Starks' Reality

by Sarah Storme

  Casey Johnson backed to the front door, fumbled with the doorknob, and then backed outside. Heather followed him to the porch.

  “Now get in your truck and get the hell—”

  Someone grabbed her and spun her in a circle. When she stopped, an arm had locked around her neck and a man stood behind her. He pressed the shotgun barrels against her skull.

  “What’s the matter, bro? This little girl get the drop on you?”

  Heather cringed at Lou’s foul breath in her face. He walked down the steps, carrying her in front of him.

  Casey laughed and shook his head. “She ain’t got it no more.”

  Lou tightened his arm over her windpipe. Heather clawed at it, trying to breathe. She tried to kick Lou’s legs, but couldn’t connect.

  “I think we got us a real good piece of bait,” Lou said.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you want to do first, torch the place, or have a little fun?” Lou pushed his face to hers.

  If she could have screamed, she would have, but she couldn’t get any air.

  “Let’s have us some fun first,” Casey said, stepping forward.

  A distinctive series of clicks rose from the shadows past the porch, accompanied by a voice. “Freeze.”

  Lou and Casey stopped and turned.

  “Who’s there?” Lou asked.

  “Police.” Starks stepped out from the shadows, his eyes narrowed, holding his gun in both hands. “Let go of her.”

  Lou pulled Heather up closer. “Now, ain’t this a kick? I think you better drop your gun, or I’m gonna blow her pretty little head off.”

  “You’ve got three seconds before I put a thirty-eight slug right between your eyes,” he said, his voice calm and cold. “Then I’m going to do the same to your brother. One…two…”

  “Wait!” Casey held both hands out. “Lou, he’s gonna shoot.”

  “Listen to him, Lou. You’re first, and he’s second. And if you happen to hurt your hostage, I’m going to shoot off your nuts instead. You’ll wish like hell you were dead.” Starks stepped forward. “Three.”

  “No! Don’t shoot!” Lou released Heather and stepped back.

  She fell forward to her knees, gasping for air.

  “Put the shotgun down,” Starks said. “Now!”

  Heather looked up. He stood in front of her, his left hand extended. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet and around behind him as he walked toward the Johnson boys.

  “Hands on the truck, feet apart.”

  She watched as he shoved each man forward and kicked their feet into place.

  “Heather, are you okay?” He didn’t look back as he spoke, but kept his pistol pointed at the men.

  “I think so.”

  “Call nine-one-one.”

  ~~**~~**~~

  “I sure wish I’d seen that,” Deputy Sagin said, shaking his head slowly. The man removed his hat, revealing a head full of prematurely gray hair. “Those Johnson boys have caused their share of trouble and then some. We just haven’t been able to pin anything solid on them.”

  “Well, you’ve got assault now,” Jake said, leaning against the deputy’s car.

  “Looks that way. Is Miss Cooper okay?”

  Jake nodded. “I think so. I’ll get her statement to you tomorrow with mine, if that’s all right.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” He stepped forward and shook hands with the officer.

  The two cars pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway with Lou and Casey Johnson cuffed in the back seats. Jake walked slowly up the steps and into Coop’s Place.

  Heather stood behind the bar, cleaning something. She didn’t look up, but wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  He sat across the bar from her. “Tell me what happened.”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I was locking up when Casey came in. I told him we were closed. He said he wanted a beer anyway, so I poured him one and threw it on him. That gave me time to get the shotgun.”

  Jake picked up the shotgun. “I haven’t measured this yet, but I’m pretty sure these barrels are less than eighteen inches.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s illegal. Where did you get it?”

  Heather frowned. “It’s been under the bar for years.”

  “It belongs to Coop?”

  She shrugged. “He owns the bar, but he never touches the shotgun. He hates guns.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve cleaned this?”

  “Cleaned it? What do you mean?”

  Jake put the shotgun down and shook his head. “What in the hell were you doing pulling a weapon you had no idea how to use?” Anger drove him to his feet.

  “I know how to pull the triggers.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “You think so? Do you have any idea what would have happened if I hadn’t been out there?”

  “Of course I do,” she said, raising her voice. “Don’t you think I know? What do you want me to do?” Tears ran down her cheeks and she visibly shook.

  Jake took a deep breath. He wanted to reach across the bar, grab Heather’s arms, and shake some sense into her. “I’ll be back,” he mumbled, as he turned and marched to the men’s room.

  Inside, he slapped the wall, then leaned over the sink and stared into the mirror. Adrenalin still pumped through his veins. When Lou put the shotgun to Heather’s head, Jake had seen red. It had taken every bit of willpower he’d had not to shoot Lou Johnson even after Heather was safe.

  After Jake washed his hands and dried them, he wadded the paper towel and zinged it at the trashcan.

  ~~**~~**~~

  Heather wiped her eyes on the dishtowel. Damn Starks. She knew she’d nearly died out there, and that he’d rescued her. She didn’t need a scolding on top of it.

  He returned from the restroom looking a little calmer. He didn’t stop at the stool, but walked around to the end of the bar and leaned against it, studying her severely.

