Touching the Moon Page 6

  “What’s up?” she asked when they were alone.

  “How often do you run into Gray Walker?” he asked. He neatened his uniform as he stood before her.

  She shrugged and shook her head, “Fairly often, I guess. Every now and again.”

  “I want you to think on this.”

  She searched his eyes then concentrated on the question. She grabbed a squirt bottle and disinfected the examination table, her movements slow and thoughtful. Come to think of it, she was seeing a lot of Gray Walker. Seemed like every time she turned around, he was there. But then, so was Dan.

  “I don’t run into him with any more frequency than I run into you.”

  “Julie, I go out of my way to run into you,” he said with a grin.

  She looked out the window and watched Gray unlock his car door. He was looking right at her. She nodded and he nodded back.

  “Maybe he does too.” She shrugged. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not that I know of. But I just want you to be aware. I’ve never seen him in town so often. And when I see him, you are usually somewhere in the vicinity.”

  “I don’t see the problem.”

  “I’m not saying that there is a problem. Just be aware, okay?”

  “I thought you said he was a good guy?”

  “I said I never had any trouble out of him,” he said somberly. “I don’t want that to change.”

  “You think he’s stalking me?”

  “I know I am,” he said with a grin.

  “Stop!” she admonished.

  “How about if I take you out to dinner?”

  “How about if I bake you a tin of cookies?”

  “Can I come over to your place and eat them? Watch a movie?”

  She swallowed and wrestled with her indecision.

  “Just a movie and cookies?”

  “Absolutely. I’m talking about a totally G-rated evening.” He placed his hand over his heart. “This Saturday, okay?”

  “Sure. Seven-ish?”

  “It’s a date.”

  He watched the color drain from her face.

  “Or was that a fig?” he said, trying for a save.

  “Definitely a fig, Dan Keating,” she said sternly. “I don’t date.”

  The following week, Gray Walker was back for another veterinary visit. “Mr. Walker,” she said formally, “what brings you in today?”

  He nodded to her in response to her greeting. He was standing in the middle of the room with an old dog in his arms. It looked part Beagle, part Collie and all-round mutt.

  “I have a patient.”

  “Here, please,” she said, patting the examination table.

  She touched the dog gently. The animal was nervous, quivering. “You’re a good ole boy, aren’t you?” she asked rhetorically. She touched him tenderly, nuzzling his ears, rubbing his chest. “Oooooh,” she cooed, “How many prairie dogs did you catch in your prime, I wonder?” Her hands moved over him knowingly.

  She looked up at the Sioux. His face was expressionless.

  “Gray Walker, this dog doesn’t have a whole lot of time left. My professional opinion is that his kidneys are failing. I could try to sell you on a guilt trip of expensive dialysis but I don’t believe in that, not for animals that don’t choose it and don’t understand what is being done to them. Most animals fear the vet visit enough as it is. Where is his owner?”

  “Too old to make the visit.”

  “Is he well?”

  “No.”

  “Are they close?“

  “Yes.”

  “Then, you call me when the shaking gets worse. You’ll know when the end is near. I’ll come visit and this old boy can go to sleep where he is most comfortable and secure, in his own dog bed by the fire. He doesn’t want, need or deserve a hospital visit at the end.”

  Gray nodded. “Thank you.”

  She looked him in the eye. “You’re very welcome.”

  “If you walk with me to the car, Julie, I’ll return your cookie tin.”

  “All right,” she said, unbuttoning her lab coat. “Cookie tins are always at a premium mid-winter.”

  He smiled. A fleeting thing. “I liked the oatmeal raisin cookies very much,” he said, leading the way. He gently laid the dog at the back of the SUV and tucked him in midst pillows and blankets. Julie was silenced by the tender care he took. He walked around to the driver’s door, opened it, and retrieved the tin from the passenger seat.

  “Might this magical vessel come with a refill?” he asked. He held the tin as if it was something sacred.

  She grinned. “That could be arranged.”

  10

  Dan was at her door on Saturday at seven sharp sporting a new pair of blue jeans, tan leather boots and a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He had two bottles of wine, microwave popcorn and five DVDs.

  She took a look at him and laughed. “You must have been a boy scout! I’ve never seen such pre-planning!” He stood in her doorway awkwardly, his arms full. She ushered him in, pecked him on the cheek and relieved him of the movies.

  “Do you like red or white?” he asked. “I didn’t know, so I brought one of each.”

  “White would be nice tonight. And for the record, I like both. The corkscrew is in the drawer to the left of the sink. I’ll fetch glasses. What movies did you bring?”

  “All the classics – The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Patton, Animal House, Indiana Jones and Star Wars.”

  “Into action are we?”

  “Of course. I’m a cop.”

  “Let’s watch Animal House,” she said as she set the stemware on the counter. “That movie is so funny.”

  “Animal House it is.” He handed her a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and clinked his glass to hers.

  “Catch any bad guys today?” she asked, taking a sip.

  “Nah, although I did pass out a few speeding tickets to some out-of- towners as they recklessly trundled down the mountain in their mobile homes.”

  “There ought to be a law.”

  “There is.”

