Night's Landing by Carla Neggers Page B

Dunnemore’s reasons were different and he’d have been more subtle about his objections. The kid was smart, well connected, personable. He could do anything with his life. Why spend it in the gutter catching criminals? Now that he was in the Oval Office, Wes thought, he had a different view. The work the USMS did was vital, and it needed good people like Rob Dunnemore.
    And that was what scared Rob’s father, Wes knew. He wasn’t worried so much that Rob could do better—he was worried his only son was a throwback to the wild Dunnemores of the past, a mix of loggers and riverboat workers who lived hard and died young. To his own brother, who’d died a hero on Omaha Beach.
    “You and your wife are expecting a child?” Wes asked casually.
    His question seemed to catch Callahan off guard. “Just a few more weeks to go.”
    “That’s wonderful. Nervous?”
    The young senator didn’t answer at once, but he obviously understood the subtext. In light of the tragedy of losing his firstborn, was he nervous about this baby? Wes’s own wife had lost all four of their babies. They’d almost saved the last one, a baby girl. People told him, or at least implied, it wasn’t like losing a three-year-old, as Callahan had. Wes knew it was probably true. But miscarriage and stillbirth were their own special pain, their own special hell.
    And the effect it’d had on Ev. She’d tell him he hadn’t done anything wrong—it was her, all her. She’d let go some of the self-blame and self-pity since he’d entered public service and she’d taken on her own issues, devoting herself to children’s health, poverty and underachievement.
    They both considered the Dunnemore twins as close as they would come to having children of their own. They’d watched them grow up, attended their birthday parties and graduations, took them out on the river—and they’d gone to funerals together. Granny Dunnemore’s. Leola’s, Violet’s. Thank God he and Ev hadn’t had to face Rob’s funeral.
    Callahan managed a brief smile. “I guess a little nervousness is to be expected, Mr. President.”
    “Good luck to you. Let me know, will you?”
    “I’d be glad to. Mr. President—”
    “I don’t know anything more about yesterday’s shooting than you do,” Wes said, anticipating the senator’s question. “Did you happen to see Sarah Dunnemore, Rob’s sister?”
    Callahan shook his head. “As soon as we realized Nate was all right, we got out of his way.”
    “She’s an historical archaeologist. She doesn’t have a background in law enforcement, the military, politics. She’s just back from a research trip in Scotland. She’s spent years researching the house where I grew up and the family that raised me.” He sighed, picturing her hearing the news about her brother. “But she’s tough. I keep telling myself that.”
    Callahan maintained his correct bearing. “I’m sure it’s a difficult time for all of Deputy Dunnemore’s friends and family.”
    Wes nodded, sighing heavily. “It’s strange how we go through these times in our lives when it’s as if we’re under siege. I can’t imagine how you all must have felt when you found out your brother-in-law had been shot, even if he was only slightly wounded. After what you went through last fall—”
    “It hasn’t been easy, but we’re relieved he’s okay.”
    “Deputy Winter—he’s solid?”
    “Rock solid, Mr. President.”
    “We don’t know yet if he was the target, or if Rob was—or if they both were. Well, the FBI and the marshals won’t leave a stone unturned in searching for whoever did the shooting. That much we know for sure.”
    Wes pictured Granny Dunnemore, as everyone called her, at her stove in the beautiful log house on the Cumberland River that her late husband had built just to attract a woman. They’d owned a sawmill that went out of business in the Depression. Not long after, Web Dunnemore died in a logging accident. Pearl Dunnemore always