  “You scared the crap out of me,” he said.

  He’d been scared? “It certainly wasn’t on purpose.”

  Starks sighed. “No, I guess it wasn’t. What were you doing here alone?”

  “I was closing up.”

  “You close up alone?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Christ, Heather, don’t you understand how dangerous that is?”

  She raised her arms and dropped them, slapping them against her thighs. “Obviously, I know now. Just stop…chewing me…out.” She gulped at sobs and wiped tears from her face, refusing to give in to the desire to collapse in a bawling heap.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again and stepped forward. “Heather.”

  Somehow, the sudden softness in his voice hastened a new flood of tears. She wiped a counter she couldn’t actually see. “Please, just leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  He stood too close, confusing her.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she fell into his arms, clung to his shoulders, and pressed her face to his chest. He held her without a word or a sound, his body trembling slightly under taut muscles.

  When she regained a measure of control, he stepped back. “I’ll walk you home,” he said, picking up the shotgun as they passed the bar.

  They didn’t speak as he followed her down the path to her house. At the steps, she stopped and looked back.

  Something had changed. With the iciness in his eyes gone, he looked at her as if he really cared. She wanted to say something, but she had no idea what.

  “Good night,” he said, his voice warm in the cool darkness. Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

  ~~**~~**~~

  Jake wound his way through his house, leaving the sawed-off shotgun on the table and his service revolver on the dresser. His body still shook as he tried not to picture what would have happened if he hadn’t been at Coop’s at the right moment.

  Sometime after midnigh
t, he’d given up reading and gone for a walk. His walk hadn’t been aimless; he had wanted to see Heather. He’d wanted to fill his head with her movements so he could carry her back to his dreams. He had just turned toward home when the Johnsons pulled up.

  Lou had worried him, so Jake had positioned himself to keep an eye on the man. When Heather emerged from the front door carrying the shotgun, his heart had risen into his throat. He had known Lou would grab her and had been too far away to prevent it.

  Jake sighed and turned on the shower. He needed to quit thinking about it, and about her.

  God, she felt incredible in his arms, even when she was crying. What the hell was he going to do now? His defenses had crumbled; she knew he cared.

  ~~**~~**~~

  Heather lay in her bed, listening to the night. Crickets chirped under the house, and wind whistled through open windows.

  The memory of Jake’s arms warmed her from the inside out.

  She understood why Lou had backed off. Jake’s eyes had been cold and ruthless as he pointed the gun at them. She knew he would hit Lou, and that he wouldn’t miss, but the sight of a gun barrel aimed in her direction was something she’d never shake.

  She had no doubt now that he’d pulled the trigger before.

  Heather frowned at the sound of someone climbing the outside stairs. The door opened and closed. Unsteady footsteps crossed the kitchen and followed the hall. Bedsprings protested as Coop fell into bed.

  She glanced at the clock. Three-eighteen? She’d thought Coop was already in bed, and in all the excitement, she’d forgotten to check on him when she came in. He must have passed out somewhere. Thank God he’d made it home safely.

  Scolding herself, Heather turned onto her side and squished the pillow into a ball under her head. At the moment, she needed sleep. She’d decide what to do about Jake later.

  She smiled into the pillow when she realized she’d started calling Starks by his first name when she thought of him.

  “Jake,” she whispered.

  The name suited him and caused her belly to tingle as it had when he’d seduced her the night before. What would he do next time they were together, now that the wall between them had crumbled? Or would he rebuild it before he appeared again?

  ~~**~~**~~

  The morning slipped away before Jake finished the report. After it printed, he would proof it, take it over to Coop’s for Heather’s signature, and then he’d deliver it to the sheriff’s office. He saved the file, hit print, and turned his attention to papers on his desk.

  It took three tries to get through the page on top of the stack—an accident report, written too precisely.

  Jake frowned as he carried the report into the main office. It was dated Tuesday at four-thirty, and had been signed by Kenny.

  “Helen?”

  “Yes, Chief?”

  “Why did Kenny take this call?”

  She took the paper from him, put on her half-moon glasses to study it, and then handed it back as she dropped the glasses to her chest where a silver chain held them in place. “I tried to reach Red on the radio, but didn’t get him. You’d just left, and Kenny was on call. So, I called him.”

  “When did Red clock out?”

  “I don’t know. I left at five.”

  He nodded. “When Red comes in, tell him I want to see him.”

  “Sure, Chief.”

  Jake didn’t relish the thought of firing Red, but couldn’t deny that the deck was quickly stacking against the man. Returning to his desk, he thumbed through the rest of the pile of wanted posters and newsletters. Then he took the report off the printer, checked it over, and tucked it into a folder.

  “Helen, I’ll be back in an hour or two.” He grabbed his hat at the door. “I have to run this report up to the sheriff.”

  “You want me to just fax it over?” she asked.

  “No, I want to meet with him.”

  The woman nodded.

  “I’ll talk to Red this afternoon,” he said.

  “Yes, Chief.”

