually looking for a…Peter Thompson?”

My stomach bolted into my throat.

Sarah.

“I was told he was staying here temporarily.”

Panic gripped me. Fumbling for my cane, I shot out of my seat and threw my leg over the side of the picnic bench. By the time Tag turned to call my name, I was halfway there—my heart wrecking havoc in my chest. Something terrible happened. What if she was hurt? Or in trouble?

Or dead?

My lungs turned to steel, my steps faltering. Why else would the Sheriff be asking for me? I had my phone with me all day. Wouldn’t they have called me if something bad happened?

When my cane echoed off the railing, I skipped introductions, demanding, “Is my wife okay?”

“Are you Peter?”

“I am. Is Sarah alright?”

“She’s fine. She’s fine. Um…” His already gentle tone grew even more so. “You want to step down here and talk to me for a minute?”

Blood roared in my ears. I tried to swallow but couldn’t.

Please, please, please be okay.

Gripping my cane like it was the only thing holding me to earth, I followed the long section of railing to the stairs, and the Sheriff met me at the bottom. “I’m Sheriff Riggs, by the way. Good folk you’re staying with. You a guest here?”

Frustrated he wanted to make small talk, I snapped, “Bea Taggart is my sister.”

“Ah. We love the Taggarts.”

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Uh…I’ve got legal papers from the District Court of Denver, Colorado. I came to serve them to you.”

My brain trudged through the following pause, fighting to understand. Was I in some sort of trouble? “Legal papers. For what exactly?”

He lowered his voice. “They’re divorce papers, son.”

FORTY-EIGHT