Shot Through the Heart (Crimson Romance)

by D'Ann Lindun

  Pouring a cup of coffee from his thermos, he sipped. What the hell kind of freak show had he stumbled into? He thought of the dead girl in the pond. Had this girl jumped, too? Did they have some crazy suicide pact?

  She moaned a little and he touched her cheek. Frozen colder than a wintertime pond. Hypothermia. The sleeping bag wasn’t enough. He had to warm her up or she could die. She’d survived a fall from a mountain; he couldn’t sit by and watch her leave this earth without doing all he could to prevent it.

  With reluctance he didn’t want to examine, he undressed down to his undershorts and slid in the sleeping bag with her. Gathering her in his arms, he tried not to acknowledge how well her curves fit him and concentrated instead on how her body felt like the inside of a refrigerator.

  “Hang in there, sweet lady,” he whispered against her hair. “Nothing’s so bad you can’t endure it.”

  Chapter Three

  Laramie’s eyes flew open.

  Completely dark. Inside a structure of some kind. A coffin? Her own bed? Her fingers curled around slick fabric instead of her familiar cotton comforter. A sleeping bag. The wind blew, and rain pelted nylon walls. She was inside a tent. Safe. Warm. No, just having a terrible nightmare. She drew in a deep breath. She was okay, if a little stiff. Struggling to sit up, she bumped into something solid. A rock? How had she ended up on a boulder?

  Hair tickled the back of her legs and a heavy weight pinned her down.

  A man.

  Lawrence?

  Her pulse jumped into overdrive.

  She had to get to Julie. Keep her safe.

  Moving hurt, every cell screamed, but quiet as a drifting cloud she fumbled for the zipper. Finding it, she let it down, the sound like a freight train racing through the night. A gust of rain-chilled air hit her in the face, and she gasped. A hand circled her waist, and she cried out, kicking like an Arkansas mule. Strong arms circled her from behind, pulling her back against a strong chest. Kicking and hitting, Laramie fought for her life.

  “Hold still. You’re safe,” a deep voice rumbled in her ear.

  “I’ve got to help Julie,” she cried.

  His arms tightened around her. “She’s gone. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Oh, God. Julie was dead. Lawrence killed her in the barn. Thank God she died before she was thrown like a sack of garbage into a pit. Stunned, Laramie collapsed against the stranger. Her heart beat erratically as her memories began to surface. She bit her fist until she tasted blood to keep from crying out.

  “That’s better.”

  Drifting in and out of consciousness, she wasn’t sure the good-looking man with kind eyes hadn’t been an illusion. An image brought on by fear and cold. The last thing she remembered was being pulled up the mountain toward him.

  “Who are you?” Her voice sounded raw to her own ears.

  Letting go of her, he rolled out of the sleeping bag. Illuminated by firelight, a very big, nearly naked, man knelt beside her. Broad shoulders, hairy chest, massive thighs. She swallowed. Next to him stood a mean-looking Red Heeler. “Derrick Garrison.”

  She realized she wore only a tee shirt three sizes too big. Where the hell were her clothes? Why was he wearing only undershorts? His name rang a bell, but she couldn’t place him. Not surprising considering the ordeal she’d been through. She was lucky to remember her own name at this point. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Right there.” He pointed toward his saddle where her things hung over it drying. “You passed out in the rain. You were close to hypothermia.”

  “Oh.” She knew how to warm up hypothermia victims. He’d held her almost nude body against his until her temperature rose. She blushed. “I need to get out of here. I have to tell Mom and Dad — ”

  “Not tonight.”

  A renewed icy chill raced over her skin. He stood between her and the door, but maybe she could duck under the edge of the canvas. She made a move that way and he circled her wrist with a calloused palm. “It’s raining. You’re wet and cold. In no condition to ride out of the mountains.”

  “Can you take me to Santa Anita police department?” Silence filled the tent for half a heartbeat.

  He released her. “First thing in the morning.”

  She blinked back a hot rush of tears. “Thank you.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” His voice sounded gentle, calm.

