Tularosa Moon

by Stacey Coverstone

  As soon as she thought it, Lindy dismissed the idea. Other people’s troubles were not her problem anymore. How long would it take for her to remember that?

  After the last of the guests had exited the house, Dalton approached her. She was stacking dirty dishes in the dishwasher while Luz filled the sink with water for washing pans.

  “Are you going to join us?” he asked, twisting his mustache between his fingers.

  “I don’t think so. Guns aren’t my thing,” Lindy answered.

  “But the other day you said you were interested in learning about cowboy mounted shooting. Here’s your chance.”

  The man had a good memory. She’d wanted to be polite that day, but hanging around guns was the last place she wanted to be.

  “Come on,” he urged. “It’s a lot of fun. After I give my demonstration, everyone can try their hand at shooting with a .45 caliber single action revolver, the same kind I use in competitions.”

  “Really,” she hedged. “Thanks, but guns are so loud.”

  “We have ear plugs,” Dalton said.

  “I just got on a horse for the first time. It wouldn’t be safe for me to try to shoot a gun from one. For me or the horse,” she joked.

  Dalton chuckled. “No one but me is going to be shooting from a horse, Lindy. Everyone will be safely standing on the ground when they shoot.”

  “Go on, Lindy,” Luz chimed in. “You have to know how to shoot a gun if you live on a ranch. Mrs. Roberts said she wants you to try everything, remember?”

  Lindy did remember, but Ella had no idea what kind of fear and anxiety guns triggered for her. Ella would never force her into doing something that was uncomfortable.

  “I think you’re running out of excuses,” Dalton smiled. “I promise. You won’t get hurt, and you’ll probably end up having a good time.”

  There seemed to be nothing more she could say. “Well, okay.” Lindy inhaled and felt her limbs already trembling. “I’ll meet you at the arena in a few minutes, after I brush my teeth and put on sunblock.”

  With a broad smile plastering his face, Dalton touched his finger to the brim of his hat and strutted out the door.

  “You just made his day,” Luz laughed. “He has a major crush on you, in case you didn’t know.”

  Dalton’s crush was the least of Lindy’s concerns right now. How would she fake the terror that was bound to overtake her once guns began blasting? As she climbed the stairs to her room, flashbacks of that horrible night invaded her mind.

  Five innocent men had died—gunned down in cold blood. Somehow, by the grace of God she’d escaped through the back door of the community building, but not without being shot in the arm first. At least the murderer had been caught. And as the State’s only witness, she’d helped put him behind bars for life.

  Despite being committed to the California State prison, Steven Neal, or Skin, as he was called, had continued to haunt her dreams and torment her soul. For three years she’d been on the run hiding from his gang. The day he’d been sentenced, the albino had turned and stared straight into her eyes. With a stone-cold voice that had chilled her to the bones, he’d promised to get even with her—to hunt her down, torture and kill her.

  His gang members had tried to make good on his promise twice. She still lived in fear that she’d eventually become Skin’s next victim.

  Thanks to Griffin, the U.S. Marshal who’d been assigned to her when she made the decision to enter the Witness Protection Program, she’d stayed safe. At the time of Skin’s trial, Griffin had provided twenty-four hour a day protection. But since Skin’s incarceration, she’d been on her own, except for weekly communication with Griffin. When the need arose, he found her a new job in a new town, and gave her another name and identity. But how long could this go on? How far could she run to escape Skin’s threats? And at what cost to her emotional wellbeing could she keep up this life of lies?

  On legs that felt like sponges, Lindy stumbled into her bathroom and splashed water on her face. To keep from hyperventilating, she hung her face over the basin and inhaled and exhaled slowly. Striving for calm, she dried her face and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

  “He will not control you. He will not control you. He will not control you.” She chanted the mantra over and over, and finally felt the strength returning to her body.

