The call was answered by a female voice made husky by too many years of Marlboros. “Sheriff’s office.”

Trapper asked to speak to the head man himself but was told that Sheriff Addison had already left for the day. “Do you want his voice mail?”

“No thanks.”

Trapper clicked off and sat staring through the windshield at the rural landscape, now tinted with the lavender of dusk. A small herd of beef cattle dotted the pasture to his right. On his left, dead winter grass bent to the strong north wind.

Mentally he listed all the reasons why he should drive on and take the next entrance ramp onto eastbound I-20. He could be home in time to crack a beer just before the Mavs tipped off.

Ultimately, swearing at himself for being a damn fool, he took his foot off the brake and made a left turn onto a rural road.

A few minutes later he topped a hill, and the Addisons’ house came into view. There was a light on in every room, and the house was surrounded by parked cars and pickup trucks. Trapper immediately changed his mind about calling on The Major’s longtime best friend.

He was in the process of making a three-point turn when an adolescent girl broke away from a group of kids kicking around a soccer ball in the front yard. She jogged toward him, waving her skinny arms as she directed him to pull the SUV into the dry ditch. Trapper did as directed and lowered the driver’s window.

She landed against the door, breathless. “I’m supposed to tell latecomers to park along the road.”

She had crazy red hair, redder cheeks, and a mouthful of braces. Trapper fell in love. “Latecomers to what?”

“The Bible study. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

Trapper turned off the motor and climbed down. “What do you think?”

She looked him up and down, then grinned and said, “IDTS.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think so.”

He laughed. “Smart guess.”

“You’re John Trapper, aren’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“Everybody knows. You’re the black sheep.”

So, the townsfolk of Lodal talked among themselves about The Major’s wayward son. He wondered if they used coded language in front of the children. But the children now had a coded language all their own.

“I’m Tracy,” the girl said.

“Pleased to meet you, Tracy.”

“You have. When I was about six. It was Thanksgiving. You, The Major, and your mom were here visiting. I got my foot stuck in the commode. You worked it free.”

“That was you?”

“Yep,” she said with pride.

“I never knew why you put your foot in the commode.”

She raised her bony shoulders in a shrug. “I never knew why, either.”

Trapper couldn’t help but laugh again. “The sheriff at home?”

She glanced toward the house, then came back around and leaned in to speak low. “The front rooms are overflowing with deacons and church ladies learning about Job. But the sheriff’s in the kitchen drinking beer.”

It wasn’t beer, it was Jack Daniel’s. Glenn Addison was pouring a shot into a cup of black coffee when Trapper, who hadn’t bothered to knock, came through the mudroom into the kitchen.

Astonished to see him, Glenn nearly knocked over his chair as he stood up, rounded the table, and clasped Trapper in a bear hug. “Son of a bitch,” he said, thumping him on the back. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, not for a lesson on Job. Hank leading the Bible study?”

“Don’t you know it.” Glenn shook his head with bewilderment. “Where’d I go wrong?”

“Not a bad thing, having a preacher in the family.”

“No, it’s a good thing. Just wish it wasn’t my family.”

Trapper motioned toward the spiked cup of coffee. “I don’t think that’s going to fool anybody.”

“Like I give a flying you-know-what. This is my house, and I’m the law around here, so I’ll have me some sour mash, thank you. Pour yourself one.”

“No thanks. I’ve gotta drive back to Fort Worth.”

Glenn and The Major had been boyhood friends, had gone through twelve grades virtually inseparable, then had roomed together for four years at A & M. Out of college, The Major joined the army. Glenn returned to their hometown, ran for sheriff and won. He’d held the office ever since, usually running for reelection unopposed.

“The faithful have outdone the dessert buffet at Golden Corral,” he said, indicating the array of Tupperware containers on the countertop. “Help yourself. Those brownies are good. Linda made them.”

“How’s she?” Trapper asked of the sheriff’s wife.

“Goes to the gym now. Zumba classes. Tries to get me there.”

“No luck?”

“Wouldn’t be caught dead.” The older man eyed him up and down. “You could use a shave. And a haircut. Boot shine wouldn’t hurt. Have those blue jeans ever met an iron?”

“No, and they never will.”

“You got a girl yet?”

“Had one Saturday night.”

The sheriff frowned with disapproval. “You need a wife, kids.”

“Like I need leprosy.”

“The Major would like some grandkids.”

He tossed the statement out there like a gauntlet. Trapper let it lie for a beat or two, then said, “Not by me.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

Trapper shrugged with feigned indifference. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not making babies.”

“You didn’t come to town bearing an olive branch, then.”

“No. I bore something a little more … troublesome.”

Glenn’s gray eyebrows wrinkled. “To who?”

“To you, Sheriff Addison.”

Glenn picked up the whiskey bottle and held it tilted above his cup. “Am I gonna need another hit of this?”

“’Fraid so.”

The sheriff poured a generous portion into his coffee cup and took a swig. “What’s going on?”

“You ever heard of Kerra Bailey?”

“The girl on TV?”

“How is it everybody has heard of her but me?” Trapper muttered. But he knew why. Except for ESPN, he avoided most television programming. He avoided news in particular, half afraid of what might be on it one of these nights.

“So what about her?” Glenn asked.

“She wants to interview The Major.”

Glenn listened with mounting interest as Trapper described to him Kerra’s unheralded visit to his office. “I was hung over as hell. She sobered me up real quick by asking would I help her get through to The Major. I had a good laugh, then told her no. Hell, no.”

“But here you are.”

He skipped telling Glenn about their dinner date but told him they’d met again that morning. “She told me she wasn’t going to stop until she had a face-to-face with him. I wished her a good life and washed my hands of it.”

Glenn burped whiskey fumes. “I say again, but here you are.”

“I was afraid she’d do something stupid, in which case, the blame would probably come back to me. Hoping to head that off, I got here before she did and walked her to his door. Far as I’m concerned, I’ve done my part. I’m clear. The lady is now on her own.”

“Well, good luck to her,” Glenn said. “Since he retired, he’s turned down every request. Big names, even.”

“Kerra Bailey might break him. He greeted her as a fan.”

“He was a fan of Oprah, too. He turned her down.”

Trapper wasn’t going to tell Glenn what made Kerra exceptional. That was her secret to reveal. But he’d seen the immediate effect that learning her identity had had on The Major. He’d looked at her in wonder. She’d extended him the long overdue thank-you for saving her life. They’d clasped hands and had been absorbed in cozy conversation when Trapper left unnoticed.

“When would this hoped-for interview take place?” Glenn asked.

“This Sunday evening.”