  She couldn’t talk about it. Not right now. Although this man seemed nice enough, giving her shelter from the storm, who really knew what he was like? Would he believe a cop had gone off the deep end? If she hadn’t experienced her brother’s mania firsthand, even she would have trouble believing everything that had happened. And who would believe he had thrown her and Julie from a cliff?

  While she debated he asked, “Do you remember your name or where you came from?”

  “Laramie Porter. From Cliffside.”

  “Any relation to Lawrence Porter from over there?”

  Lawrence was dead to her. “No.”

  “Helluva guy.”

  She couldn’t speak. Just as she feared, he knew Lawrence and thought he was great. Instead of responding, she asked in a small voice, “You found Julie?” She read the answer on his face before he gave a small nod. Laramie didn’t think she had any tears left, but a new rush of emotion gripped her and she doubled over, wrapping her arms around herself as sobs wracked her body. “Oh, God.”

  “Hey, there.” Moving aside the sleeping bag, he slid her carefully onto his lap, the hairs on his legs tickling the backs of her bare thighs. He cuddled her against his broad, warm chest as her tears flowed. As if she were a kitten, he stroked her hair. But he didn’t speak or try to fill the silence with empty condolences.

  Eventually the tears stopped, and Laramie managed to ask, “Where did you find her?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. “In a pond.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. The horror was just too much. Laramie feared she might snap if too much more were thrown at her. Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Maybe she could block it all out if she tried hard enough.

  • • •

  For a long time they sat in silence until Derrick became certain she slept. Poor little thing. The look in her light brown eyes frightened him. He figured she was one trauma away from the loony bin. Although he had wanted to quiz her about what had happened, he’d been afraid to press her too hard. There’d be time for answers later. Right now, he was grateful the girl survived. She, too, could easily be lying under his slicker out in the rain with her friend.

  Moving carefully, not wanting to wake her, Derrick placed her back in his sleeping bag and slipped in with her, tucking the covers around them. She seemed to breathe a bit easier in his arms. When she woke again, he wanted to be close to comfort her. He gathered her near.

  Not daring to breathe too heavily for fear of waking her, he lay tense and still. Rain pounded the tent, and he reached out to pull the covers up around his ears. Turbo lifted his head, and Derrick spoke to him, “Just warming it up in here.”

  Seemingly reassured, the heeler laid his head back down and closed his eyes before snuggling next to his back, and Derrick was glad for Turbo’s protectiveness. If any nutcase lurked around out there, Turbo would alert Derrick to his presence. Derrick wished he could fall asleep as easily. Although worn out, the events of the evening played over and over in his head like a song lyric.

  The storm increased its intensity, blowing the top of the tent at a crazy angle. He’d staked the structure tight enough between two sturdy pines to keep it anchored, so he didn’t fear it blowing away. The material was rainproof, but his nerves still strummed under his skin like fingers on guitar strings. Laramie slept, so he removed her from his arms and dressed.

  Motioning Turbo to stay with her, he stepped outside into the storm. Gusting wind hit him in the face, and he blinked to clear his eyes. He grabbed his Stetson with one hand to keep it from blowing away. No rai
n all summer, and now the storm of the season. Through the downpour, he spotted black lumps that were the resting cattle. Most lay scattered under the sheltering pines; a few had climbed to their feet. Ash and Apache had turned tail to the storm, but didn’t show any distress. Nothing to worry about.

  So what bothered Derrick so much?

  His gaze turned to the body under his slicker.

  What had made a beautiful girl jump to her death? What had made the one in the tent try to end her own life? What could be so bad that they wanted to die? He’d been through hell with Cheryl, thought it might kill him even, but it hadn’t. Nothing was so bad that suicide was ever the answer.

  A wave of protectiveness washed over him. He didn’t know Laramie, didn’t know if she had a husband or a lover, but right now she was under his care. Her haunted eyes touched him in a way he never expected to be touched again. Still, something bothered him. He’d been pretty sure Laramie had recognized Lawrence Porter’s name although she’d denied knowing him.

