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At almost the same moment, the sheriff spotted him, briefly narrowed his sharp eyes, then nodded his head in recognition. “Beau Tyler.” He walked straight toward him, a hand outstretched in greeting. “A lot of people around here were wondering if you’d come back for the funeral. Some were even placing bets on it.”
“Someone got lucky, then.” The handshake was firm but brief.
“I’m sure your brother appreciates having you here. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral, but I got tied up at the courthouse.”
“Duty first,” Beau responded. “Comes with the badge.”
“That’s right. You’d know about that, wouldn’t you? You’re an agent with the DEA now, aren’t you?” Axelrod asked.
“I am.”
“I never figured you were the kind to go into law enforcement. Growing up, you always seemed more interested in good times and partying,” the sheriff remarked, while his gaze made a fresh study of him in this new light.
“People change,” Beau replied, and idly swirled the bourbon in his glass.
“That they do,” the sheriff agreed. “And Lord knows, there isn’t a part of this country that isn’t plagued by drug problems of some kind. I’m just glad we aren’t any closer to the border than we are. But this isn’t the time or place for shoptalk.” The cell phone hooked to his belt beeped, advising the sheriff of an incoming text message. Axelrod darted an apologetic glance at Beau, checked his phone, then hooked it back on his belt. “If you’re going to be around a few days, maybe you can stop by my office and we can trade some stories.”
“I’ve got a flight out tomorrow. Maybe another time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” the sheriff replied, giving no sign he meant it any more than Beau did. Immediately he shifted his attention to the people milling in the parlor. “You wouldn’t know where I might find your brother so I can offer him my condolences?”
“Last time I saw him, he was by the bar.”
“I’ll find him. It’s good to see you again, Beau. I’m just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”
Beau nodded in response and watched as the sheriff began making his way through the throng of mourners toward the bar. He knew he should mingle with the guests, but he didn’t feel like making small talk. He was about to turn away from the parlor when he caught sight of a face he recognized at once.
There was Tori, Will’s ex-wife, in a knee-skimming black lawyer suit. Tall and slim, with sun-streaked hair, she looked classy as hell. Beau had always thought she and Will were meant for a lifetime together. Whatever had driven them apart must’ve been bad. But then Will was capable of being a stubborn, insensitive jackass, especially when it came to women. And Tori had never been one to quietly knuckle under.
Tori had been cornered by a neighboring rancher, Congressman Garn Prescott. Prescott had given the eulogy at the funeral, which was surprising since Bull and Prescott’s late father had hated each other’s guts. But a lot could change over time, and there was an election coming up this fall.
Reading Tori’s body language, Beau surmised that the man was invading her personal space and all she wanted was to end their conversation. He was weighing the wisdom of going to her rescue when he felt a touch on his arm and heard a soft voice.
“Are you my uncle Beau?”
Beau turned to the young girl by his elbow. She looked about twelve, with intelligent blue eyes and a dark blond ponytail tied with black satin ribbon. For a split second he failed to recognize her. Then he recalled glimpsing her at the service, next to her mother.
“Erin? Is that really you?”
The grin that lit her face—a miniature of Tori’s but with Will’s blue eyes—answered his question.
“I can’t believe it!” Smiling, he shook his head in mock amazement. “The last time I saw you, you were still in diapers!”
Her laugh was musical. “Not anymore. I’m almost in eighth grade. Someday I want to be a lawyer like my mom, or maybe a vet like Natalie.”
Natalie. Something like an unhealed scar pulled inside him. He’d heard she was in veterinary school, and later on that she’d finished and married Slade Haskell. But nothing more. Not in years. He’d almost succeeded in forgetting her.
As if any man could forget his first time—and hers.
/> “My dad told me you were in a war. He said you got shot.”
“I was, and I did. But I’m okay now.” And he was okay. The nightmares about the action he’d seen in Iraq still plagued him sometimes, but he’d learned to deal with that. As for the bone-shattering shoulder wound that had gotten him sent stateside, it did no worse than hamper his racquetball game and stiffen up in cold weather. He’d been lucky over there. Damned lucky.
“And now you catch bad guys that sell drugs. That’s what my dad says.”
“Well, I used to. Now I get to boss other people who catch them.”
“Can I get you a sandwich or something?” Erin asked. “I’m helping Bernice today. She said I could be her gofer.”