  “You can do this,” she said, closing the bedroom door and sliding her hand down the banister. Inside her mind, Lindy continued to intone her self-affirmations as she stepped outside and started down the hill toward the arena.

  “Hey, Lindy,” came a voice from behind her.

  Startled, she whirled and her hand flew to her throat. “Cole! I didn’t know anyone was out here.” Apparently, he’d come from the back yard.

  He took a few steps forward in the grass. “I’m sorry if I spooked you.”

  With her pulse pounding in her ears, she lowered her hand and gave him a weak smile. “That’s okay. We missed you at breakfast.”

  “I wanted to get an early start at building that arch. Jordan is coming tomorrow morning to check out the garden. I opted for the breakfast of champions this morning.” He held up the Styrofoam coffee cup clutched in his hand.

  “I’m giving her a massage at ten o’clock,” Lindy replied.

  “Don’t trade secrets about me,” he teased, which made her wonder just how close he and Jordan had been. “Do you want to see how far I’ve gotten on the arch?” he asked.

  “I would, but I’m supposed to be at the arena right now to watch Dalton do his cowboy mounted shooting. They might be waiting on me.”

  “Oh. Sure.” Cole’s face dropped in disappointment, but he shooed her on with a wave of his hand. “Have fun. Dalton is an expert in guns, and he’s a good teacher.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be shooting. I’ll probably stand back and watch everyone else.”

  “Are you afraid of guns?”

  The air whooshed out of her lungs. Could he read her mind? Or did her face show her apprehension?

  Before she could answer, he said, “All women should know how to use a weapon, for protection. Even Mom has a shotgun under her bed, and she’s not afraid to use it.”

  That didn’t surprise Lindy. “I’ve done fine without a gun in my life.”

  “You might change your tune after living in New Mexico a while. There are a lot of isolated stretches of road, and you never know who, or what, you might run across.”

  “If you’re trying to frighten me, I’m not that easily scared,” she said with more false bravado than truth. In fact, Cole had seen her afraid more than once.

  “I’m not—”

  “Bye, Cole,” she interjected, cutting him off. “I have to go. Have a nice day.” She started down the hill.

  There was no point in standing around talking about everything except what had happened between them last night. If he wanted to pretend their kisses had never taken place, she would, too. It would be easier that way, for both of them.

  Seventeen

  Lindy covered her ears, but watched in awe as Dalton galloped his horse up one side of the arena shooting at and hitting five red balloons attached to the tops of metal poles. He then holstered his gun while riding to the far end of the arena. After drawing a second gun, he ran his horse down the row straight toward the finish line while shooting at and popping five white balloons.

  After receiving a round of applause, he holstered the second gun, jumped off his horse, handed the reins to T.J., and explained to the group, “In competition, riders are scored on time and accuracy. There’s a five second penalty for each missed balloon, a five second penalty for dropping a gun, a ten second penalty for not running the course correctly, and a sixty second penalty for falling off your horse.”

  That got a big laugh.

  “Speed is important,” he continued, “but accuracy is more important. Live rounds are prohibited at competitions. The cartridges we fire are called .45 caliber Long Colts. The cartridge is loaded with
black powder, the same as what was used in the eighteen hundreds.”

  “Do you wear your hat when you compete?” Pam asked.

  “Yes. There are clothing requirements. Competitors are required to dress western. We can dress either in traditional style or in the old time style of the late eighteen hundreds. Either style includes chaps, western boots and a cowboy hat.”

  Hunter spoke up. “Are there any horse requirements, like breed?”

  Lindy saw the interest shining in Hunter’s eyes and was pleased. As for herself, she didn’t feel as frightened as she’d thought she would and was, in fact, enjoying the presentation.

  “No,” Dalton answered. “Any horse or mule can be used. Some take to the sport easily while others do not. It’s up to a horse’s temperament and how well it’s able to be trained to get used to shooting, turning and going fast. My horse is a natural. We make a good pair.” Dalton glanced at Lindy and winked before leading the group to a row of balloons set up at the end of the arena. “Now it’s your turn to try some stationary shooting. Who wants to go first?”

