Idaho Battlegrounds
By Sarah Black
3.5/5
()
About this ebook
Sheriff Grady Sullivan returns to Canyon County, Idaho, after his second tour in Afghanistan to find his department in disorder and his authority undermined. He’s determined to restore discipline, but he soon finds himself fighting for his job. The bright spot in his life is kindred soul Edward Clayton. But Edward isn't just raising dairy cows, and Grady is soon pulled into Edward’s Underground Railroad for illegal kids.
As noble as Edward’s work is, it’s illegal, and Grady is suddenly faced with losing everything he’s worked for and everything that matters to him as he’s forced to choose between Edward and the work that has always defined him.
Read a sample of Sarah's work~two complete short stories available on her website. Read Now
Sarah Black
SARAH BLACK is a baker and baking instructor with 25 years of professional baking experience in New York City, having worked at such legendary bakeries as Tom Cat Bakery and Amy’s Bread and consulted with companies such as Whole Foods Market and Pepperidge Farm. Her future plans include teaching bread classes at The Seasoned Farmhouse and opening a recreational bread and baking school called Flowers and Bread in the spring of 2016, both in Clintonville, Ohio.
Read more from Sarah Black
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Reviews for Idaho Battlegrounds
9 ratings1 review
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5A fine story, but not enough interaction between the two main character. I needed to know more why they fell in love. Didn't pull my heartstrings at all.
Book preview
Idaho Battlegrounds - Sarah Black
Idaho Battlegrounds
UNIT 12, this is Base. Sheriff, I’ve got a message for you.
Grady thumbed the button on the radio. Base, 12. What’s doing, Sanchez?
All quiet on the western front. How was the council meeting?
Grady thought about all the people who could be listening in to the sheriff’s department radio. It is what it is, bud.
Civilian speak for the military’s FUBAR. He had listened to forty-five minutes of discussion about enforcing the assigned parking spots for city council members at City Hall. When Grady had finally had enough of the whining and complaints, he suggested they had more critical issues to discuss, and proposed repeat parking offenders be drawn and quartered during the Thursday evening concert series. The council members had not been amused. Grady thought he would have to work a little harder to curb his irritation with the people who funded his department.
I got a message for you, Boss. Some dude said to tell you book club’s cancelled for tonight.
Grady frowned at the radio. 10-4, Base. Out.
Cancelled? What the hell? Damn cheese farmer. Didn’t he know you don’t blow somebody off before the first date? He grabbed the radio again. Sanchez, I’m taking lunch.
Boss, it’s ten thirty.
So?
Um, nothing. Out.
Sanchez was a good guy. They were in the same National Guard unit and had only been back from Afghanistan and out of uniform about six weeks. Sanchez had two babies at home, and to hear him tell it, there would be another bun in the oven any day now.
Grady drove his cruiser along one of the back roads in Canyon County, Idaho. This was farm country, full of hard-working people, and his job was to keep them safe. He turned onto the road that lead to Edward’s little dairy farm.
Edward Clayton had fifty fat Jersey cows, a ramshackle barn, a milking shed, a tiny creamery, and a run-down little house. They had met the week before at the library in Melba. After Edward had left, the librarian, Miss Middlesex, had given Grady the rest of the story. I don’t know what that man’s doing here,
she’d said. He used to be some big-shot lawyer with the ACLU. Does he strike you as the back-to-the earth type? I think he’s in hiding.
Grady didn’t know what the back-to-the earth type looked like. Compost under the fingernails? Maybe some loose alfalfa hay somewhere about their person? Edward was handsome, with long, slender fingers and a bony, elegant face. He had kind gray eyes, and Grady immediately wanted to see him in a silver-gray cashmere turtleneck. Or a cashmere robe, open at the neck. Grady spent all his time with men in uniform—Army National Guard, Sheriff’s Department. The high and tight was the haircut of choice. None of them had chestnut curls on the back of their necks, and Grady suspected this was the reason he kept reaching for Edward Clayton’s curls in his mind every time he closed his eyes.
