fufaraw

The Sheriff's Department was on Main Street, just like the directions said. Jared eyed the one-story brick structure, an enormous contrast with the precinct buildings he was accustomed to. He swallowed and made an effort not to judge before he had a chance to know more. There were lots of empty parking slots along the curb, another bit of high contrast to what he was used to. Several spaces were marked for department use, but he pulled the truck into a regular slot and chirped the door lock as he pocketed his keys. He took no time to adjust his appearance, aside from raking fingers through his hair to get it off his face, before he pushed open one of the double glass doors and walked up to the reception desk. Phones rang, quickly answered by a woman in a deputy's uniform and a kid in jeans and a hoodie. The deputy on the desk looked Jared over when he stepped up and introduced himself.

"Hi. I'm Jared Padalecki. I'd like to speak to Sheriff Morgan, if he's got time."

A smile broke across the deputy's face. He reached a hand across the desk, and Jared shook it. "Jared, hey. Jason Manns. I heard you were coming, it's good to meet you."

Jared grinned in response, while Jason went on. "Jeff's on the phone, but have a seat." He waved at the row of hard plastic chairs in the waiting area. "I'll let him know you're here."

Jason stepped away toward a half-glassed door behind the bullpen with "Sheriff J.D. Morgan" lettered in black on the glass, knocked perfunctorily and pushed it open enough to look in and murmur his news. He eased the door shut and came back to the desk. "We weren't expecting you till tomorrow or the next day."

Jared still stood; he'd been driving since morning, and needed to stretch his legs. "I thought I'd check into the motel, have a look around town, maybe start looking for an apartment," he said, and Jason nodded.

"Yeah, better to get your bearings a little before you dive in, right?"

Jared started to answer, but the sheriff's door opened, and an older man with a short salt-and-pepper beard headed toward them, hat in one hand. He smiled at Jason. "You get Miz Kelly's complaint taken care of?"

Jason rolled his eyes and grinned. "Yessir."

The sheriff grinned right back. "Good." He turned to Jared, then, and offered a handshake. "Jeff Morgan, pleased to meet you, Jared." He flung a glance back over the desk at Manns. "Gonna walk Jared down to the coffee shop. Got my phone."

"Yessir," Jason answered, and Jeff put a hand on Jared's shoulder to steer him out the doors. They hit the sidewalk at a fast walk, and Jeff settled the comfortably worn-in Stetson on his head.

"Man, I've been sitting too long today. I'm glad of the excuse to get out of the office," he grinned, dimples creasing both bearded cheeks. He took a deep breath, and blew it out, and Jared just waited till Jeff had something else to say. The coffee shop was a block down Main Street--Jared had passed it on the drive in. Jeff stepped up to the counter and ordered black coffee. "And one of those," he pointed to a cinnamon twist in the bakery case, and turned to inquire what Jared wanted.

Jared shook his head at the pastries, but ordered a vanilla frappuccino, regular. Rather than finding seats at one of the little tables, they took their coffees outside, and Jeff strolled further down the block. Jared soon saw they were headed for a stretch of shady green. It was a park, right on Main Street, shaded by several widely spaced live oaks. They passed through the opening in the low stone wall that separated the grass from the sidewalk, and Jeff headed toward a bench to sit and eat his pastry.

The bench was freshly painted a shiny enamel green, set along one of the flower-lined paths. There was no trash or graffiti anywhere Jared could see. A young woman in jeans and a tee shirt pushed a baby in a stroller along a path, her toddler stopping every few steps to bend forward and smell one of the flowers. She didn't seem worried the boy might pick up a cigarette butt, or worse, and stick it in his mouth. Jared took in the carefully tended green space, noting a couple apparently deep in conversation on another bench, and a pair of elderly men at a picnic table, a chessboard between them, before he sat down. "This is really nice."

Jeff nodded, and licked a few cinnamon sugar crystals off his lips. "Yeah, we have the Amateur Gardeners' Society, and a couple of other groups that keep the grass trimmed, and what little trash there is picked up. Most people appreciate it enough to use the trashcans." He took a sip of his coffee, and then pointed his chin toward the brightly painted bins that stood at several places around the little park, and spoke around another bite of cinnamon pastry. "Folks come out to eat lunch in good weather, or walk and stretch a bit. It's nice to have a little bit of green in town where people can use it."