  “I will.”

  Lindy smiled when Hunter raised his hand and stepped forward. After a few moments of instruction, he took aim with a single action revolver and began walking down the line. When he hit eight out of ten of the balloons on his first attempt, he was deservedly rewarded with a flurry of applause and cheers. His father slapped him on the back the way men do, and a couple of the women hugged him.

  “Way to go,” Lindy said, shaking his hand. “All you need is a hat and a horse under you, and I believe Dalton would have a run for his money.”

  With that comment, Hunter’s face broke into a grin, and Lindy’s heart beat with pride.

  “Thanks, Lindy,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I guess it’s pretty fun.”

  From that point on, everyone was anxious to try. Sandy and T.J. assisted Dalton in making sure everyone took as many turns as they wanted, were safe and had fun.

  Lindy leaned against the fence watching. Suddenly, Dalton was next to her tugging on her elbow. “Your turn, lady.”

  “I’m fine right here. Let the guests enjoy themselves.”

  “Come on,” he urged. “You promised.”

  “I promised to watch you do your thing, but I didn’t say I’d actually shoot a gun.”

  As he pulled on her arm, her temperature started to rise, but she forced a smile to her face. “I don’t want to shoot. It’s not for me.”

  “Lindy…” Dalton stuck out his lip in a fake pout.

  “The lady said she doesn’t want to shoot,” came a voice that was familiar. Only it held an edge. Lindy turned around and felt her shoulders sag with relief. Cole had come to her rescue again. He pierced Dalton with a steady gaze meant to send a message. Apparently the message was received, because Dalton released Lindy’s arm and backed up.

  “Didn’t mean to pressure you,” he said, apologizing to her. “Just thought you’d have fun if you tried.”

  “It’s okay,” she assured. “Maybe another time.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Cole.” Dalton nodded and left them to return to the group with his back hunched.

  “Isn’t that cowpoke ever going to give up and leave you alone?” Cole said, smiling. “Or am I going to have to shoot him?”

  Lindy knew he meant it as a joke, but the thought of killing, even in a teasing way, turned her blood to ice. Her face must have shown her unease, because Cole’s smile faded and he gently touched her arm.

  “Are you okay, Lindy? It was just a joke. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you again.”

  He was sorry to have upset her again. The words assaulted her ears. She stared at him and realized that he probably thought she was hypersensitive about so many things. His body language communicated his sudden discomfort. If she kept it up, he’d think she was a stuck-up prude who wouldn’t know a joke if it smacked her in the face. She was sure he already wondered why she was so touchy.

  “I’m fine, and you haven’t upset me at all,” she said, overcompensating by smiling broadly and then changing the subject. “Are you finished with the arch?”

  “Not quite. I need something from Lowe’s and wondered if you’d like to get off the ranch for an hour or so. You can ride along with me to town, if you have nothing else pressing.”

  A sense of relief spread through her body. “I’d love to go with you, but I have two massages scheduled for this afternoon, at one o’clock and two-thirty.”

  “I’ll have you back in plenty of time. Do you need anything from the house? Or are you ready to go as you are?”

  “I don’t have my purse with me, but I guess I don’t need money for anything. Do I?”

  He shook his head.

  “Let me tell the boys I’m leaving.” After she spoke to Sandy, Lindy caught up to Cole and they walked to his truck together. “I should run inside and tell Ella I’m going to town with you.”

  “She knows.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Evidently, he’d been confident she’d accept his invitation.

  As soon as they were in the truck and he was driving down the gravel road, he said, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Why, Cole?”

  “You must know why.” He glanced at her while going through the gate and turning onto the hard road. His eyes looked as soft as a puppy dog’s. “I regret the way our evening ended last night.”

  “Don’t. Life is too short for regrets.”

