The Cowboy Sheriff. Trish MilburnЧитать онлайн книгу.
fought against her own tears, afraid they’d make Hannah cry, too. And right now, she couldn’t handle another hours-long wailing session like the one they’d gone through at the hotel.
Simon had been her savior then, but she didn’t want him to come to the rescue again. Didn’t want him doing things that might tempt her to let go of her bitterness toward him. She needed something in her life to stay the same.
He’d shown up here. She’d seen him as she’d carried Hannah in through the lobby. Their eyes had only met for an instant, and she hated the way she felt guilty for running out on him at the hotel. There was no reason to feel guilty. She’d left him a note, after all.
Truth was, right now he wasn’t the one she was mad at. Carter should be here with her, helping shoulder the burden of the sorrow and sudden responsibility for another human being. After Simon had asked her about him, she’d tried his number half a dozen more times as if she could magically make it be not disconnected anymore. The last time she’d had to restrain herself from throwing her cell phone against the wall.
Sunshine must have sensed her agitation because she reached over and clasped her hand. Keri squeezed back, thankful for her friend’s strength beside her. They’d been friends almost from the moment Sunshine had walked into the bakery three years before and proclaimed she could make the best cinnamon rolls in Texas. She hadn’t been wrong.
The rest of the funeral passed at the rate of a glacier’s advance. When it was time to sing the last hymn, Keri stood on shaky legs. Hannah squirmed in her arms, threatening to make Keri teeter off balance on her heels.
“Shh, honey,” she whispered in the little girl’s ear. Thankfully, Hannah complied.
Somehow she held herself together as the parade of mourners passed by and offered their condolences. Several felt the need to pat Hannah’s back or smooth her hair. She grew fidgety from all the attention, no doubt mostly from people she didn’t know. Keri was on the verge of whisking her from the room when Sunshine extended her arms.
“Let me take her.”
Keri clasped Hannah closer for a moment, afraid of letting Hannah out of her sight.
“We’ll just be out in the lobby.”
Hannah had been around Sunshine a lot the past couple of days and occasionally before that when Sammi had brought her to Blue Falls for visits. So she went to the other woman without any fuss, especially when her eyes lit on Brett, Sunshine’s sixteen-year-old son. She’d glommed onto him like she had Simon. Already a little flirt at ten months old. Brett took it all in stride and gave her loads of attention.
Keri placed a tender kiss atop Hannah’s head before Sunshine carried her toward the lobby.
She turned slowly back toward the front of the room, just in time to see Simon step away from Sammi’s coffin. No hint of his normal carefree self was visible. In fact, his eyes were suspiciously bright. He had been friends with Sammi, after all. She didn’t have it in her to be cold to him today.
His gaze met hers and he hesitated for the briefest moment before walking her way. He didn’t touch her like so many others had. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said instead.
He sounded so detached, so official, like a cop in a police drama on TV. A surge of anger rose in her until she realized this was likely how he coped with these types of situations. In his position as sheriff, he’d no doubt had to tell lots of families about the deaths of loved ones. How did he do it? Why would he want to be in the position to have to?
“Thanks.” She lowered her gaze and noticed the suit he was wearing. Black and well cut. If this were any other day, she might have turned and admired how he looked in it from behind as he walked away. But it wasn’t any other day. Plus, she still had more people waiting to express their condolences. Across the aisle, the Spencers were in the same boat.
Turned out Simon wasn’t the only Teague in attendance. The whole clan filed by in a flurry of hugs and kind words. She held her breath, just trying to get through it all. It wasn’t until Merline Teague, Simon’s mom, stepped up to her that she felt she might finally lose the battle against her tears. Merline had this kind way about her that made everyone feel as if she was their second mom.
Though she’d dreaded all the touches all day, Keri suddenly needed a hug more than she needed her next breath. Merline opened her arms and Keri stepped into them.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Merline said. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”
Keri nodded against Merline’s shoulder, remembering how the older woman had said something very similar when Keri’s mom had died. Keri had never held what Simon did against his mother because Merline was a gem of a friend, neighbor and loyal customer.
When Keri stepped back, Merline held her hands a bit longer. “I know you are a very independent young woman, but we all need help sometimes. It’s not a sign of weakness. Just keep that in mind.”
Keri nodded because that was all she could manage without sobbing. Merline offered her a sympathetic smile that somehow gave her the strength she’d been searching for all day. After Merline took her leave, Keri only had to speak to a couple more mourners until she and the Spencers were the only people left in the room. Even the funeral home staff had stepped out to give them time to say their final goodbyes.
She sank onto the pew and examined her chewed nails and torn cuticles as the Spencers walked forward toward Ben’s coffin. Keri couldn’t approach Sammi’s yet, not when anyone else was here to watch her. She had to be alone with her sister, one last time.
Holding in the burning need to sob uncontrollably was the hardest thing she’d ever done, made harder by the sounds of Ben’s parents’ grief. Just when she thought they might never leave, she detected movement. Still, she didn’t look up, couldn’t meet their eyes. The Spencers must have sensed that because they didn’t stop next to her. Ben’s dad squeezed her on the shoulder as they passed, leaving her alone to do what had to be done.
Keri didn’t know how long she sat in the pew unable to move. Only the thought of the Spencers waiting to bury their son prompted her to stand, though the few steps it took to reach Sammi’s coffin stretched out like miles. When she looked down at her sister, she couldn’t decide if Sammi looked peaceful or as fake as a mannequin. Didn’t matter. However she looked, this was all that was left of Samantha Jane Mehler Spencer.
Keri’s chin trembled and tears finally spilled from her eyes. “Why did you have to leave?”
She wanted to be able to hug her sister one last time, to tell her how much she loved her. But she couldn’t bring herself to touch the shell that had once been Sammi. She didn’t want to know how cold and lifeless it was. She wanted to remember how warm and full of life her sister had been, how much she’d loved being a wife and mother.
With a trembling hand, Keri reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a locket that held photos of their parents. She tucked it into the nook beneath Sammi’s crossed hands, careful not to touch her.
“Here’s Mom and Dad to keep you company until you can find them.” So many tears flowed now that she could barely see her sister’s face. Unwilling to appear sad and weepy in front of Hannah, she turned toward Ben for a moment and wiped away the evidence of her grief. “You take care of her, okay?” It might look crazy, talking to two people who were no longer there, but she needed to say the words, to make herself feel as if she still had some control, some power over how things should turn out. And as much as Ben had loved her sister in life, she had no doubt he’d be right by her side in the afterlife.
She took a deep, slow breath and turned back to Sammi. Gripping the edge of the coffin to keep herself upright, she took her last look at the sister she’d played with, fought with, competed against and emulated.
“I’ll take good care of Hannah, I promise.” She hesitated, knowing she had to leave but desperately hating the finality of it. With another deep breath, she released her hold on the coffin.