by Douglas Hirt
“I know. I was lucky it was you I found on that cold mountain and not some other type of man.”
Another type of man? I wondered about that. We both looked over at the sound of footsteps. Sherri stopped just inside the door and stared at Frank and Marcie, suddenly wary. They had apparently impressed upon her their importance—at least their opinion of their importance. I knew the routine; employ a low, even voice and stare with hard, unblinking eyes. Intimidate them with terse, military phrases like scenario and deploy and measured retaliation. Wow the natives with BS and they’ll do your bidding like a trained dog. Well, it seemed they had used the tactic on Sherri and she was properly terrified, or was she merely appalled with it all. I felt sorry for her, and I understood a little of her distrust for a system that sired the likes of Frank and Marcie...and me.
She didn’t look at me, her view fixed upon Frank like a serving girl waiting to be summoned into the presence of the king. Frank gave his permission in the form of a pleasant smile. Well, why shouldn’t he smile? Sherri looked lovely standing there all freshly attired and coifed. “Do come in, Miss Lane,” he said beckoned her to enter, showing her his magnanimous side. The gods can be gracious as well as demanding. Sherri was properly awed. Frank might have tried the routine on me too, if he thought for one second it would have worked.
She ventured into the room a little uncertain, and said quickly, “I came to see Paul, but I can come back later if...”
I said, “Come in and join the party. We were just passing the time of day, and by the way, what time is it?”
Sherri was staring at me with that same taunt, wariness she’d given Frank and Marcie, and that bothered me. I was one of them now, no longer the safe, sometimes funny schoolteacher with a penchant for luring innocent fish to their doom. I’d killed a man; cut his throat as emotionlessly as gutting a trout. I was not the same Paul Granger to her—maybe I wasn’t the same Paul Granger to myself either, but I’d learn to live with it. Sherri glanced at the Lady Rolex that daddy presented to her on her twenty-first birthday. “It’s four thirty, Paul, err, a few minutes after.”
“Thanks,” I said. What I wanted to say was that I hadn’t changed, not really...but that would have been a lie.
Frank sensed the tension. He drew in a short breath and said, “I need to be going. Miss Lane, it was nice to have met you. Take care of Paul. He’s a good man.”
She smiled with effort and took his outstretched hand.
Marcie said, “I’ve got to get going too. Reports to write, loose ends to tie up. I’ll see you later.” I knew she wouldn’t. When she walked out the door of my hospital room, she walked out of my life forever. We’d come together by chance and now it was time to part. Marcie knew as well as I that outside relationships were dangerous luxuries for a woman in her position. Where she lived was a lonely place. I recalled that aspect of international intrigue vividly, with no regrets for having left it. When you’re safe and warm and socially accepted you tend to forget the loneliness of never being able to fully trust another person; the terrible emptiness of never bringing another person into your life for fear of jeopardizing their life.
I looked at Sherri, her small hands clutching a white, knitted handbag, concerned eyes peering down at me, and I knew why I’d turned down Frank’s offer. And I was happy.
“How’s Brian?” I asked.
“They removed the bullet last night. Doctor Phelps says he’ll be good as new.” She paused as if not knowing how to continue. “Your doctor says you’ll be fine too. I’m glad.”
I grinned my usual disarming grin to put her at ease—maybe I was trying to put myself at ease also. “I’m glad too. Turn around.”
“What?”
I made the motion with my finger. She complied uncertainly and said, “Well?”
“You’ve been shopping.”
“Everything I had was just ruined. I looked gruesome. Thank goodness we were able to recover my purse and my American Express Card. Breckenridge has some very nice shops.”
I smiled. “Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t in desperation bought a pair of jeans that didn’t have a designer name and fancy stitching across the back pocket.”
“I buy them because they fit me well,” she protested.
“Of course. And they do—fit you well, that is.”
“You’re teasing again.” she fitted a playful pout to her carefully Morning Frosted lips. It was a better shade of color, I decided, than Deadly Rose.
She was the same Sherri Lane and for some reason now that pleased me. I discovered I was a bit startled at the implications. It was nice to know that some things just never change.
END
Get your FREE copy of The Target H
Join the Wolfpack Publishing mailing list for information on new releases, updates, discount offers and your FREE eBook copy of The Target H.
Thank you for taking the time to read A Deadly Shade of Rose. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author's best friend and much appreciated. Thank you.
Douglas Hirt
A Look at: The Best of Douglas Hirt
SPUR AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, DOUGLAS HIRT, TAKES YOU THROUGH AMERICA’S WILD WEST IN THIS CAN’T PUT IT DOWN BOXSET.
Captain Ethan Brandish has finally given up his command of Fort Lowell, deep in the Apache territory of Arizona. He knows there has to be more to life than constantly battling rattlesnakes and renegades, and now he's going to find out what life has to offer. But the vicious Apache leader Yellow Shirt has another fate in store for Brandish…
Follow along in these intoxicating stories of love, outlaws, passion, crime and above all else, justice…
The Best of Douglas Hirt includes: Brandish, Ketcham's Land, The Ordeal of Andy Dean, Devil’s Wind, Able Gate and A good Town.
AVAILABLE NOW
About Douglas Hirt
Douglas Hirt was born in Illinois, but heeding Horace Greeley’s admonition to “Go west, young man,” he headed to New Mexico at eighteen. Doug earned a Bachelor’s degree from the College of Santa Fe and a Masters of Science degree from Eastern New Mexico University. During this time, he spent several summers living in a tent in the desert near Carlsbad, New Mexico, conducting biological baseline surveys for the Department of Energy.
Doug drew heavily from this “desert life” when writing his first novel, Devil’s Wind. In 1991 Doug’s novel, A Passage of Seasons, won the Colorado Authors’ League Top Hand Award. His 1998 book, Brandish, and 1999 Deadwood, were finalists for the SPUR award given by the Western Writers of America.
A short story writer, and the author of twenty-nine novels and one book of nonfiction, Doug now makes his home in Colorado Springs with his wife Kathy and their two children, Rebecca and Derick. When not writing or traveling to research his novels, Doug enjoys collecting and restoring old English sports cars.