  One more oddity in a long night of them.

  • • •

  The damn dog had almost given him away.

  From the cover of the forest, Lawrence watched someone retrieve Julie’s body. The guy looked familiar, but Lawrence couldn’t put his finger on exactly who he was. He thought Laramie died, but when the big man covered Julie with a raincoat then carried Laramie into the tent, Lawrence came to the only possible conclusion. His meddling sister was still alive. With her testimony, they’d throw the book at him. And everybody knew what cons did to cops in the pen. Even those placed in solitary didn’t last long.

  He wouldn’t live a month. Somehow, he had to shut her up.

  He took a small vial from his pocket and opened it. Pouring a line of white powder on his finger, he sniffed it.

  A rush of clarity went through him.

  Lightning crashed nearby, as an idea formed.

  The dry forest was like tinder waiting for a match. The San Juans were usually wet enough to avoid major fires, but he’d seen wildfire devastate other areas of the state. If a blaze took off, there was no telling where it would end. Maybe the Utah state line. Firefighters wouldn’t be able to get to it or stop it fast enough to save the people trapped against the remote cliff.

  Fading back into the forest, he easily located a tree stump. Dry as a newspaper, it would burn even in the rain. He knelt and lit it with a match. When it blazed like kerosene had been poured over it, he grinned. Months of drought couldn’t be wiped out with one rainstorm.

  Perfect.

  Fire investigators would believe the fire started naturally.

  Who would have ever thought his years working alongside firefighters would help him now? Moving back, he watched until the entire tree trunk burst into an intense blaze. There was plenty of downed timber nearby to keep the fire going. If things went right, the entire forest would burn down, taking the bodies with it.

  Too bad the cowboy got involved, but he should have minded his own business. Laramie, too. None of this would have happened if she had stayed out of his and Julie’s affairs. What went on between them was their business.

  Burning alive was exactly what his sister deserved.

  Slipping back to where he’d left the horses tied, he gathered them up and headed back to Cliffside. He’d put the horses back in the barn and pretend everything was normal. He’d go to work, act the baffled and scared husband hurt by his wife’s abandonment. He’d insist on an investigation when she and Laramie didn’t return. And, if by some crazy chance, anyone figured out where their bodies were, he’d act the grief-stricken husband and brother.

  Chapter Four

  One of the horses neighed, jerking Derrick out of an exhaustion-induced sleep. He shivered. The tent felt like a freezer. Laramie shifted, and he realized sometime during the night she’d curled into him. His erection was an unavoidable reaction to her curvy butt pressed against him. Her hair tickled his nose, and he moved away. She moaned. He didn’t want to wake her. She needed all the sleep she could get.

  Come daylight, things were going to get tough.

  He frowned at the thought. How much rougher could they get for her? Riding out of here wasn’t going to be easy after her ordeal. Maybe he’d ask her if she wanted to wait a day and rest up while he finished moving the cattle. He could come back for her. Yeah, a short delay in going to the police wouldn’t change anything.

  The tent flapped in the wind, and he noticed smoke.

  The horse whinnied again, and Turbo stood at the tent door with his hair bristling. Something was dead wrong.

  Derrick coughed. Smoke. Lots of it. Rolling out of the sleeping bag, he jerked on his clothes and opened the tent flap, staring in disbelief. The entire eastern horizon glowed orange. His mind clicked into drive, his thoughts racing. The forest was on fire! Coming right toward them. Maybe half a mile away. Blocking their exit.

  Holy hell!

  He whirled into the tent and knelt beside Laramie. He touched her shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart. We’ve got a serious situation here.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. “What is it?” Her gaze flew around the tent. “Is he here?”

  Derrick’s heart twisted at her obvious terror. He grabbed her arm, easy so he didn’t hurt her. “No. Nothing like that, but we’ve got to get out of here now.” He let go and reached for her clothes. Still a little damp. “Get dressed quick.”

  “What’s going on?” Her voice cracked.