Jared didn't say anything, just sipped at his coffee and watched the mom with the stroller and her little boy as they moved along the path.

Finished with his pastry, Jeff wiped his lips with the napkin and crumpled it in his fist, sipping his coffee. He regarded Jared across the cup. "So. LA, huh? Middlebrook is going to seem like...I don't know, amateur hour, after that, right?"

Jared eased his back against the bench and took another sip of his coffee. He smiled, glanced at the sheriff and away again. "I guess. I just--needed a change."

Jeff nodded. Jared knew all the facts were in his file, the reasons he'd stated for resigning from the LAPD, including the personal ones. That should be enough.

"Well, we're grateful to have you. If you ever want to talk about it," Jeff began, but Jared shook his head, stood, and stretched his arms over his head, arched his back.

"Man, I need a workout," he grinned. "All that driving." He met the sheriff's gaze, then. "Thanks, sir,"

"Jeff," the sheriff instructed.

"Thanks, Jeff," Jared nodded. "I appreciate the offer. But I'm trying to put all that behind me and move on. New start," he grinned again, sweeping the green space with a glance. "New life."

Jeff held his gaze for a second, then nodded. "Well, all right." He stood too, draining the last of his coffee, and started walking toward the trash bins at the exit. "If you're serious about a workout, we've got the beginnings of a gym in the basement at the station. Some weights, a heavy bag."

Jared nodded his approval. "Sounds good."

"And you're welcome to use the track at the high school when it's not in use," Jeff went on. "There're lots of running and hiking trails outside of town, too. I'll get you a map." He tossed his coffee cup, and Jared did likewise. "Come on, let me show you the amenities," he said, starting back to the station, and Jared followed.

Having been given the tour, and a key to one in the bank of lockers downstairs where the showers and changing room were, as well as the small gym, Jared was told to go explore the town. "You can hang around the station if you want to, but let's say you start, officially, on Monday, okay?"

That was fine with Jared, it gave him time to find an apartment.

* * *

After following up the next morning on a couple of ads in the local classifieds, and finding both places far below his minimum standards, he stopped by the department to see if maybe Jason or anybody else had any leads on a place.

"Uh, dude?" Jason said. "Are you dead set on an apartment?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know Miss Maisie rents out the finished attic in her house. It's got a separate entrance, but it's small. There's a couple other people in town who rent a bedroom, or a garage apartment. I know of one family that rents their guesthouse full time. But you'd be living on somebody else's property, and I don't know how much privacy you'd have. And as for apartment complexes, there's really only one or two, and, well..."

"What?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to live there. They're small, and rundown, and noisy."

Jared nodded agreement. He'd just come from there. "I gotta live somewhere."

"Yeah, but look, you're not in LA anymore. My brother-in-law lived there for a while, and from what he said about renting in Los Angeles? I'll bet you could find a whole house here in a nice neighborhood for what you're used to spending on a tiny little apartment." He pointed across the street, where a smart storefront carried a shingle that read, Lauren Tom, realtor. "I bet Lauren can find you something nice by the end of the day."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. Give her a chance. She knows her stuff."

Lauren did indeed know her stuff. She took him by two houses that afternoon, both of them nice, in quiet neighborhoods. He was impressed at the space his budget could afford, but neither of the places felt quite right. She promised to find him the right place, and he was kind of surprised that he believed her.

* * *

His first night in town he'd gotten takeout from the Burger King he'd passed on the way in, and eaten in his motel room. But tonight he decided he was ready for a real meal, even if he didn't have a kitchen to cook it himself. There were a couple of places in town, including a bar down on the far side of town--a distance he was used to walking to pick up takeout or a six of beer. He drove down to take a look, though, using the truck for protective coloration. Blend in with the locals. Pedestrians seemed scarce in his short acquaintance with the town. There was a good number of vehicles in the parking lot, especially for a week night, and the sign advertised food. But Jared wasn't in the mood for bar food. When asked, Jason had recommended Kane's on Main, just a block or two past the sheriff's office in the opposite direction from the bar. There wasn't any outside advertising, other than a professionally hand-lettered sign, "Kane's Cafe," on a scrolled iron bracket over the door, and the storefront was painted neatly, a bland blue, with darker blue door and window frames. Tubs of flowers flanked the door. There were no empty parking spots in front along the curb, but a car was just pulling out of a space across the street, and he quickly parked in the vacant spot. His stomach rumbled with hunger as he headed toward the cafe.

