People at the back of the crowd stirred. Whispers started. A path opened to let a man through to the front. He was dressed in a sport coat and an awful blue-and-green striped tie. Resting on his shoulder was a small video camera with the microphone extended forward.
The media. Just what she needed. From her right, she heard Dwayne curse.
The man stopped directly in front of Dwayne. “Officer Mullen, Grant Spengler, Mountain Independent News. I’ve been listening to the other questions and your answers. I believe mine will cut to the heart of the matter. Can you tell my viewers what went through your mind when you apprehended the suspect? Did you perhaps have information about a criminal past that prompted you to draw your weapon?”
Criminal? Vena cursed under her breath and fought back an immediate denial. Her body went hot all over. The reporter’s job was to discover juicy gossip. So, she had to word her answer with care.
The crowd hushed and leaned forward as one, waiting for the officer’s answer.
Oh to be back at The Shamrocks, delving into that old journal, and learning more about the newlywed Quaids and their wagon train west. For an instant, her gaze went toward Finn’s truck but a placard blocked the view.
Dwayne chuckled as he held out his hands in a staying motion. “Now, Spengler, no need to stir up the folks. I was telling these good people how this was just a little misunderstanding. The police department will be happy to talk with the judge on Miss Fenton’s behalf.”
What? Her body stiffened. This was the first she’d heard about this. “What could you say to the judge?” Vena’s voice squeaked, and she swallowed hard. Her good name would not be smeared. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the camera pivot in her direction. “This is a simple case of an overzealous cadet and a false arrest. I did nothing wrong yesterday, absolutely nothing.” Turning to the crowd, she continued, “I don’t believe Deputy Mullen had the right to detain me. I appreciate the support for me shown here today.”
Mr. Spengler stepped closer. “Can you tell us, Miss Fenton, what’s your reaction to the newspaper picture? Will you be suing the city for false arrest?”
What was this reporter insinuating? “No, my purpose today was to speak out in hopes of preventing this from happening to anyone else. The streets need to be safe for women to walk.” Irritation built inside her and she fought to keep her tone even. “Single women shouldn’t have to worry when they walk alone. They should feel safe—especially from the police, who are supposed to protect us all.”
“Tell it like it is, Vena.”
“Go, sister.”
“But…” The man with the camera inched closer. “Why didn’t you cooperate? Wouldn’t giving the officer an address or the name of someone who’d vouch for you have prevented your arrest?”
“Why should I have to?” Her reaction was purely knee-jerk, but this guy was too pompous. Outrage invaded, and her hands drew into fists. Her thoughts went to Finn and how she must keep his name out of this mess. That very fact had started this whole mess. Her gaze shifted across the street toward the Chamber’s lot.
The truck was still there, but the cab was empty. Her heart sank. Thinking he was close by, she’d somehow gotten this far. She’d even imagined he was sending her positive energy. But no, he’d left her to fend for herself—again.
“Miss Fenton,” Spengler urged, “what are you hiding? Let me rephrase that, who are you protecting?”
Vena gulped against a tight throat. “I…um…” No response came.
“Wasn’t your real reason for going to jail that you’re concealing an illicit affair with a member of one of Dry Creek’s founding families?”
A collective gasp emanated from the crowd. At the same moment, Vena felt the air being sucked from her lungs. All gazes turned toward her way—the demonstration against police brutality forgotten with the new, titillating information.
In the distance, a train whistled a mournful note, and Vena ached with all her heart to be on board.
For a moment, the crowd blurred like a fuzzy watercolor palette, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Maybe this was how people felt before they fainted. But she refused to fall apart in front of this crowd. She blinked several times to clear her vision.
To spy a glorious sight.
Moving with long strides, Finnian emerged from the crowd and crossed the sidewalk. He stopped on her right side, squared his shoulders, and faced the reporter. “You got questions, Spengler? Direct them to me.”
“Oh, look, it’s Finnian Quaid himself,” Grant sputtered. “Uh, I, uh, didn’t see you here.”
