Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  “Why's it so dark in here?"

  Kate shook her head, clueless herself. She didn't know why she preferred to sit in the dark. Booker flipped the light on, then moved to a round table with two chairs positioned in front of the window with the air conditioner. He set everything down, glancing at the television. The choir was now singing high-pitched praises to Jesus.

  “Have you heard anything?"

  For a moment Kate didn't know what he meant. “What?"

  “On the tube. The news mention you?"

  She shook her head. “I mean, I haven't seen any news."

  His brows knitted slightly. “Are you all right?"

  “I guess so.” She became aware of food odors emanating from the white sacks. Her stomach rumbled so loudly that Booker heard it.

  “I thought you might be hungry. When was the last time you ate?"

  Kate tried to remember, couldn't, then recalled stuffing a couple of Millie Mae's biscuits in her pocket about a hundred years ago. “I'm not sure I can keep anything down, not after—” she paused, not wanting to say it or think about it, then finished lamely, “— you know, everything."

  He didn't answer but dug out two flat carry-out Styrofoam containers from the white sack and placed them on the table. “You will, once you take a couple of bites. You have to, if you want to keep going.” He opened the lid and swiveled the carton around for her to see. Bacon and eggs, a pile of buttered toast, pancakes drenched in maple syrup. “I got a sack of Jumbo's biscuits, too."

  Kate watched him get out plastic forks and spoons from another sack. Then he lifted out two huge Styrofoam cups. “Coffee. Black and strong."

  He sat down in a chair that gave him a view of the road. He looked out for a second, then gestured her into the seat across from him. “C'mon, eat, before it gets cold."

  Kate obeyed, perching on the straight chair, staring at the food in the carton. She found herself unwilling to put Joey down, even to eat. She'd had him in her arms for the most part of two days. He felt like a part of her now, like another arm or leg. Or heart. He was her heart.

  “He'll be all right. Put him over there on the bed."

  “No, I'll hold him."

  Booker shrugged and pried the plastic lid off one of the coffee cups, then placed it in front of her. The aromatic steam rose temptingly to her nose. He removed his lid and took a sip. Now he looked like one of Robert Redford's mountainmen buddies in Jeremiah Johnson, incongruously large and out of place at the tiny table, holding a Styrofoam cup stamped with little red biodegradable flags. “Eat, then get some rest. You look out of it."

  Kate said, “I'm all right. I'm just all tied up in knots, you know?"

  “Yeah."

  Booker dove into his breakfast with a hearty appetite more in keeping with his rough-hewn image, while Kate gratefully took a drink of hot coffee. The brew was as black and strong as Booker had promised, and it hit the bottom of her empty stomach and brought it lurching back to life, rumbling and grumbling as she gulped down some more. She got up and laid Joey on the bed, watching him stretch and throw his arms wide. He was more comfortable there, able to move around if he wanted. He was just a few feet away. He'd be safe enough.

  Sitting down again, she split the clear plastic encasing her utensils, then forked up a bite of eggs. Hers were scrambled, yellow and fluffy, delicious, wonderful, and she began to attack the food like a starved refugee. She shoveled down her eggs in nothing flat, then plunged eagerly into light brown pancakes, totally, insanely ravenous. She finished up everything on her plate before Booker did and flushed with embarrassment when she realized she must have looked like a wild hyena, wolfing down food before the rest of the pack could steal any.

  “Feel better?"

  Kate nodded as she wiped her mouth and fingers on a white napkin, then moved back to the bed. She sat down beside Joey while Booker finished eating, more decorously than she had. She wondered if he'd leave her to her fate now. He'd done his duty, after all, saved her, fed her, been more than a Good Samaritan.

  “I got you some baby stuff. Didn't know exactly what to get."

  He handed her one of the grocery bags he'd toted in. Inside she found a couple of packages of Luvs, travel bottles of Johnson's baby powder and shampoo, and a boxed gift set with a baby towel and washcloth, receiving blanket, and a little sleeper suit made from terrycloth with attached feet and a snap-up crotch. All in blue with St. Louis Cardinal logos. A red rattle was tied on the box with a white bow. In the bottom of the bag she found a bar of Irish Spring soap, a brand-new toothbrush, a small tube of Crest, and a bottle of Tylenol. Tears gushed up her throat, and she was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she couldn't even thank him.