  The air had warmed since the day before, but clouds gathering on the horizon promised rain. Jake sniffed the ozone-laden air and smiled as he slid behind the wheel of the squad car. He liked rain.

  He didn’t really expect to find Heather at the bar, but decided to check there first anyway. To his surprise, she stood on the porch, leaning against a post, watching the sky. She straightened as he drove into the parking lot. Her eyes glistened with anticipation to match his own. Maybe he should blow off the report until after he’d hauled her off to bed.

  No, that wasn’t what he should do. If was, however, what he wanted to do. He stepped out of the car.

  “Hi,” she said.

  After glancing around to make sure they were alone, he climbed the stairs and stopped in front of her. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He studied her face, lingering on her tempting lips.

  Her cheeks turned red. Damn, she was cute when she blushed.

  “Look,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  He handed her the folder. “You’re supposed to read this and sign it, if you agree.”

  She frowned at the folder. “I’m not talking about—”

  Jake reached out and lifted her chin. She looked at him with wide eyes. “I know what you’re talking about,” he said, softly. “Maybe you should come over to my place tonight after you close and we should discuss it.”

  She stared at him for a moment before she nodded.

  He winked at her, which made her blush again.

  “Now, let’s go inside so you can look at this statement.”

  He followed her into the bar and sat on a stool as she perched on the one beside him. She opened the folder and read the report closely.

  “Will this go to court?” she asked.

  “Unless they plea out.”

  She nodded.

  Jake handed her the pen from his shirt pocket and Heather signed the bottom of the page. She closed the folder and gave it back to him.

  “What are you doing over here so early?” he asked.

  “Coop was out late. I thought I’d let him sleep.”

  He returned the pen to his pocket.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “I’m taking the report to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Will you be back for lunch?”

  “Depends on what you’re serving.”

  She shrugged. “BLT’s and burgers.”

  “That’s it, huh?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  “Too bad.” He leaned over and stole a quick kiss, enjoying the feel of her warm lips against his. “I was hoping for something more personal.”

  She laughed.

  Nearly intoxicated with anticipation, Jake climbed back into the car and turned on the FM radio as he headed out. He located a rock station out of Corpus and cranked it up. With his arm resting on the windowsill, he turned north on the highway.

  Before the night ended, he’d have Heather in his arms again. This time, he’d do a lot more than frisk her. Maybe he should pick up a bottle of wine. One glass wouldn’t hurt.

  Jake smacked the steering wheel. He hadn’t thought about protection. He’d have to stop at a drugstore somewhere.

  But it wouldn’t look good if he stopped in the squad car to pick up condoms. He’d wait until after he got home. Then again, he wasn’t about to buy condoms in the drug store in Port Boyer. Word would be all over town in no time.

  Damn.

  Twisting in the seat, Jake felt his front pocket and found it full of change. If he located a machine in a restroom somewhere, he’d buy what he could.

  He shook his head and laughed. What a crazy way to start a date.

  Or whatever the hell it was.

  ~~**~~**~~

  Heather turned her head to one side and then the other, checking her reflection for zits. Thankfully, she didn’t see any. She pushed bac
k loose strands of hair and tucked them behind her ears. Then she held her hands out and found them both shaking.

  She shook her head in disgust and left the restroom. How would she possibly make it through the entire day in this condition?

  “He’s just a man,” she said quietly.

  But saying it didn’t make it so. No matter what she told herself, he was much more. He was the sexiest human being she’d ever met. The sight of him made her knees weak. And he radiated strength. When he stood close and looked into her eyes, she wanted to pull a Scarlet O’Hara and swoon.

  Of course, she wouldn’t. If he wanted her, he’d have to accept the fact that she wasn’t a wimp. At least, most of the time.

  The back door slammed and Heather peeked around the corner. Coop walked in, cringing and stepping gingerly.

  “Are you all right?” Heather asked.

  “My head,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  She pulled a bottle of aspirin out from under the counter, shook out two, and filled a glass with water. “Serves you right,” she said. “Coop, you’re going to get seriously hurt someday.”

  He took the aspirin from her, swallowed them, and chased them down with water. Then he handed the glass back.

  “Ooh,” he groaned, lifting his fingers to the back of his head. “I think I hit something.”

  Heather pulled his hand away and examined a crusted lump on his scalp at the base of his skull. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I was out at the dock, looking around—”

  “Looking around?”

  “Well, having a drink or two and looking around. I remember sitting down to enjoy the view, then I don’t remember anything else. I woke up and it was the middle of the night.”

  “Jeez, Coop, come over here where I can see and let me check this.”

  The thought of him passing out and hitting his head while on the dock terrified her. He could have fallen into the water and drowned. What would she have done then?

  ~~**~~**~~

  Sheriff Evans, a slender man about five-nine, with short, graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, wore a neatly pressed uniform that matched his immaculate desk. He reminded Jake of Kenny, but with self-confidence and authority.

  “Nice to meet you,” Evans said, shaking Jake’s hand and motioning toward a chair.