license plate number. That’s what Dad would have done.”
“I really don’t need your help after the fact,” Marybeth snapped back, still on edge.
“Fine,” Sheridan said, spinning angrily on her heel and going into the house.
Marybeth called after her, “Sheridan, make sure to keep Lucy in the house.”
Her daughter stopped in the doorway. “I’ll be sure to send her right out.”
“Sheridan . . .”
Back in the kitchen, Sheridan watched her mom use the wall phone to place two calls. One, she assumed, was to the house her dad was staying in. There was clearly no answer.
“Try his cell,” Sheridan said from the table.
“I did. He’s either got it turned off or he’s out of range.”
“Call dispatch.”
Her mom shot her a look, then turned back to the phone.
“I’m calling Nate.”
“Are we going to eat dinner at some point?” Sheridan asked, not looking up from her homework. She knew her mother would call Nate. She’d known it for a year.
Nate Romanowski arrived at 9:00, tossed the fawn into the back seat of his Jeep, and came to the door.
“I can’t let him see me like this!” Sheridan said, running from the family room in her pajamas. Marybeth was amused.
“Thank you so much, Nate,” she said at the door. “Not a problem. I’m good with dead bodies.”
“I hope you’re making a joke.” Nate shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Have you eaten? We have some spaghetti left.”
His silence told her he was hungry, and she invited him in.
“Mind if I wash up first?” he asked.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” she said, walking to the kitchen to retrieve the covered bowl of spaghetti out of the refrigerator and put it in the microwave to heat. She set about making him garlic bread as well.
From down the hall she heard Nate say, “Hi, Sheridan,”
followed by Sheridan’s “Eeek!” and the slamming of her bedroom door.
Nate was still smiling from the exchange when he came to the table. “I appreciate this,” he said. “I’m getting pretty sick and tired of my own cooking. I used to have some imagination in the kitchen, but now I seem stuck in a broiled meat rut. Oooh, and garlic bread too.”
She sat at the other end of the table and tried not to watch him eat. It still struck her how interesting he was to look at, with his sharp angles and fluid movements. Despite his size and ranginess, he looked coiled up, like he could strike out quickly at any time. There was something about him that reminded her of a large cat.
“Did you get the name of the guy who left the deer?”
Nate asked between mouthfuls.
“No, and I didn’t get his license plate either.”
“I could track him down if you want me to.”
“How would you go about doing that?” she asked.
He flashed his sly grin. “You said he was a fat guy. He probably hasn’t washed the blood out of his truck. I would guess he’s an outofstater or you’d know him. Saddlestring only has a few places to stay.”
“Mmmmm.”
“So do you want me to find him?”
“No,” she said. “I’m just glad he’s gone.”
He nodded and ate.
“No one’s ever liked my spaghetti so much.”
“Sorry, am I eating like a pig?”
“No. I’m glad you like it.”
He cleaned out the bowl, then wiped his plate with the last piece of garlic bread. “So, how’s Joe doing over in Jackson?”
Marybeth sighed. “He seems harried. We’ve had trouble communicating.”
Nate looked up sharply.
She felt her neck get red. “I mean he calls when I can’t talk, or I call and the connection is bad. That’s what I mean.”
At the front door, Nate thanked Marybeth again for the meal.
“It’s the least I could do,” she said, “since I’m such a lousy game warden.”