The interior was cozily dim, but well-lighted enough to see details as he followed the hostess to a table: fabric tablecloth and napkins in a dark forest green, the floor paved in 12-inch Saltillo tiles, sturdy but comfortable dark wood chairs, and polished dark wood benches lining the pale coral-painted walls. He slid into the bench and accepted the menu the hostess offered with a smile. The contented murmur of voices and an occasional ripple of laughter was a counterpoint to soft jazz on the sound system, at a volume low enough that conversation didn't need to compete. The gentle clink of utensils on china and ice cubes against glass punctuated the ambient, comfortable background sounds.

Candles in glass holders flickered on the tables. The water glass was a footed tumbler, bubbles scattered all through the thick glass. The flatware was cast stainless steel, heavy but balanced in the hand, not that thin stamped stuff that bent when you cut into your food. Jared's estimation of the place had gone up more than a couple of notches. He gave his attention to the menu, his gaze rising now and then to study the room.

There was a couple seated in one of the booths, a blond woman and an attractive black man, holding an animated conversation. He could only see the back of the woman's head and her hands as she gestured, but the smile on the man's face as he responded to her was fond and indulgent. He wore a dark suit and a crisp white shirt. Jared couldn't tell what the woman was wearing, other than her shoulders were clad in a dull, dark red.

The bell over the door signaled the entry of a tall guy in slacks and a polo shirt. He was nice-looking, short hair artfully bed-rumpled and gelled into soft spikes. His face lit in a smile, and he quickly crossed to the couple’s booth. He bent to exchange a kiss on the mouth with the man, then slid into the booth beside the woman, his arm around her shoulders while she cuddled into him. They exchanged a kiss, too, one that lingered a little longer.

The black guy caught him looking, so Jared smiled and dropped his gaze to the menu. His eyebrows rose--the entrees were impressive. Jason had been right, this wasn't your run of the mill cafe or diner menu. It was short, only offering beef and fish with a choice of four sides, and two desserts. But each of the items listed required skill in preparation, more expertise than most short order cooks possessed. Making his choices, he glanced up to look for a waitperson.

The door to the kitchen swung open. The man in the short white chef's jacket didn't look like a waiter, with a folded bandana tied around his brow and hair gathered at his nape in a ponytail. He moved quickly, scanning the tables until his glance fell on the group in the booth. He quickly reached them, dipping down to exchange kisses with the guy and the woman whose backs were to Jared, before leaning in to exchange a deeper kiss with the black man. A hand in a crisp white shirt cuff, flashing a cufflink, came up to stroke and cup the chef's face. As the chef ended the kiss and stood, he clasped the hand in his own and kissed the palm before letting it go.

Huh, thought Jared.

The chef leaned a hand on the other man's shoulder, aiming a fond smile at the blond woman as the four of them chatted, laughing. The chef raked the tables with an assessing gaze, giving Jared a slight nod, before bending quickly to drop a kiss on the short, spiked hair of the man who faced away from Jared, and stepping back toward the kitchen. The door swung shut behind him, and moments later a young woman in a short white jacket approached Jared's table to take his order.

The steak, when it came sizzling on its steel platter, was six quarter-inch slices cut cross grain off a two-inch thick steak, seared and caramelized on the edges, still rosy at the center. Accompanied by roasted asparagus dressed in olive oil and coarse sea salt, and sweet potato chunks done just fork-tender and tossed with butter, cracked black pepper, minced garlic, and ginger, and dusted with dill, the steak was dressed with fresh creminis braised in red wine. He couldn't help sitting still for a moment or two, regarding his meal with awed anticipation. He took a sip from his glass of house red, and picked up his knife and fork.