  “What made you decide to be a cop?” she asked, motioning for him to move to the living room.

  “An old TV series called Starsky and Hutch. It was a cop show about two good guys who always managed to save the day in the span of thirty minutes. I liked that.”

  She smiled. “You’re not an adrenaline junkie?”

  He sat on the couch and set his wineglass on the coffee table. “We have to import adrenaline to Fallston,” he said flatly. “It isn’t produced here naturally.”

  She took a chair next to him. “Nothing exciting ever happens in Fallston? What about Elliott getting shot?”

  He huffed in acknowledgement. “That will go down in the record books as the crime of the century. And your Bad Dogs Running were not from around here. They weren’t even from South Dakota.”

  He toasted to that, clinking his wine glass to hers.

  “For the most part, I deal with bar fights, DWIs, a little vandalism, and some breaking and entering. In each instance, it’s usually just people trying to find something to do to break the routine. Without something constructive… well, as they say, idle hands make mischief.”

  “Why haven’t you moved somewhere else, Dan?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I like the quiet.” He paused. “Why are you here? Why are you still here?”

  She smiled. “I like the quiet too.”

  She popped the Jiffy Pop and they sat on the floor companionably with their backs to the sofa, the popcorn between them. There was a running repeat of dialogue between them, “This is one of my favorite parts” and “Mine too.”

  Their hands kept touching in the popcorn bowl. After the fourth or fifth mid-bowl collision, she turned to him accusingly. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

  “I am,” he said. “Sooner or later, I’m hoping that our fingers will link up and stay stuck for a while.”

  “That may take some time.”

  “I’m
a patient man.”

  On Monday morning, Rose asked Julie if she would like to join the church choir for karaoke night at Jake’s.

  “But I’m not a member of the choir,” said Julie.

  “Doesn’t matter,” came the curt reply.

  “You sure I won’t feel like a third wheel?”

  “If I invited you to a church function and you ended up feeling like a third wheel, well, shame on us!” said Rose, hotly.

  “All right. I’ll try to come. What time?”

  “Well, we all eat first, around six-ish. We eat at Jake’s, naturally, then we take turns singing until about ten.”

  She hesitated. “I’ll be in work clothes.”

  “You look nice,” said Rose, surveying the conservative blouse, skirt and no-nonsense pumps. “It’s a church group.”

  “I might smell like kennel.”

  “Jesus was born in a manger.”

  Julie sighed. “All right, Rose. You win. I’ll be there. Thank you very much for inviting me.”

  She ended up arriving late, as there were two emergencies at the close of business, but she waded through the bar easily enough and headed toward the back room where the choir group convened. She could hear some off-pitch warbling from the entranceway.

  She scanned the room as she removed her coat and hat. Looked like most of the police force was in the bar celebrating someone’s retirement. Dan and Elliott both caught her eye as she made her way to the back. She crossed herself then tossed her head towards the church group by way of explanation. They both broke into ear-to-ear grins.

  As she resumed her course, she slowed her pace, registering the warmth that had suddenly wrapped around her heart. For the very first time in her life, she felt that she was a part of something, many somethings. And they were all good.

  She stopped, turned back around and locked eyes with Dan. She was overcome with emotion. He sensed it and crossed the room quickly, hesitating when he stood before her.

  “You are a wonderful man,” she said, simply. “And, I’m so happy to be in Fallston, to be a part of something so wholesome and so good.”

  When she closed her eyes, a hot tear ran down her cheek. He cupped her face and wiped the tear away with a calloused thumb. “I think you are pretty wonderful yourself, Julie. And Fallston is glad to have you.”

  He bent to her slowly and kissed her softly on the lips. When he pulled back, she stepped toward him and hugged him tightly. He didn’t let go until she did, and she hugged him a good long time.

  “Gotta go,” she said, stepping back. “The Holy Rollers are expecting me.”

  He grinned. “Do they know you call them that?” There was a twinkle in his eye.

  “Hell no!” said Julie

  “I’ll keep it confidential.”

  “You do that, officer.” She tossed him a saucy grin. “You are sworn to protect and serve.” She straightened his badge, gave him a nod then walked to the back room.

  Rose had saved her a seat and gave her a grand introduction. Julie blushed but thoroughly enjoyed the warm welcome. She listened to each singer, nursing her glass of Pinot Noir, finally admitting to herself that the congregation sang better together than they did separately. But there was one older gentleman who could have sung opera. He was a rich and powerful tenor even though he was in his seventies.

  “It’s your turn, Julie,” said Rose, after everyone had had his or her moment in the limelight.

  “Me? Oh, no. No.”

  “This is a sharing thing,” said Rose. “Everybody sings, for better or for worse… as you’ve heard.” She had whispered the last bit.

  She would have protested in earnest, but Rose just arched her eyebrows in silent command. Julie knew from working with the woman that once she took a position on something, her word was law. Rose was a 5’2” walking, talking holy commandment.

  Julie did the big swallow and walked to the small stage. She was only dimly aware of the cheerful banter surrounding her as she perused the song list. She selected an Andrea Bocelli duet, Let This Be Our Prayer, then tapped the elderly tenor on the shoulder. He was surprised and delighted both by her request and by her choice of music.