  “It’s something I’m well aware of, having lost Dad recently.”

  “Then please don’t be sorry, and don’t feel bad,” she said, feeling her pulse accelerate. “Let’s move on from here. It’s a brand new day. Why don’t we erase the past and start over together? I haven’t been myself the past few days. I’d like very much for you to get to know the real me. Are you interested?”

  Lindy held her breath, praying he could sense how important this was for her. She liked him and cared about him, and she didn’t want to keep living her life afraid of getting close to people.

  “If you haven’t been the real you all this time, then who have you been? A Lindy Grainger imposter?” he asked, sliding a grin her way.

  If only he knew the truth, she thought.

  Cole reached for her hand and grasped it. When he told her he’d be happy for them to start over, Lindy released the breath she’d been holding and squeezed his hand, feeling warmth flow through her.

  ****

  As they strolled through the store picking up the few items he needed, it was the first time since they’d met that Cole felt Lindy was completely at ease. Her smile was open, her laugh was genuine, and her entire demeanor appeared more relaxed. It was almost as if she’d been reborn. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he decided to lay aside any concerns about her he’d been having and concentrate on simply enjoying her company today.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting Jordan tomorrow,” Lindy said, after Cole had paid for his purchases and they stepped through the automatic doors. Immediately, the humidity hit him like a wall.

  “I bet you are,” he chuckled. His head swung to the left when he heard a commotion next to the barbecue grills.

  Two skinny Caucasian males advanced on a Mexican man, shoving him against the wall. “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” one of the men growled. “I asked you what you were looking at.”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t looking at nothing. Get off me,” the Hispanic said, shielding his face as if he knew he was about to be punched.

  “Shut up, Jose.”

  “My name’s not Jose.”

  “It is if I say it is,” threatened the man.

  Cole gazed around, not surprised to see several male customers walk past the men, looking, but doing nothing to stop the bullying. He thrust the bag he carried into Lindy’s hand. “Stay here.”

  “I don’t want any fight,” the Hispanic man said, trying to wriggle around the Caucasian.

  “Well, maybe my buddy and I do.” He retracted his arm and Cole stepped
up behind him and grabbed it.

  “Hold on, partner,” Cole drawled, swinging the man around. “You need to go about your business and leave this man alone. From what I can tell, he’s not bothering you.”

  “Why don’t you stay out of it?” the other man said, narrowing his eyes and spitting tobacco juice on the sidewalk.

  Cole smiled and drew a deep breath into his lungs. “I can’t stay out of it.”

  “Why’s that?” the first man asked.

  “Because my knuckles get real itchy every time I run across a couple of redneck fools like you two. And I just can’t help myself.” He balled his fist, feeling the adrenaline pulse through his veins. His wary gaze darted between the two white men, ready for an attack.

  When the bullies turned away from the Mexican man and focused all their attention on Cole, the Hispanic slipped away and made a dash across the parking lot.

  “You really think you can whip both of us?” one of them said, chuckling, while taking a fighter’s stance and cracking his knuckles.

  “He could probably beat you with one hand tied behind his back. But I guarantee you two pipsqueaks don’t want to take us both on.”

  There was no need for Cole to turn around. He recognized Wyatt Brannigan’s baritone drawl behind him.

  “You’re an old man,” one of the bullies said, shifting his gaze to Wyatt and laughing. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

  Wyatt sidled next to Cole and motioned the man forward. His eyes flashed with cockiness. “You’ll never know unless you try. Will ya?”

  “That’s enough,” shouted a fat bald man barging through the door with two large teenage boys trailing behind him. Cole recognized him as the manager. “Break it up or I’ll call the cops,” he said, glancing between Cole and Wyatt and then pinning his heated gaze to the men who had started the trouble. “Go on and leave,” he told them. “We don’t need business from the likes of you.” When they hesitated, he shouted, “Now!” and took out his cell phone and began to punch in numbers.