* * *

Replete, Jared refused coffee and the tempting desserts, finished the last of his wine, and touched his lips with his napkin. That meal had been well worth the price, and he left a generous tip, paid his bill and left the restaurant, crossing the street to climb into his truck. Before he got the key in the ignition, the restaurant's door swung open and the blond woman came out, followed by the chef. Under the streetlight, they embraced on the sidewalk, swaying a little, arms wound tight as they kissed. The guy in the polo shirt emerged and walked up to them, embracing the woman from behind, his arms wrapped about both of them as he molded his body to hers. They broke the kiss, and she turned her head to meet the man behind her in an over the shoulder kiss. Huh, Jared thought again, key still not in the ignition.

The door opened again and the tall black man in the suit smiled when he saw the trio. He walked up behind the guy in the polo shirt and wrapped his long arms around all of them. The guy broke off kissing the woman as the black man nuzzled into his neck. The chef leaned forward, dropping a soft peck on the woman's lips before he captured the mouth of the man behind her, who enthusiastically shared the deep and thorough kiss. The woman's hand reached behind her to caress the sharp-chiseled jaw of the black man, before dropping down to cup his butt cheek and pull him tighter against the man between them.

No, really, Jared's mind stuttered. Huh.

Afraid to be caught looking, Jared held still until the kiss ended and the group broke reluctantly apart. The woman and the black guy walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, until they got into a dark red SUV and drove off, with the woman at the wheel. The chef gave the remaining man a quick kiss on the cheek and waved as he walked in the same direction the others had gone. By the time he turned the corner, the chef had disappeared back inside the restaurant.

Jared blinked and blew out a breath. He wasn't sure what he had just witnessed, but it was hot. Key finally in the ignition, he started back to the motel.

* * *

The radio crackled, and Harry stopped crabbing about his mother-in-law. "All available units, 246 in progress, possible two seven three-D, 488 Juniper Circle. Shots fired." Jared cranked the siren and the lights as Harry made a tight left turn. "Shit. I hate domestic violence calls." Jared couldn't disagree.

The driveway was full of patrol units, lights flashing, and more pulled up at the curb. The lieutenant on scene had a bullhorn, exhorting the gunman inside the house to release his wife and two sons. Neighbors and onlookers crowded behind the yellow tape at the edge of the yard, and a TV station van had pulled up onto the lawn next door. A woman in a suit, microphone in her hand, was speaking earnestly into a stedi-cam carried by a guy in tee shirt and jeans.

"How old are the kids?" Jared asked one of the uniforms who was already on scene. He retrieved his and Harry's vests from the trunk and handed Harry's off to him.

"Six and eight," the officer said, frowning.

"Damn," Harry spat, buckling on his vest.

"Has he made any demands?" Jared settled the straps on his own vest, and snugged down the velcro. The patrolman shook his head.

"From what the neighbor said, he's off his nut with drugs. He probably doesn't know what he wants, except to kill somebody."

Movement in his peripheral view drew Jared's attention as an EMS unit rolled up, followed by a fire truck. The doors of the unit opened, and Jared straightened. Sure enough, Raul stepped out of the passenger side. Sighting Jared, he nodded, and gave a wry smile, which Jared returned, before shifting his attention back to the events unfolding inside the house.

Two shots were fired, followed by screaming, and another shot. The lieutenant called the gunman's name, demanding to know what was going on. There was movement as the front door opened slowly, and a small boy edged around it, holding his hands in the air. He stopped and spoke to a smaller boy behind him, who also put his hands up. Both of them were crying.

A uniform sprinted, crouching, toward the front of the house, angling in toward the front stoop where the children stood, their hands still raised. The officer scooped up the smaller child and sheltered the older boy with his body as he hurried them toward the police line. A female officer met them, and shepherded the boys back behind the cover of a police van. There was another ambulance there, and the paramedics moved in to check the boys over.

A woman's scream drew the officers' attention back to the house, and at the lieutenant's instructions, officers rammed the door and entered with weapons drawn, Jared and Harry among them.

The living room was a mess, furniture overturned, pictures and objects smashed. In the middle of the debris, a woman and a man lay, the woman bleeding from a belly wound. There were bruises coloring up on her face, and her lip was split, but she was still alive. A man, presumably the shooter, lay in the center of the floor, clutching his thigh with both hands and yelling incomprehensibly, except for the litany of profanity. An officer had bagged his gun, and officers were searching the house. Calls of "clear!" sounded as each room was swept. Another woman, apparently the estranged wife of the shooter, was kneeling by the wounded woman, crying and trying to staunch the blood of her wound.

