Free Heat by Stuart Woods Page A

grateful for your help, too. It seems you disarmed one of the bank robbers.”
    â€œIt seemed like a good idea at the time.”
    Casey laughed. “It certainly was.”
    â€œI’m a little overwhelmed, I guess,” Jesse said. “Since I got out of the hospital I’ve been sort of numb, just going through the motions, wandering across the country. Now, all of a sudden, I seem to have some sort of life again. I just want you to know I appreciate your help, and I hope I’ll be able to find a way to repay you some day.”
    Casey shrugged. “Who knows? One of these days you might be able to do something for me. I’ll let you know. In the meantime, just settle into St. Clair and be one of us.”
    Jesse stood up. “That, I’ll do.” He shook Casey’s hand and left the station.
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    Jesse carried his bags up the front steps of Jenny Weatherby’s house and was met at the door by a somber little girl with hair so blonde it was nearly white.
    â€œHello,” Jesse said to her. “I’ll bet you’re Carey.”
    â€œHow did you know?” the little girl asked.
    â€œOh, I know all about you. You’re six years old and in the first grade.”
    She smiled shyly. “Mama told you.”
    â€œThat’s right, she did.”
    â€œAre you going to live with us?”
    â€œI sure am, and I hope you and I are going to be good friends.”
    â€œThat depends,” Carey said. “Do you like niggers?”
    Jesse was brought up short. “Why do you ask that?” he asked.
    â€œBecause at school they told us we’re not supposed to be friends with nigger lovers.”
    Jesse set his bags down at the bottom of the stairs, struggling for a way to continue this conversation. “And where do you go to school?” he asked lamely.
    â€œAt the First Church school,” Carey replied. “Everybody goes there.”
    â€œAnd do you like school?”
    â€œOh, yes,” she said. “We get to learn lots of stuff.”
    â€œWell, I want to hear all about that,” Jesse said, “just as soon as I take my things upstairs.”
    â€œCarey!” her mother called from the kitchen. “Who’s that out there?”
    She turned to him. “What’s your name?”
    â€œJesse.”
    â€œIt’s Jesse, Mama,” she called out. “I’m helping him take his stuff upstairs.”
    Jesse handed her his small bag and followed her up the stairs to his room.
    â€œDo you like this room?” Carey asked. The phone rang downstairs.
    â€œI like it very much,” he said, sitting on the bed. “And I think I like you very much, too.”
    The little girl giggled and ran out of the room and down the stairs.
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    Jesse was stretched out on his bed, dozing, when there was a soft rap at the door.
    â€œCome in.”
    Jenny opened the door. “Seems you’re the local hero,” she said.
    â€œYou’ve heard already?”
    â€œIt’s a small town.”
    â€œI’m lucky I didn’t get my head blown off.”
    â€œLuckier than you know,” she said. “Supper’s in half an hour; would you like something to drink before? I’ve got some gin and some bourbon and some beer.”
    â€œI’d love a bourbon on the rocks,” Jesse said, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and standing up. “But room and board can’t include liquor. I’ll buy my own.”
    She smiled. “Tonight you’re my guest.”
    â€œCarey’s gorgeous,” Jesse said. “She comes by it naturally.”
    The little blush again. “Come on downstairs, and I’ll fix your drink.”
    Jesse splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth and went down to the kitchen. Jenny handed him a large drink. “What time does the evening news come on in Idaho?”
    â€œYou mean on TV?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œWe don’t have