  He didn’t want to scare her, but the situation was urgent. “Fire. Coming toward us.”

  “In the rain?” She rolled out of the sleeping bag, and her bare legs momentarily distracted him.

  “The rain isn’t slowing the flames. The forest is too dry.” He tugged on his boots. “Can you dress while I saddle Ash?”

  She nodded, already reaching for her clothes.

  “He slipped out of the tent, momentarily blinded by the thick smoke. Wiping his eyes with gloved hands, he looked through the storm. Raindrops fell, but didn’t seem to be making a dent in the fire. The cows milled about, bawling for their calves. Turbo yipped by his knee, and Derrick gave him a quick pat. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re going to be all right.”

  Both horses stomped, restless. Derrick ran his hands down both sleek necks. “Steady, boys.” With calmness he didn’t feel, he untied the geldings and led them to the tent.

  Laramie met him, and without asking took the lead ropes. “I couldn’t get the tent down.”

  “Leave it. But I’ll grab the sleeping bags and food.” He threw his saddle on Ash, then the packsaddle on Apache. With his eyes still watering, he loaded the supplies. “I’ve got to get the cattle. I need you to take Apache and head up the Big Misty trailhead. Just a short ways up there’s a left fork. Take it.” Before she could protest, he lifted her and placed her over the big paint’s packsaddle. He placed a hand on her knee. “You can do this.”

  “Not the Big Misty. I can’t go up there.” She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got to.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb toward the raging fire. “There’s no other way out. We’re trapped here.” What he had thought was a good place to hold the cows overnight was now a deathtrap. The left fork of the Big Misty trail would take them to a secluded valley, but they had to move now.

  Laramie looked around as if trying to find another way out when she spotted the body under the slicker. Despair filled her voice and eyes. “Julie.”

  “We can’t do anything for her now. I don’t like it either, but there’s just no other choice.” Derrick handed her the lead rope. “Go, now. I have to get the cattle. I can’t lose them.” After what Cheryl had done, if he lost the cattle, he lost everything.

  She jerked her head once. “I’ll try.”

  “You can do it.” He smiled in a reassuring way.

  With a grim look, she reined the paint away from him.

  He watched briefly as she threaded her way through the
trees, then tied Ash. Turbo bounced on his feet, eager to work. The fire crackled, reminding Derrick how bad this situation looked. Before he left, he had to take care of one more thing. He couldn’t leave Julie out here to burn to ashes.

  Taking care not to let the slicker slip off her face, he lifted Julie’s body and carried it to the pond. Placing her body in the water, he hoped the cold mountain lake might save her from the flames. It was the best he could do for her for now.

  Returning to Ash, he mounted and waved his hat at the cows. “Come on, girls. Move on out.”

  Maybe it was the rain, maybe the wind or the fear of the advancing flames, but the cows didn’t want to cooperate. They continuously turned toward the fire, stupid in their terror. Frantic, Derrick rode from one side to the other, trying desperately to move them. Under his legs, Ash’s heart pounded. The horse worked his guts out for Derrick, seeming to know how much rested on his shoulders.

  Turn just one cow, to head up the narrow trail winding through the trees, and the rest would follow.

  Derrick chose an old bovine, slapped her rear with his reins and waved for Turbo to take her other flank. The heeler dove at the cow, biting her heels. For what seemed like days, the Angus refused to turn, kicking at the dog and bawling. Smoke burned Derrick’s eyes and lungs, but he yelled, “Go, go. Get up that trail.” A burning tree crashed to the ground near him, and he cursed. “Go, now!”

  Turbo yapped furiously.

  Smoke filled the air, and Derrick coughed. He couldn’t leave the herd. They were all he had left. He shouted, his voice hoarse. “Go, damn it.”

  Finally, the old cow bent toward the trailhead.

  One by one, the others followed her.

  Like a funnel, the cattle bunched, then narrowed into a tight line, winding up the same trail Laramie had fallen from. The fire couldn’t catch them here, but it would come around the other side if it found enough dry material to burn.