"Are we secure?" the lieutenant asked the senior uniformed officer.

"Yes, sir."

The lieutenant beckoned at the door. "Get the paramedics in here, then. See to these people."

Raul's partner, Travis, came in with the kit, and Raul was on his heels. He knelt beside the wounded man, and tried to get him to take his hands off his thigh so Raul could assess the wound. The shooter was still cursing and rocking on the floor, but he moved his bloody hands and let the paramedics examine him.

There was a scuffling in the hall, and one of the uniforms shouted, "Gun!" just as a shot sounded in the enclosed space. The four men closest to the second shooter took him down and disarmed him. The crisis over, Jared looked back to where Raul was working.

A scarlet stain was spreading across Raul's midsection. His hands touched it in something like wonder, and he looked at his hands in the bloody gloves, like he'd never seen them before. Frozen to the spot, Jared watched Raul fold forward, and then crumple slowly to the floor, the blood staining his shirt spreading in a fast-widening pool beneath him.

"Raul." Jared was on his knees by his side, as Travis worked to pull Raul's shirt away, and assess the wound. Blood continued to pour between Raul's hands as Travis slapped a pressure bandage on him and pressed it tight.

"Baby?" Jared took Raul's face in his hands, made their eyes meet. "Hold on. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. Travis is here, and we'll get you on the bus and back to General. They'll fix you right up--"

Raul's eyes rolled, and Jared shook him, just a little, panic and tears edging his voice. "Raul? Baby? I'm right here, man. Look at me. Raul?"

Raul did. He gave Jared the sweetest smile, and tried to speak, but bright blood bubbled between his lips, and he tried to cough. Jared felt him shudder and jerk, and then go boneless. "Raul? Baby?"

Raul's gaze met Jared's, and then his eyes lost focus. And then he was gone. "Raul?" He turned to Travis. "Get him back! Get the paddles, shock him! Do what you do, to get him back!"

"Jared." Travis's voice was so soft, so full of sorrow, and Jared could sympathize, they'd been partners for years. No man wants to lose his partner. He suddenly couldn't pull in a breath. Something in his chest felt like it was squeezing his heart, like it was going to tear in two. He struggled to draw breath, and Travis's hand landed on his arm.

"Jared, he's gone. Let go." Harry was there, supporting and restraining Jared while Travis tried to take Raul out of Jared's arms, but Jared couldn't let that happen. He snarled defensively at Travis, and then his heart beat, hard, and he sucked in a breath tainted with the bitter scent of blood and burnt flesh, and Raul was a heavy, inert weight in his arms. He raised his head and howled his anguish, and never felt the prick in his arm when Travis sedated him.

* * *

Jared sat up, gasping, in the dark, his heart hammering. A quick look around had him oriented: motel, Middlebrook. He threw the covers aside and stalked to the bathroom, turning on the faucet and sticking his head in the sink to scoop handfuls of water over his face and the back of his neck. He shook his wet hair, and dried off with a towel, filling and drinking two or three tumblers of cold water. The lighted clock numbers beside the bed read 4:18 AM, and he admitted he wouldn't get back to sleep. He pulled on a pair of shorts and his sneakers, and found a hoodie in his duffle. He pocketed his room key and pulled the door shut behind him, and started running, hoping to shed the dream as he ran.

* * *

Lauren had several possible rentals for Jared to look at, so Friday was spent touring a few of them. The first two were in the same neighborhood, and Jared wasn't sure how well he would fit into a suburb of minivans and backyard swing sets. The third house he looked at was a little cottage tucked away on a heavily wooded lot. "Lots of privacy," Lauren said cheerfully, gauging his reaction to the older home. "It needs some repair, but the landlord assures me he's willing to take care of that."

Jared wandered through the tiny rooms, up the narrow staircase to a pair of even tinier bedrooms, and a bathroom where he had to stand in the tub to close the door.

"Charming," was his verdict. "But, it's not the place for me. It feels like a dollhouse."

Lauren's tilted her head to smile up at him. "Yes, I can see how you would feel that way. I should have thought of that, but I did want to show you a range of places." She made a few notations on her tablet. "I have two or three other houses I think might suit you better," she offered. "Can you look at one more today? And then we can tour the others tomorrow afternoon, if that's okay with you. I have a couple of other appointments in the morning."

