Sheriff’s Runaway Witness

by Kathleen Creighton

  Outside, the moon was bright enough for him to see his way, so he went carefully down the flagstone steps to wait in the lane for Sage. He could hear the soft clip-clop of hoof beats long before the horse and rider emerged from the shaded part of the drive, and as he watched the kid and his favorite painted horse come into the moonlight, he was thinking back to his Hollywood days. Thinking it was too bad Sage had been born too late for those old Westerns, because he’d have made one-helluva fine looking Indian.

  Of course, they’d used white guys to play the Indians, back then, instead of real ones, which he’d always thought was a damn shame.

  Sage pulled the paint up beside him and got off in the way he had of making it look a whole lot easier than it was. The paint whickered softly and bumped Sage with her head, and he scratched her under her jaw and slapped her on the neck, then turned to help him into the saddle-help he wasn’t too proud to accept.

  “You going to tell me where you’re going?” Sage asked, once he’d got him settled.

  “Thought I’d go up to the cabin for a while.”

  “Aren’t you going to stick around to meet your granddaughter?” The kid’s voice wasn’t accusing, just curious.

  “Naw…thought I’d wait till they all get here. Get it all over with at once.” He could see the kid turn his head to hide a grin, but didn’t call him on it. After a moment he said, “What do you make of the fellow came with her?”

  “The sheriff?” Sage shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Too soon to tell, maybe. But I like the look of the man.”

  He thought that over. Then he nodded. “So do I. I think he’ll do right by her and the baby.”

  “Yeah,” said Sage, “that’s what I think, too.”

  He picked up the reins and clicked his tongue to the paint.

  Sage said, “Need a light?”

  “What for? Moon’s high and bright and the horse knows the way.” He leaned forward and the paint picked up the cue and broke into an easy lope. The horse’s rhythms moved into his body and the years fell away and he was a young man again, riding with the night wind in his face and nothing but stars for company.

  “I heard a horse last night,” Rachel said to Josie as the housekeeper came through the doorway with a breakfast tray.

  They were being served on a small flagstone patio off the kitchen, warm and golden where the sun hit it first thing in the morning. J.J. watched the housekeeper unload the tray’s contents onto the wrought-iron tabletop-bowls full of cereal and strawberries and a big glass of milk for Rachel; black coffee for him. Josie gave him a nervous smile and waited as he picked up his steaming mug and took a sip. He nodded his approval, then turned and strolled away toward the low wall that bordered the patio, providing an inviting front-row seat for that incredible view.

  It was one of those times he wouldn’t mind being a smoker, he thought. It’d give him an excuse to wander off by himself. He felt the need to do that-restless, uneasy.

  He heard a faint clank as Rachel laid the baby monitor-another one of Katie’s ideas-on the table.

  “It sounded like it was right outside the house.”

  “Oh-that was probably Sage. Sometimes he likes to ride at night when the moon is bright.”

  The woman’s words were reasonable enough, but there was something in her voice-a certain breathlessness-that made J.J.’s spine stiffen and his breathing go quiet. She’s a lousy liar, too, he thought.

  “Oh,” Rachel said, stretching the word with a sigh, “it sounds wonderful.”

  “You like to ride?” Now Josie’s voice was bright and eager.

  “I love to ride. But it’s been a long time…”

  Suddenly he wasn’t wishing he could find an excuse to leave. He made himself comfortable on the low wall, half turned so he could watch Rachel without seeming to while he sipped his coffee.

  He’d already noticed the fact that she’d pulled her hair up in a high ponytail, then braided it so that it hung thick and glossy to brush the top bumps of her spine. And that she was wearing one of the outfits Katie had helped her pick out-loose-fitting top long enough to hang over the elastic waistband of the blue denim pants, for easy nursing and comfort while she was getting her figure back, according to Katie, who he figured ought to know.

  Now, smiling, with pink in her cheeks and her bruises fading, Rachel looked both sweet and exotic…and a stranger to him.

  He found himself flashing back to the woman he’d held in his arms not so long ago-vulnerable, sweaty and scared, not just a memory but a full sensory recall, the smell of her hair, salty with that hint of sweet flowers…the dampness of it against his cheek…the salty taste of it. The wiry strength of her body, and the way she’d trembled in spite of it. And he felt a twinge of something like sorrow…like loss. Hated himself for it, for wishing that traumatized girl back, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he missed her. Then, touching her, holding her-it had seemed so natural. Now, to take her in his arms, kiss her-even chastely on her forehead, though God knew he’d rather taste her mouth instead, and not at all chastely-seemed all but unthinkable.