  “I got the kid some milk, too.” Booker was standing at the window, his rifle in his hand again, obviously expecting trouble to drive up at any moment. “It's in the other coffee cup."

  “How can I ever thank you?” All clogged and hoarse.

  “Forget it."

  “I can't. I can't.” Kate choked up and fought back welling tears.

  Booker seemed annoyed. “Look, why don't you take a shower? Get some sleep. Nobody knows we're back here. I'll keep watch till you wake up."

  She pulled herself together by force of will. She felt better with food in her stomach. Maybe she should take a quick shower and lie down for awhile with Joey. She hesitated, reluctant to leave Joey alone with a stranger, even one who had been so kind. But the baby was sleeping so peacefully. In her heart she didn't believe John Booker would hurt him.

  “Will you watch him for me? Knock on the bathroom door if he cries or anything?"

  Booker nodded but kept his attention focused outside. Kate picked up the sack of baby supplies and walked into the bathroom. It was tiny but relatively clean, with four thick, white towels and two washcloths folded atop a rack over the toilet. The mirror hung on a nail over the sink and Kate avoided her reflection. She pushed the bolt into place, then swept back the shower curtain with a squeal of metal rings.

  She undressed quickly and stepped into the tub. She turned the taps very hot, and for several minutes let the water run down over her face and body, feeling the tension in her muscles finally start to ease. She lathered up with the Irish Spring, then carefully removed the gauze bandage around her head. She poured a palmful of baby shampoo and gingerly washed around the wound on her scalp. She rinsed her hair thoroughly, then twisted off the taps.

  Wrapping a towel around her hair and a second one around her torso, she squeezed Crest on the toothbrush and nearly scrubbed the enamel off her teeth. She swallowed down two Tylenol tablets, then added two more to conquer her pounding head before thirstily finishing off the glass of water. Afterward, she felt almost like a human being again.

  There was no sound coming from the other room, not even the low buzz of the television evangelist. Worried, she cracked the door and peeked outside. The bedroom was deserted, the outside door ajar.

  Joey was gone.

  Eighteen

  BOOKER JERKED AROUND, rifle gripped in his right hand, Joey riding his left arm. Kate Reed stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a skimpy white towel that barely reached her thighs. Her long blond hair dripped tangled down her back, her face frantic. He reacted as a man first, eyes riveted on her nearly naked body. It didn't take him long to get over that because she rushed down the steps, oblivious to anyone watching.

  “What're you doing? Where're you taking Joey?"

  The woman was panicked, and Booker put his gun on the seat of the four-wheeler and fended her off with a raised palm. “Whoa, now, lady, wait a minute. I just came out to hide the four-wheeler."

  “You didn't have to take Joey! Give him back, give him back now!"

  “All right, he's right here, take him.” Gladly he handed the infant over, watching her clutch the boy so tightly he let out a shrill complaint. “He was squirming around and I thought he'd roll off the bed. I didn't hurt him."

  Kate Reed didn't look as though she believed h
im, and he tried not to notice how short the damned towel was and how long and shapely her bare legs were. He averted his eyes but not before she'd noticed where he was looking and what he was interested in. Whirling, she ran back inside with the baby. He waited for her to slam the door and barricade it against him, surprised when she didn't.

  He wheeled the vehicle to the back and hid it in some bushes. Picking up the yellow plastic baby seat and the rest of the stuff he'd bought, he walked around to the front and peered up the road, hoping no one had witnessed their little public spectacle. He went back inside, not sure what to expect. She was in the bathroom with Joey, and he had a pretty good feeling she had the door locked good and tight. He put down the plastic grocery sacks, turned the lock and chained the front door. He waited a moment, then tapped a knuckle on the bathroom door.

  “I got you some clothes. If you want, I'll hand them in."