"Sure," Jared nodded. It wasn't as though he had a lot else to do, and it would be nice to get out of the motel and start settling in someplace before he started the new job.

The next house was a one-story, set back on the lot and flanked with well-landscaped shrubs, trees, and a flower bed or two. He doubted he'd have the time or the expertise to keep up with the grounds, but it was very pleasant to look at. The neighbors were fairly close, but the landscaping provided privacy on either side. He was curious whether the back was as private.

The house itself was mid-century modern, dark wood and stone and glass, with clean, asymmetrical lines. It looked expensive.

Lauren opened the front door and they stepped into a foyer with a flagstone floor and a view straight through the house, through a wall of glass to the back yard. Jared walked over, clicked off the lock and slid open the glass doors, stepping out onto a wide deck that looked onto a very green space. It wasn't a big yard, but with the wall of the detached garage, wooden privacy fencing, and carefully placed plantings, the yard was completely private.

Lauren stood waiting in the living room, smiling when Jared turned back. "Shall we look at the bedrooms?"

There were two of them, small, but both of them large enough for a bed and dresser, each room with a decent closet. There was a single bath, again, not large, but big enough not to feel cramped. The fixtures were white and clean and in good repair. All that was left to investigate was the kitchen. It was functional, with fairly up-to-date appliances, including a sturdy-looking washer and dryer, and adequate cabinets and counter space.

"Your floors are hardwood throughout, with ceramic tile in the bath," Lauren pointed out. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a worktop counter, extended to provide enough room to slide a couple of stools underneath for a breakfast counter, and there was room by the glass wall for a dining table and chairs. The living room had a stone fireplace and built-in bookshelves on either side of the stone chimney that rose to the angle of the roof peak, with clear glass from the top of the shelves to the roofline.

They walked outside to take a look at the garage. It was surprisingly dry, with a concrete floor, large enough to accommodate his truck and still have space for the heavy wooden workbench, and shelves for storage along one wall. A door opened into the back yard.

"How much is this place?" Jared asked, positive he wouldn't be able to afford it.

"You know," Lauren answered. "There's less square footage here than in both the houses you saw this morning. And there's less 'period charm' than in the older two-story. This really isn't a family house, and it hasn't moved well because of that. I think you'll be surprised at the rental," she smiled, before she gave him the figures.

Jared looked around at the fireplace, the glass panels filling the gable in the end wall, the shining wood floors, and out through the glass doors to the green and shady back yard. "What's the catch?" he wanted to know. Rental on this place was less than they'd--than the condo payments had been, in LA.

"You'd be responsible for repairs and upkeep. If there's something major, structural, for instance, the estate would assess it and pay for it, or at least a part. But there's no landlord to do groundskeeping or regular maintenance. That would be up to the tenant. And of course, the estate would expect the house and grounds to be maintained at the present level, or better."

He had helped his folks around their house growing up, of course, but Jared had never owned a place. He didn't know if he'd have the time, or the ability to manage upkeep. But the rental fee was temptingly low, and he really liked the house.

"Let's take a look at a couple more tomorrow afternoon," Lauren suggested. "Before you make a final decision. And if you do decide, we can start the paperwork on Monday."

Jared nodded. He'd take a look at the other places, but he really liked this house. He thanked Lauren when they pulled up at her office, and set a time to meet on Sunday. He thought about going back to the motel to use the pool, but he wasn't ready to return to that stuffy little room. A session with the weights would be good, he thought, crossing the street to the sheriff's station.

* * *

"Come out with me to the bar tonight." Jason retrieved a jacket from his locker. He had been on duty since 8:00 that morning, while Jared had spent most of the day following Lauren around, looking at houses. Jason had exchanged his uniform for civvies and Jared from workout gear to street clothes. "Meet some people, have some fun," he added.

Jared hesitated. It had been a while since he had been in the mood for fun. Still, new place, new people. Why not? "Sure."

"Cool. The Ferris Wheel, a half-mile east on Main, seven o'clock." Jason smoothed his tee shirt and shrugged into the jacket, glancing at Jared for confirmation. "Live music tonight."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, local band. They're pretty good."