  What are you thinking? She’s a widow-husband hasn’t been dead six months. She’s just given birth, been beaten up, been through God only knows what kind of trauma. You’re a sick man, Jethro.

  “You’re more than welcome to ride,” Josie said, propping the empty tray against one hip. “Maybe not now-when you’re ready. You just tell Sage-he’ll fix you right up.” She looked over at J.J. and smiled. “You, too-you’re both welcome to use the horses, any time.”

  She went back into the house, and J.J. strolled over to the table, still sipping his coffee. He stood, casting a shadow across her sunny yellow blouse and pink cheeks, and said in a low growl, “Are you nuts? You can’t go horseback riding. You just had a baby.”

  He could actually see her puff up, as if her body had suddenly grown quills all over, like a porcupine. Which didn’t surprise him. He even wondered if he was trying to pick a fight with her on purpose.

  “Give me some credit for knowing my own body,” she said in a cold, clipped voice. She jerked back her head and aimed a brilliant black look at him. “I think I’ll know when I feel up to going for a ride.”

  “Yeah?” He felt like a jerk, remembering belatedly that she’d been held a virtual prisoner for the past several months, so it was no surprise she wouldn’t take well to being told what to do. Throttling back to a conversational tone, he asked, “Where’d you learn how to ride? Don’t tell me Carlos keeps a stable.”

  She tossed her head so the braided ponytail took on a life of its own. “No, actually, my grandmother taught me. She loved horses, loved to go riding. I started riding lessons when I was about five. In fact, I could ride before I could speak English. We used to go almost every weekend, in Griffith Park. She had friends out in-” She broke off, shaking her head, and when she picked up her glass of milk and drank, he thought he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  He pulled out a chair and the wrought iron made a loud screechy sound on the flagstones. He cleared his throat as he put his coffee cup down and sat. “Well,” he said, trying for a reasonable-not bossy-tone, “you can’t go alone.”

  There was a long pause. Rachel set her milk glass down, licked milk from her lips and wiped the mustache that was left behind with the back of her hand. Watching her, his mouth watered as though he were beholding a banquet table.

  Her eyes came up to meet his. “So,” she said, unsmiling, “come with me.”

  Oh, hell. J.J. muttered something even he couldn’t make out and sat back in his chair, shaking his head.

  Her eyes took on a gleam. “What, don’t tell me you don’t know how to ride.”

  “I’ve ridden. Sure I have. I was on a horse-” He gave up trying to hold on to his masculine pride and let out a breath and with it a huff of laughter. “Once-when I was about six. Never again.”

  “Why not? What happened?” Her head tilted, eyes bright and curious.

 
; He shrugged. Confession of his childhood humiliations didn’t extend that far.

  “You fell off? Hey, it happens. You’re just supposed to get right back on.”

  His smile slipped sideways. “Ah, well…we weren’t the ridin’ kind of family, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.” She said it softly, as if he’d confessed to having some tragic illness. Then sighed and picked up her glass of milk. “Damn. There goes my John Wayne fantasy.”

  He snorted, and her eyes slid toward him, hooded and unreadable. Then, lashes lowered, she murmured, “Well, that’s okay. Sage can go with me.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?” Her eyes were wide open again, innocent as a babe’s.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer. For one thing, he couldn’t very well tell her he was envisioning some wild action movie scenario wherein a helicopter hovers over the meadow where Rachel is cantering in slow-mo through the wildflowers, and black-garbed ninja-types stream down the ladders, snatch her up and fly away.

  Maybe he couldn’t tell her why, but he knew he didn’t want to let her out of his sight.

  He said, “If anybody goes with you, it’s going to be me.”

  Now demurely nibbling a strawberry, Rachel said, “Jethro, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sounded jealous.”

  He made a growling sound deep in his throat, shoved back his chair and got up and went back in the house. High time he got out of there, he thought, because he obviously needed to get his emotions and his fantasies under control. First, because there was this crazy question that insisted on flashing through his mind: Is she flirting with me? Which he knew was ridiculous, and nothing more than some wishful thinking on his part.

  Then, there was the fact that she was right-he was behaving like a jealous man. And he simply was not the jealous type. Never had been, never would be.

  Except…there was this voice arguing, way down deep inside his head: Maybe you just never met a woman you thought was worth being jealous about.

  He just knew he couldn’t stomach the thought of Rachel going riding with that kid, Sage. Or, the thought of the two of them galloping through the meadow full of wildflowers, matching black braids bouncing and blowing in the wind.

  Chapter 9

  Rachel waited for the sound of the door closing before she let out a slow and careful breath. Her heart was beating fast. She felt exhilarated. Excited. Even a little bit defiant. Why? Because she’d more than held her own against Sheriff Jethro J. Fox, even-be truthful, Rachel-flirted a little? And it had felt good?