Vena spoke from the side of her mouth, “Neither did I.” Her heart beat faster with the realization his silent support had always been close by.
Spengler turned to the long-haired man slouching behind him and whispered.
The young man hitched up the strap of a power pack slung over his shoulder and leaned forward.
Straining to hear their conversation, all she caught was something that sounded like “live feed.” She peeked at Finn and was surprised at his stiff posture. Standing with legs planted wide and arms crossed over his chest, he seemed solid and imposing. On closer study, she noticed a vein pulsing in his forehead. His flinty stare made him seem mad enough to chew nails.
Grant panned the camera toward Finn. “Does your presence at this rally indicate support of Ms. Fenton’s claims?”
“No,” Finn snapped. “My presence is to accompany a friend.”
“Interesting. You refer to Ms. Fenton as a friend. A friend you signed out of jail just yesterday on your personal recognizance.” The reporter glanced around him at the crowd, but kept the lens directed toward Finn. “She must be a ‘good friend,’ to be staying at The Shamrocks although it’s closed to the general public.” He paused for a beat, scanned the crowd, and then continued, “For renovations.”
At the innuendo dripping in Spengler’s voice, Vena shot Finn a look that he ignored. God, how would this appear to his backers? Bailing her out might be explained as doing a favor for a family friend. But explaining the insinuation that her stay at The Shamrocks was an indiscretion would be tougher. A personal indiscretion that could compromise his political image.
“Is there a question in there?” Finn’s voice was flat, his eyes mere slits under dark, lowered brows.
“Well,” Spengler chuckled, “our viewers are interested in everything you do. You know, local boy makes good in state capitol. Fair-haired boy picks up the Quaid political torch. I’ve heard rumors you’re considering a campaign for an important legislative position.”
“Today has nothing to do with my career,” Finn interrupted with a sharp wave. He edged a step closer to Vena. “Ms. Fenton asked me to drive her, and I wanted to see she got a chance to say her piece. As I understand yesterday’s events, her rights were violated. I won’t let the police, or you, do that again.”
Spengler’s gaze brightened and flashed between Finn and Dwayne. “You believe she was mistreated by the police department?”
His head bobbed in a short nod. “I doubt she should have been arrested—”
“You tell him, Finnian,” Ruth Maguire yelled.
Cheers emitted from the Gray Ladies, and the protest signs bounced over the heads of the crowd.
Tootie stepped forward. “Did he have to pull his gun? Dwayne was being a bully, just like always.” She indicated the other Gray Ladies with a sweep of her hand. “We’re here to demonstrate that the women of Dry Creek stick together.”
“I’m with you, Tootie.” Miss Pearl piped up.
Hazel Sims shook her fist. “Up with sisterhood.”
“Keep our right to walk the streets safe.”
Deputy Dwayne blew his shrill police whistle and held up his hands.
The crowd quieted and shifted their attention.
“Simmer down, folks,” the deputy said. “We’ve indulged, er, allowed Ms. Fenton enough time for her little show. Or whatever this was supposed to be.”
�
�Really?” Vena’s voice rose, and the hair twitched on the back of her neck. She was being indulged? How dare he be so condescending? “I have the c-constitutional right to s-state my opinion.” She stumbled on the sentence as her peripheral vision caught the video camera now pointed in her direction. This opportunity to explain herself was too important to get tongue-tied.
Finn cut her a questioning look and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “What are you doing, Vena?”
“Defending myself,” she whispered and then squared her stance. Knowing Finn stood at her side made her bold, and she could speak without stuttering. “It’s true, I haven’t lived in this town for many years, but I remember growing up here, and my expectations have stayed the same. Women, young and old, shouldn’t have to worry about their personal safety when they walk the streets. Especially in a small, friendly town like Dry Creek.”
She watched as people bent toward one another nodding, and heard murmurs of agreement throughout the crowd. “If I wanted to walk down Main Street at midnight, regardless of who I am or how I’m dressed—as long as I’m not hurting anyone—I should be able to without fear of arrest.” She paused and glared at Dwayne for a moment. “The fact I’m not carrying identification isn’t reason enough to put me in jail.” With her last statement, she lifted her fist into the air.