The Ferris Wheel was the bar Jared had checked out for dinner the other night. Only tonight, every spot in the lot was full. He pulled around behind the dumpster and parked alongside the handful of cars that spilled over into the neighboring vacant lot. There wasn't a lit-up neon Ferris wheel on the sign over the door, or anything inside the building that spoke of circus, or midway--or roulette, which would have been Jared's next guess. He gave a mental shrug, sliding onto a stool and sending a practiced look over the patrons at tables and in booths along two of the walls, and a group around the pool table tucked away toward the back.

"What can I get you?" a pleasant-faced woman asked him, smiling over his shoulder at someone passing.

"Whatever you've got on tap."

"I'm Sam," she said, slipping a coaster under the glass with a perfect head, a trickle of froth just easing over the rim. "I own the place."

He stuck out a hand. "Jared."

She tilted her chin up in inquiry as she shook his hand. "The new deputy, right?"

He nodded, and when she gave him a more assessing look, he asked, "Why 'Ferris Wheel'?"

She barked a laugh, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. "Sam Ferris. I just called it a bar, but somebody nicknamed it, and it stuck."

He smiled again, sharing the joke.

She moved away, telling him. "You need anything else, just holler."

He relaxed on his stool, watching the crowd, taking in the mellow atmosphere. The lighting wasn't exactly low; it was adequate in the corners, enough to show the place was clean and well kept. But it wasn't glaring, either, soft enough to be relaxing. The clack of a cue on billiard balls caught his ear, and he surveyed the table, recognizing the guy in the polo shirt from the restaurant the other night. He wore jeans and an open button-down over a t-shirt tonight. He moved around the table methodically, sinking balls without dinking a one, till the table was cleared, and a groan went up from his opponent. He stood and grinned, and finished off his beer. The loser offered up a couple of bills, and the winner waved them away. "Buy me another beer," Jared half read his lips. "We'll call it even."

A hand fell on Jared's shoulder. "Hey man," Jason said, looking casual out of uniform, and with a guitar case in hand.

"Hey," Jared said. "You play?"

"Yeah, little bit. Can I get you a beer?"

"No, hey, let me," Jared answered, lifting his glass with a glance toward Sam. "You can get the next round."

"Okay," Jason agreed. "Let me get rid of this," he lifted the guitar a little. "I'll be right back."

There was a small stage at the opposite end of the room from the pool table, and Jared watched Jason's progress to a door on one side of the stage, and smiled when he emerged without the guitar. Local boys, huh? Well, he'd reserve judgment till after the performance. Jason made his way to the pool table, and he and the winner exchanged a hug. Jason said something and the winner laughed, before Jason turned to come back to the bar. He slid onto the stool before the fresh beer, saluting Jared before he drank.

"So," Jared grinned. "Local talent, huh?"

"Yeah," Jason smiled. "It's fun. We have a good time. Everybody else seems to like it, too, so I hope it's not a hardship for you to sit through the show."

He cocked a mock-worried look at Jared, who promised solemnly, "I'll make the sacrifice, and stay till the end."

"Damn straight. See that you do. Hey, have you eaten? You know the food here's pretty damn good."

Jared looked up behind the bar at a menu hand-lettered on the wall. "What do you recommend?"

"All of it, man. Steve's a fantastic cook--he came up with most of the recipes. Try anything. I guarantee you'll like it."

Jared wound up ordering a sample platter, which, when it came, contained a couple of sliders, a basket of herbed potato wedges, marinated grilled chicken tenders, and roasted kale chips. He took a bite of a slider, and his eyebrows went up. There was avocado, and shredded lettuce and shaved ginger dressed with--horseradish? Or wasabi? He took a sip of his beer and savored the combination of flavors.

Jason was grinning beside him. "Good, huh?"

"Really good!" Jared polished off the slider and reached for the kale chips.

"Hey," Jason finished his beer. "I've got to go. But I'll get a round after the show, okay?"

Jared nodded, happily employed with his dinner. "Sure. Uh, break a leg."

Jason's head went back on a shout of laughter, and he headed toward the pool table, speaking to the group gathered around it. In a few minutes, the winner, Jason, and a couple of other guys headed for the stage. Each of them retrieved an instrument from one of the guitar stands already on stage. They checked their connections to the amps, did a quick sound check, and they were ready to go.