He pulled into the farm, left his cruiser next to the house, and walked out to the barn. This time of day a busy farmer would be with his cows, or in the creamery making cheese. Most of the cows were already in the pasture next to the barn, their sweet brown faces turned up to the sun.
I know you’re scared, but I’ll take care of you. Just take this in your mouth and suck on it a tiny bit.
Grady raised his eyebrows, watched Edward with the damp newborn calf in his lap. The baby was not interested in taking the bottle. He kept rooting around at Edward’s lap, covered now in a bright red apron with the words Curds and Whey in script.
He’s looking for his mama, not some bony ACLU lawyer with a bottle.
Edward looked up, and Grady felt a moment of dizziness, like he was falling into deep cool water. I’m sorry about book club, Grady. I’ve had a death.
Cow, not human, right? Because I haven’t been informed of any human deaths.
Edward gave him a crooked smile, hitched the baby up in his arms. Cow,
he confirmed. This baby’s mother died in childbirth, because I didn’t know what to do. And if I don’t get him to take his bottle, I’m going to lose him too.
A woman came into the barn, drying her hands off on her apron. She had a worried, time-worn face, and she wore her thick dark hair bundled up at the nape of her neck. Edward, there’s a Sheriff’s Department car at the house.
Edward stood up quickly. Mrs. Rodriguez.
Grady saw the alarm on her face, the quick blanch when she caught sight of him. Sheriff Sullivan, this is Mrs. Rodriguez, my housekeeper. Temporary housekeeper. Emilia, this is Sheriff Grady Sullivan.
Grady reached out and shook her hand. She was still pale, her dark eyes darting nervously from his face to his gun belt, and her hand was shaking slightly. I’m sorry if I startled you. I just came to assist Edward in feeding the orphan.
Mrs. Rodriguez and Edward studied him carefully from the tips of his polished black boots, up the knife creased khaki trousers, to the sturdy gun belt and the shiny badge pinned to his breast pocket. Edward was laughing, but Mrs. Rodriguez turned away with a sniff. I hope whoever does your laundry knows how to get out milk stains,
she said, and she disappeared around the corner of the barn.
Grady shrugged. I don’t think she likes my looks. Or maybe the cops are a little bit scarier wherever she’s from.
Edward was next to him now, smelling of sweet buttermilk and smiling with those kind eyes. Maybe we should have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy regarding the immigration status of my farm workers.
Grady narrowed his eyes. I am very familiar with that policy, being as I served four years on active duty in the Army. I would have to say such a policy sucks. But I don’t plan on rousting your temporary housekeeper. Whatever that means.
What are you doing out here, Grady?
I took my lunch break to come out here and kick your ass for blowing me off.
Your lunch break? Then the least I can do is feed you.
He put the little calf down in some straw.
Grady gestured to the door of the barn. Three pairs of brown eyes were peeking at him from around the corner of the big door. Looks like you’ve got some more temporary housekeepers come to help.
Edward gave him a look but waved the children in. The oldest was a girl, about eight, and she kept her two little brothers behind her. Edward gave her the bottle. See if you can get the baby to take some of this milk,
he said, and when they left, the children were kneeling next to the calf, petting it and talking to it in soft Spanish voices.
Edward pushed open the door to the little creamery, and Grady followed him in. How’re the elections going? Every time I go to town, seems like there’s a fight about to break out in the diner over the sheriff’s election. I’m not from around here, though, so nobody tells me anything.
I was elected six years ago,
Grady said, sliding onto a stool. Edward opened a big stainless Sub-Zero fridge and pulled out a couple of plates of cheese. "Then our National Guard unit was deployed to Afghanistan. We were gone with one thing or another for almost four years. About half of us were members of the unit. The ones that weren’t were left to run things. They hired some temp workers to fill in. When we came back, the maneuvering started. The temps claimed discrimination when the vets went back to their old jobs. There isn’t very much work out here, so the scramble for