  The whole audience quieted when the soft music started, and she watched their lips part in pleasure and surprise. They recognized the piece. Julie gave Rose a nod, then turned to her singing partner as he began the slow and sad lament that served as intro. They didn’t need to read the words. Both of them knew the lyrics by heart. They sang to each other in perfect sync to the music, their voices rising and falling, hitting every note pure, sweet and true.

  Julie could sing, really sing. So could he. As the song built to its crescendo, they silenced all of Jake’s. Patrons crowded into the karaoke room and jammed the doorway just to get goose bumps.

  Rose beamed at her as the song ended. There was a moment of stunned silence and then the crowd was on their feet clapping and whistling. Everyone tried to recruit her afterwards to join the choir.

  “Hey!”

  Elliott was at her elbow. “Need an emergency exit?”

  “Where’s Dan?”

  “He was only here for dinner. He’s on-call tonight and had to go. That’s why he was in uniform.”

  She hesitated.

  “I’m just doing the knight-in-shining-armor thing, Julie. The whole bar knows how you feel about Dan.”

  She felt her cheeks color.

  “Yep. Dan is a tall man, to be sure, but he was a whole foot taller when he walked out that door tonight. It could have been a movie scene. It should have been a movie scene.” He looked up. “Rose! I promised to take Julie home.” He wrestled Julie out of the throng with all the abrupt tactlessness of the young.

  “I owe you, Elliott,” she said when he had maneuvered them clear.

  He chuckled. “Do you, now?” The slow drawl in his voice captured her full attention, and she pivoted her head in his direction.

  “I need a lead singer for the Copper Pigs.”

  “Oh, that’s very underhanded.”

  “Not at all. I’m being straightforward. We’ve been hosting auditions for weeks and no one fits the bill. You do.”

  “I’m not a singer.”

  “Yes, you are. Listen, the Copper Pigs entered into a competition several months ago and paid a hefty fee to enter. First place takes home $5,000. That would be $1,000 for each of us, you included. The boys and I are musicians. At best, we sing back up. Would you help us through the competition? Just get us through the competition. Please.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you just come over Tuesday after work and sing a few songs? You know, test the waters. Julie, we’re desperate.”

  She looked into his earnest face and took a deep breath. “Where do you live? And what time on Tuesday?”

  11

  Gray called the veterinary office on Monday and asked if Julie would be available to visit the reservation later in the day. The old dog needed to be put to sleep. She had offered to provide this act of kindness, and he was taking her up on that offer. She phoned Dan on her lunch break and told him what she was up to. He cut right through what she had thought was casual conversation.

  “Are you telling me this because you are worried about being with Gray?”

  “No,” she said, “Yes. I don’t know. You told me to be aware. Well, I’m aware.”

  “Are you still running into Gray every time you turn around?”

  “Yes. He is always courteous and polite, but it is uncanny how often I run into him. I checked the database at work.” Dan could hear the switch in her tone. “In all the record-keeping history, Gray has visited our office once. I see him at least once a month now, sometimes twice.”

  “I see.”

  “Maybe he’s got new responsibilities at work and pet care is one of them.”

  Dan didn’t comment.

  “Maybe he feels responsible for me after having hauled me down the mountain the day I twisted my ankle.”

 
; Again, no comment.

  “Maybe…” she faltered. “Maybe he just likes me. You told me that you go out of your way to see me. Maybe he does too.”

  “Maybe you should give me a call when he returns you to the office?” he prompted.

  “Okay.”

  And so they were off. Gray’s car was as big and wide as he was, and she felt dwarfed by its cavernous interior. She needed help climbing into the vehicle and she struggled with the seatbelt. In the end, he had to reach across her and buckle her in like a child.

  “Although you certainly would never know it, I’m really rather competent,” she said, smoothing her skirt and settling into the front seat.

  “Of course you are.”

  “The seatbelt is tricky.”

  “It catches if you pull it at the wrong angle.”

  She nodded. “And the cab is high.”

  “Especially when wearing a skirt. It restricts your movement.”

  She looked at him suspiciously, not sure as to whether he was making fun of her or not.

  “I personally don’t wear skirts for that very reason,” he explained, turning to her with a smile.

  “You’re logic is flawless.”

  They drove for a full hour, and he spoke to her about his people and the battles they were waging against New Age charlatans who stole the rites of Sioux spirituality and marketed them for personal gain. It was an issue that was unfamiliar to her, and she listened with rapt attention.

  “There are people out there who try to out-shaman the shaman,” Gray explained. “They are so-called holistic healers, tarot card readers, psychic mediums. You can’t imagine how many poach our ancient symbolism and rituals. They misinterpret. They misinform.”

  “There are 70,000 Sioux in the Dakotas, Nebraska and Minnesota,” he continued. “Less than half still speak the language. We’re doing our best to preserve our culture, but this is very hard to do when it is stolen, bastardized and popularized.”

  Gray pulled into the driveway of a modest wooden home. He took a deep, cleansing breath.

  “Thanks for doing this,” he said.