A roar of applause sounded from the crowd.
Vena nodded and took several breaths. She opened her mouth to continue, but her mind was blank. Where am I going with this speech?
Mr. Spengler stepped forward, impatience tightening his features, and the ever-present camera pointed directly at her.
All of a sudden, Vena’s energy flagged, and exhaustion swept through her body. The base of her skull ached with a steady beat, and her scalp felt two sizes too small. She didn’t want to face this nosy man or his innuendoes any longer. After drawing in a deep breath, she blurted, “In conclusion, I urge everyone to look out for your neighbors.”
For a moment, the crowd remained hushed, and then broke into applause.
She turned to her left and was greeted by Finn’s warm smile and a thumbs-up sign.
He jerked his head and rolled his eyes to the right.
Now that the speech was over, relief flooded her.
“Ms. Fenton,” Spengler called.
Her quick retreat was blocked, and her stomach knotted. “Thank you for your support, folks. I really appreciate it.” As she waved at the crowd, she edged toward Finn.
Two women Vena recognized from the previous evening approached and congratulated her.
“Ladies, stand aside for the camera,” Spengler snapped. “Mr. Quaid, now that Ms. Fenton’s speech is over, maybe you’ll answer my earlier question.”
Finn waited for the ladies to finish speaking with Vena. “Depends.”
A couple more ladies pressed forward, and Vena reluctantly accepted their congratulations. She hadn’t anticipated being surrounded, and she drew in a deep breath. All she wanted was to get away from the red blinking light on that damn video camera.
“Mr. Quaid.” Spengler raised his voice to be heard over the half dozen women now surrounding Vena. “What is your stance on Ms. Fenton’s accusation of police brutality?”
Over the chatter of female voices, Vena noted intensity in the reporter’s tone and strained to hear the exchange between Spengler and Finn. More women pushed forward, and Vena swayed. Perspiration broke out on her forehead, and her stomach rolled. The ocean-like movement of the crowd scared her, and she could no longer stand steady on her own. In desperation, she reached out to anchor herself.
Unaware she’d made a sound, she felt Finn grab her hand as he stepped right in front of her. With a gasp of relief, she clung to it and used his broad back as a shield, her free hand clutching the side of his shirt.
“Spengler,” Finn’s voice cut through the chatter. “I’ve told you I was here just to support Ms. Fenton—as a friend. After hearing her statement today, I agree with everything she said.”
“So, you believe the streets aren’t safe for women to walk?” Spengler wheedled.
“That’s not what I said.” He spoke in a modulated tone. “I support Ms. Fenton’s observation that women should walk the streets without police interference. Residents of a small town like Dry Creek should watch out for each other.” With a nod, he glanced around the crowd. “Right, folks?”
As if waiting for that cue, the supportive crowd surged forward and surrounded them both. Bodies crushed close, and the congratulatory voices increased to an unbearable pitch. Vena fought her rising panic and wished she could become invisible. The claustrophobia was almost as bad as when she’d been locked in the cell. Leaning her forehead against Finn’s back, she closed her eyes, visualizing large spaces like the wide Montana sky and open, grass-filled prairie. The pressure on her hand increased, and she knew Finn sensed her distress.
“Finn,” she croaked. “I’m about to pass out. Take me home.” Through a haze, she heard him tell the crowd they were leaving and felt the buffeting as he moved against the tide of people. Their progress was slow, but she was aware Finn never raised his voice. As he moved toward their goal, he had a personal comment for most who spoke. He’d been born to this kind of scene and she, unable to fake a frozen smile, felt one hundred percent inadequate.
Nothing had ever sounded as good as the slam of the truck door that cocooned her from the crowd.
Finn climbed in and flashed a smile. “You did it, Vena. I’m proud of you.”