  Silence. Booker asked himself why he was doing this, going to all this trouble, buying the girl a damned wardrobe. He could have left anytime, before breakfast, after breakfast. Now. He could have left her unconscious at the bottom of the cliff and minded his own business. Damn it, she wasn't his problem and neither was the baby. He shook his head. He must be out of his mind to hang around and wait for a bullet to find him.

  The bolt rattled, and Kate cracked the door. He stuffed the sack of clothes through the narrow opening, and she grabbed them, shut the door in his face and shoved the bolt home. He shouldn't have gawked at her body like some sex-starved teenager; she was shaky enough. He retook the chair and stared out the window. He should get up and leave. Walk out. That's what he'd told her he was going to do, what he planned all along. She'd made it this far pretty much on her own, hadn't she? But she was hanging on by a strand of gossamer about now. Without his help she wouldn't stand a chance in hell to escape killers as professional as the ones out to get her. That's where the rub came in.

  Fifteen minutes passed before she came out of the bathroom. He thought it better not to look at her. She went over to the bed and sat down. He knew that when the bedsprings squeaked like mice in pain. He ignored her.

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Booker. I thought you'd taken Joey for the reward, and I just got frantic. I shouldn't have accused you the way I did."

  His eyes focused on the road through the pines, he hunched a shoulder. “You've been through a lot the last couple of days."

  Kate moved to the table, picked up the cup of milk, then returned to the bed. Afterward the room grew quiet except for the wind rattling the air conditioner. He thought it better to keep his mouth shut while he figured out what to do with them. He didn't come up with any plan that didn't spell disaster with a capital D, like in DEAD, all of them.

  “I gave Joey a bath,” she said at length, her voice little more than a whisper. “The sleeper fits him pretty well. There was pacifier with the bottle you bought, one shaped like a clown."

  Booker glanced at her, wondering why she found the need to share that little tidbit, and found her feeding Joey with the baby bottle he'd stuck in when he'd bought the clothes. He could remember Betsy curling up on their bed in just the same way, feeding their son, smiling down at him, not long before he left for Nicaragua the last time. An eternity ago. He forced the troubling vision from his mind and didn't say anything. In a little while he heard a belch come out of Joey that sounded more like a three-hundred-pound gorilla. Kate moved around on the bed some more, making metallic music as the bedsprings sang. Then it became completely quiet.

  Later when he stole another glance, Kate Reed was lying on her side, her right arm protectively around the baby, both sound asleep. She had on the navy blue sweats he'd bought her, the sweatshirt emblazoned across the front in big white letters with Jumbo's Famous Ozark Butterfly Biscuits—So Light They Just Float Away. He stared at them, thinking they both looked pretty little and defenseless, then clenched his jaw in quiet fury when he realized he couldn't bring himself to walk out on them the way he should. She wouldn't make it a mile up the highway before somebody recognized her. And the way her luck was running, it'd be the Russian assassins, or whoever the hell they were. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to do with her but he'd better come up with something fast.

  After about an hour on watch he decided that he didn't have too many choices. He'd have to go to his old buddy, Mac Sharp. Mac could be trusted and had ties to the police, if she decided to turn herself in. If anyone could get the girl a fair hearing, it'd be Mac. But they'd have to get to Branson first, and that wouldn't be easy. In any truck stop or restaurant along Highway 60, they'd stick out like a family of three in a singles bar.

  On the bed the girl and baby still slept like twin logs. For good reason. They'd been through hell and back. With people shooting at them along the route. Outside everything looked fine. Chances were no one knew where they were, at least not yet, and Jumbo was on the lookout for Kate's pursuers out front. He stood up and drew the drapes, plunging the room to near darkness. Picking up a straight chair and swiveling it around, he braced the back under the doorknob, picked up the sack he'd left on the table and walked into the bathroom. He shut the door quietly and propped the rifle in the corner.

  He hit the light switch, braced his palms on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. God, no wonder Kate Reed was afraid of him. He looked like a deranged hermit. His eyes narrowed and he realized that was pretty much true. His face was still smeared with dried mud he'd slathered on for concealment that first day when he'd become aware of Kate Reed's life-and-death flight through his woods. He'd kept an eye on her after that, more curious than anything, and thought she'd made it out safely when she took up with the boys who grew pot across the river.

