Season of Change(31)

                Nate held up his hands. “I wasn’t asking.”

                “No, but you were wondering. I saw people in town talking to you yesterday at the farmer’s market. They like to gossip, but...” Slade shifted the bag of supplies closer to his chest. The midday heat swirled in around him. “Whatever they told you is true.”

                “You don’t know what they told me,” Nate said gruffly, in a protective tone that told Slade the new sheriff didn’t put much stock in hearsay.

                “They told you two families that lived here experienced divorce. My family added death to the house’s legacy.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “They wonder how I can live here.” They didn’t understand why he had to live here. This house was a reminder of the consequences his financial missteps had on people. It was a reminder of the importance of responsibility and not letting people down.

                Nate glanced up and down Harrison. “Do you have to live here? Seems like there’s more than a few vacancies in town.”

                So logical. So impossible. “Where else would I go?”

                “Anywhere. You can live in the apartment above the empty ice-cream parlor next door to me.”

                Slade shook his head. “I can’t.”

                Something changed in Nate’s gaze. His dark eyes went from mild curiosity to gentle comprehension.

                That can’t be.

                Whatever the sheriff took away from their conversation, Slade knew it wasn’t understanding. No one could understand.

                “Dad?” A meek plea from above.

                “I better let you get to it.” Instead of leaving, Nate hesitated. “If you ever need to talk about, you know...” He glanced at the staircase.

                “I won’t,” Slade reassured him. He didn’t talk to anyone about what had happened.

                Nate gave him a sad look before turning to leave. “That’s too bad.”

                As Slade closed the door, he felt something a lot like relief press against the back of his throat. Only it wasn’t relief that he’d continued to keep the secret of his horrendous mistake. It was relief that someone was willing to listen.

                * * *

                AROUND NOON, CHRISTINE’S grandmother brought her a sandwich and some watermelon slices. “I thought you might need a break.”

                “You are a gem among grandmothers, Nana.” Christine led her inside the air-conditioned tasting room. Lacking chairs, they sat in the window seats. Christine devoured the egg-salad sandwich and then moved on to the watermelon.

                “You need a dog.” Nana scanned the vineyard, presumably for repeat offenders. “That’ll help with the skunks.”

                “I’m adjusting to a new job. I can’t add a dog to the mix yet.” She stretched her legs and flexed her toes inside her boots. The balls of her feet were stiff and achy.

                A blue older-model truck trundled down the driveway. Nate parked and lifted a power washer from the back.

                Christine stepped out onto the porch to meet him. The heat reflected off the wooden porch steps with ovenlike intensity. “You can leave the equipment in the barn, Nate. I’ll spray tonight.” It was going to be a long day, and a longer, skunky night.