Jared didn't at first recognize the man who stepped up to the mike, concentrating on tightening a guitar string by tiny increments. His loose brown hair hung around his face, and was long enough to just brush his shoulders. It wasn't until he turned in profile to speak to another band member that Jared recognized him as the chef from Kane's.

Jason was at another mike, speaking to the black guy who had a bass guitar slung on a strap over his shoulder. The pool game winner was on guitar, as well, and there was another man, with blond curls that swept his shoulders, holding an acoustic guitar that had been modified with an electric pickup.

He started noodling something on his guitar, and each of the other players joined in. The blond hummed a melody into his mike, and each of the others began to hum, too. The melody became a harmony, the volume increased, the bass became an insistent beat, and the room lit up with the energy the band was throwing off, now.

Jared's foot was tapping, and he looked over the room, only now realizing the house lights had dimmed a little. But there was plenty of light to check on the crowd, and assess the overall mood. Everybody seemed attentive, into the music, smiling and nodding at the clever lyrics, and humming along. Apparently the band was known, here at Ferris', well enough for patrons to have learned the songs, most of which, Jared realized after several numbers, were original, rather than the expected covers. He wondered who the songwriter was, as the blond and the pool game winner harmonized on a soft and heartfelt tale of heartbreak and longed-for redemption. As the last sweet notes died away, the audience stamped and whistled their approval, and the chef and the bassist swung into a hard-driving hillbilly-rock song about truck-drivin' and hard-hearted women.

The band played the audience well, interspersing rollicking feel-good songs with a heavy beat that people were dancing to, in a space clear of tables in front of the stage, with less-frequent slower, sadder tales that left the listener with a sense of unrequited longing. Or something, Jared snorted to himself in self-mockery, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in what he hoped was well-disguised embarrassment. In between paying attention to the group onstage, he kept breaking off for his glance to rove over the crowd, searching for the first signs of trouble. He wasn't on duty, but by now it was sort of an ingrained habit. But each time his gaze wandered, his attention was soon drawn back to the performers, and how well they worked together, how much fun they seemed to be having, doing something they loved and were obviously good at.

Grey cats Jensen plays

His empty mug was whisked away, and a full one, condensation misting the glass, was set at his elbow. He looked up to see Sam smiling at the band.

"Pretty good, aren't they?" he asked, saluting her with his first sip.

"Yeah, for hometown boys, they do all right," she grinned, obviously playing down her pride in them. She cocked an eyebrow. "Thanks for," she made a small gesture indicating the whole room. "You know. We don't usually have any problems, but there's always that one guy. Or guys."

"I'm not on duty," Jared protested.

"Hon, I live with a cop. You're never off-duty." She gave him a sharp-eyed look, and then smiled, before she moved off to serve another customer.

Jared noted that the chef drove most of the heavy-rock songs, with the blond fronting the rest. Jason and the bassist and the pool game winner mostly backed them up. But Jason and the pool guy--this would be so much easier if he had names, Jared thought--sang a couple of laid-back, gentle duets, Jason singing lead and the other guy close harmony. They sounded good together. The bassist and the blond, and even the chef, sang soft backup. It was nice. And then the next couple of numbers were hard rocking.

The chef laid his guitar down, though, and grabbed the mike with both hands like he was going to kiss it, and sang a heartfelt tale of aching grief and regret. His voice held a ragged edge of barely holding back tears, and the blond's quiet but edgy harmony only emphasized the pathos of the song. Jared was a bit surprised to feel his own eyes well up a bit; he had to blink to clear them.

After the last longing notes died away, the bassist hit a hard, driving rhythm, and the audience knew that beat, because feet were stamping and hands were clapping all over the room. Each of the guys onstage slung their guitars and went to work, and their voices met and parted in counterpoint and remixed in harmony and a giddy, relentless ride to the last, echoing chord.

"Thank you and good night!" the chef hollered into the room, completely disregarding the mike. A hearty chorus of yells, applause, and whistles answered him back. Somebody cranked the jukebox, a song that replicated the beat of that last number, close enough, and the good mood rolled on. Jared noticed a waitress with beers on a tray at the edge of the stage handing each mug off, one by one, to the band. And things slowly settled down to background jukebox music and the babble and hum of conversation.

* * *

Master Post | Chapter Two