  The guys chasing her hadn't seen him. The bastards in Special Ops had taught him too well. His mouth tightened. He took a deep breath. One thing was for damn certain, he couldn't wander around looking like Grizzly Adams without drawing attention to the girl. He had to clean himself up and look like an ordinary tourist headed for Branson and its theaters of country stars and twanging guitars. Everything in him rebelled against leaving the sanctuary of the woods, but the sense of honor he'd thought the army had killed off years ago kept pricking him to do the right thing. That, and his indebtedness to Pop Macon. There was another reason, too. Something about Kate Reed had gotten to him, big time, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

  Sighing, he reached into the bag and fished out the scissors and shaving supplies he'd bought in Jumbo's gift shop. He grasped a hunk of his filthy, unkempt beard and began to shear it off close to his chin.

  Kate came awake, groggy and disoriented. She couldn't remember where she was, only that it was completely dark, tensed up in fear, then relaxed considerably when she felt Joey twisting around on the bed beside her.

  “Shhh, sweetie,” she whispered when he fussed sleepily. She pushed up and looked around the dark room. It was very quiet. She supposed thick concrete walls did that. Booker was not at the table by the window, but she heard the faint sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom. He was not gone.

  Gathering Joey into her arms she tiptoed to the window and peeked outside. It was a sunny day, the sky bright blue with lots of clouds like shredded cotton. The wind was swaying the pine boughs shading the cabin. She sat down where she could see the road to the café and settled Joey in the crook of her arm. She put the bottle to his mouth and smiled as he sucked eagerly, his tiny fingers squeezing tightly around her thumb.

  She glanced at the bathroom door, ashamed of her earlier behavior. John Booker had done everything he could to help them, had put his life on the line, for God's sake. She wondered why but had a feeling she'd probably never find out. He'd go soon, and she had to get word to Gus to come get her. She hated to involve the old man, but she didn't have anywhere else to turn.

  Muffled sounds still emanated from the bathroom, running water, footsteps, creaking sounds in the pipes. The room had grown chilly, and she was gl
ad she had on the navy sweatsuit. She wrapped Joey's new blue blanket more tightly around him. After some time had passed, perhaps half an hour or more, she began to wonder what Booker was doing for so long in the bathroom. He didn't come off like a stickler for hygiene; there were probably cockleburs in his beard older than Joey.

  She felt like a new person after getting some rest, then wondered how long she'd slept. Now she felt as though she could go on by herself if she had to. She gazed down at Joey's sweet face, her heart warming at the way he never took his eyes off her. What if the adoption wasn't legal? What if someday somebody came and took him away? She couldn't bear it, couldn't stand to think about life without him.

  When the bathroom door opened, Kate glanced up. Her jaw dropped. She stared, couldn't help it. If not for his height and size, she wouldn't have recognized the man who emerged. Clean shaven, black hair cropped short, dressed in khakis and a dark green polo shirt left hanging out, he looked nothing like the man she'd met in the woods. She blinked, wondering if it was him, thinking he surely couldn't change his appearance that drastically in so short a time, but he stood there in front of her, a wadded-up bundle of camouflage clothes in one hand.

  “I decided to clean up,” he told her, a bit unnecessarily.

  Kate laughed, rather stupidly, she realized, cutting off abruptly, but her astonishment at his complete metamorphosis staggered her. “Good God, you look like Clark Kent."

  “Clark Kent?"

  Kate couldn't take her eyes off him. “Yeah, you know, Superman, Lois Lane, Jimmy."

  “From the comic books?"

  “Yeah, the man of steel who can leap tall buildings with a single bound, is faster than a speeding locomotive and all that stuff."

  “Too bad I'm not. Might come in handy hanging around you."

  “Yeah, tell me about it.” Kate actually smiled at his dry remark, somehow a lot more at ease now that he looked like a regular, everyday guy and not some woodsy psychopath.