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My thought is cut short by the sheriff’s car pulling up our driveway. My gut churns, a feeling washing over me that something’s very wrong.
We remain silent as the sheriff parks and exits his car, concern on both Porter’s and Mom’s faces. Dad pushes through the screen door and jogs down the steps to join us. “Sheriff? To what do we owe this visit?”
“Mornin’,” the sheriff greets us. “I hear Randy Wilks and his daughter, Patricia, been stayin’ out here with you all?”
“That’s right,” I reply. “Is there a problem?”
He removes his hat and scratches his head as if wanting to prolong the inevitable. “There’s been an accident.”
“Oh my God!” Mom’s hand covers her mouth.
“Randy was drunk as a skunk. Thankfully, nobody else was involved in the accident. He only drove down a ditch and straight into a tree.”
My heart clenches. It’s the very thing that haunted me about his drinking. “Is he…”
“The car flipped over, but somehow, he made it out with little more than a bump on his head. He’s at the hospital, probably got a concussion.”
“Thank God he’s all right,” Dad says.
The sheriff frowns. “It’s not his first offense, and there will be charges brought. He’s looking at jail time.”
“Suppose this is his rock bottom,” Dad murmurs. “We tried to talk him into treatment, but it didn’t go so well.”
“Usually doesn’t.” The sheriff puckers his brow. “He was blubbering something about not having a job and no place to live.”
“Christ, what a mess,” Porter mutters.
“Is it possible that a treatment program could be considered as well?” Mom asks. “Not sure jail time alone will cut it.”
“That’d be up to the county DA.” He twirls his hat. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message, so he might give you a call.”
“Appreciate that,” Dad says.
The sheriff looks over Dad’s shoulder to the house. “He did ask about his daughter, and normally in a case like this, social services would step in.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Pixie has been staying in a spare bedroom and helping with the horses, even made her a junior groom.”
“That right?” He considers it a moment. “Usually they search for family to place them with, but from what I heard, ain’t none to be found.”
Porter says, “We’d be more than willing to take care of her for the foreseeable future.” His voice cracks with emotion, and he clears his throat. “Sorry, didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You didn’t overstep at all.” Mom squeezes his shoulder. “Sheriff, do you remember Porter Dixon? Grew up in Laurel Springs with his family.”
“Sure do. Your momma used to make the best pies for the county fair.” They shake hands as Porter offers a sad smile. “Anyway, that’s a mighty kind offer. I can send the social worker your way.”
We say our goodbyes, then watch him drive off.
“This day just keeps getting better and better.” I laugh humorlessly. “Poor Pixie. Maybe if I hadn’t told Randy?—”
“Don’t you dare.” Dad’s tone is thick with annoyance. “He made his choices. He should be thankful we’re not pressing charges for theft. But I’m not one to kick a man when he’s down.”
Mom gives me a one-armed embrace. “Seems you got that trait from your father.”
I blow out a breath and look at Porter. “How about we go get Pixie before school lets out so she doesn’t hear about this from anyone else?”
The entire Sullivan family is on her emergency pickup list, so that’s a blessing for times like this.
Mom winks. “She adores the two of you, and something tells me there’s no other place she’d rather be right now.”