“What are you proud of?” She glanced to the side and shook her head. “I fell apart.”
“You spoke to all those people.” His gaze held hers. “By the time you finished, your voice was solid.”
Now that the event was over, she thought about her speech. “I do feel good about it.”
He started the engine and pulled the truck onto the street, headed for The Shamrocks. “Did your claustrophobia hit again?”
No use hiding how panicked she’d been. “The crowd made me feel hemmed in. Thanks for getting me through the well-wishers.” She leaned over to turn on the radio. “Let’s forget that mess and have some music.”
A popular country band beat out the final bars of their latest song and several advertisements followed. Vena leaned her head against the headrest and gazed out the side window. As they passed tree-lined streets, picket fences and flower gardens, she let her thoughts drift.
“Coming up on the Channel Three evening news,” a female voice announced. “Is police brutality running rampant in our small towns?”
Her stomach clenched into a tight knot. Vena locked gazes with Finn, noticing his tight lips and clamped jaw. “Can’t be.”
“Tune in for an exclusive interview with potential Senate candidate Finnian Quaid from this afternoon’s demonstration in Dry Creek. Hear him defend the streetwalkers of that small Montana town. Details at six o’clock.”
Chapter Fourteen
WAITING FOR THE SIX o’clock news had been sheer agony. Unable to stop herself, Vena imagined horrible consequences to that afternoon’s activities. Even though she’d watched two different broadcasts, she still couldn’t believe how Spengler distorted their words. He’d edited her statement so she sounded like an obnoxious outsider, demanding Dry Creek follow California’s laws. Thank goodness, someone at the station had the good sense to focus on the police protest and leave out the personal issue.
And poor Finnian. After watching his interview with Spengler, he’d excused himself and left the room where they’d watched the news together. He must have headed to the closest phone to smooth over the situation with his backers. More upheaval she’d brought into his life.
Leaning back on the couch, Vena closed her eyes and thought of what she could have done differently. Instead, she saw a replay of Finn sweeping through the crowd after she thought he’d ducked out. Actually, he must have been watching from the sidelines.
At great risk to his political reputation, he’d stood beside her in front o
f the police station and championed her right to protest. Like the romantic hero from her much-loved fairytales, he’d defended her honor from Spengler’s small-minded accusations. With a touch of bravado, he’d rescued her from the pressing crowd and driven her to the safety of The Shamrocks—set against the backdrop of a fiery sunset radiating over nearby mountain tops—all accomplished with confidence and a soul-shattering kiss.
What? Vena’s eyes popped open. Finn hadn’t kissed her in the light of day—their kiss had happened at night and inside the inn. She must have dozed off. Stretching forward, she sat upright, still wrapped in the larger-than-life images from her dream.
The phone in the hallway trilled.
She shook her head, dispelling remnants of the silly dream. If the phone was ringing, Finn must not be using it.
Again, the phone rang. So, why wasn’t he answering?
Dazed, she trudged toward the closest phone in the entryway.
“Shamrocks Inn.” The sound of her husky voice made her wonder how long she’d been asleep. “May I help you?”
“Anita Steffan speaking. Put me through to Vena Fenton’s room.”
“Anita—it’s me.” Vena glanced in the oval wall mirror bordered with etched rose petals and flinched. The image that stared back looked like a tornado victim—a grade five one at that.
“Vena? Why is your cellphone turned off? Are you doing desk duty?”
“I just answered the phone. Remember, I told you this place was informal.” Explaining The Shamrocks was a waste of breath. Anita only stayed in five-star hotels. She could never visualize a hallway phone, on-your-own meals, or, the ultimate sacrifice, shared bathrooms.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Vena. When you dive into small town life, you do it in a big way.” Anita laughed. “Not up in the Montana wilds just sitting on your hands, are you?”
Vena rolled her head in a slow circle, working out the kinks in her neck, and stifled a yawn. “What are you talking about?”
“The demonstration. Peach always washes you out. Couldn’t you have worn a brighter color for the camera? I thought you hated public speaking.”
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