  Oh, how good it felt!

  I’m happy, she thought. I could…I wish I could…stay here.

  Of course, there was still the small matter of her grandfather to deal with, and why she’d been summoned, and what sort of inheritance she was supposed to claim and whether the man was alive or dead, for that matter. No one seemed to want to give her a definite answer to that question. But she was happy, maybe just to feel safe. And free. Free to go for a walk, if she wanted to. As much as she hated to admit it, J.J. was right about the fact that her body probably wasn’t ready to tolerate an activity like horseback riding, but he couldn’t object to a walk. Even in hospitals, she thought, they encourage patients-which she certainly was not!-to walk.

  She finished off the glass of milk, and then, after peeking down the front of her blouse to make sure the absorbent pads inside her nursing bra were in place, scooped up the baby monitor and went into the house to find Josie.

  She found her in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes, and felt a jolt of shame as she realized she could easily have brought her own dishes in with her, saving the housekeeper the trip out to get them. I’m sorry, Gran, I know you taught me better. I’ve gotten spoiled, living with Nicholas Delacorte these past three years. I’ll do better.

  But Josie would have no part of her apology, and in fact even before Rachel could ask, offered to keep the baby monitor so Rachel could go for a walk.

  “Oh, would you? Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” And just like that, those crazy hormone-fed emotions were flooding her again-fear at the thought of leaving her baby, yearning to get out in the morning if only for an hour, gratitude toward Josie for making it possible. She touched away a tear, then laughed at it and cleared her throat. “I, um…I just fed him-he’s sleeping. He should be okay for an hour. I just want to…go out…to see-”

  Josie hugged her, laughing. “Of course, he’ll be okay, and no, I don’t mind. I’ll be right down there making beds anyway. You go on-take your time. Enjoy this beautiful morning.”

  Rachel laughed, too, and wiped away what remained of the tears. She put the baby monitor on the kitchen countertop, turned to give Josie another hug, then almost danced out of the kitchen, through the cavernous dining room, cozy living room and out the front door. She paused for a moment at the top of the flagstone steps to consider how Josie would call her if she needed her when she still didn’t have a cell phone. She really did need to ask J.J. about getting one.

  The thought flashed through her mind-just a hint of a thought-that maybe she should have a phone in case she needed to call for help, too. She dismissed it, partly because the idea of needing help, the thought of Carlos and his thugs being able to get to her here in this lovely place seemed so remote, and partly because J.J. was being so ridiculously paranoid and overprotective. She’d been paranoid herself for such a long time, and now that she was free, she was definitely not going to allow anyone to smother her, ever again.

  She started off down the lane, and was both startled and a little uneasy, at first, when Moonshine hauled herself up out of the bed she’d made for herself in the shade of the evergreen trees and came to amble along at her heels. Then she decided it was kind of sweet, the notion of having a dog to protect her-not at all suffocating, as it would probably have been if J.J. had insisted on coming along.

  “Okay,” she told the dog, “you can come-as long as you don’t tell J.J. on me. Deal?” And she was surprised and oddly touched when the dog shuffled up beside her and bumped her head under her hand, as if she’d understood. As she obliged the dog with a pat on her wrinkled forehead, she laughed a little at the peculiar sensation she felt in the vicinity of her heart. Maybe, she decided, dogs weren’t so bad after all.

  She made her way quickly through the maze of flower and rose beds, emerging onto the stretch of the lane that ran along the meadow. She paused at the barbed wire fence to watch the horses grazing in the new spring grass, then decided there was no reason she couldn’t go into the meadow and see the horses up close.

  She soon discovered that getting through a barbed wire fence was trickier than it looked, and was very glad she hadn’t had to do it for the first time in front of witnesses. Particularly Sheriff J. J. Fox.

  “You,” she said to Moonshine, who was sitting on her haunches in the meadow grass, watching her with tongue hanging out, “had better not be laughing.” Moonshine made no comment.

  Flushed and exhilarated, Rachel dusted her hands and set out toward the horses, who by now had seen her and, being curious, as all horses are, were coming to see who this newcomer was. In moments, to her utter delight, she was surrounded by the four mares and two geldings. Most were bay or dark chestnut, but for one dappled gray and a beautiful black with appaloosa spots on her rump.

  Unlike dogs, horses held absolutely no fear for her, which she supposed was odd, considering their size and the fact that they were more than capable of doing her harm if they wanted to. But she’d always felt completely at home with horses-loved their warmth and their smell and the ways they had of talking with their ears and eyes and the way they held their heads. And these seemed to accept her instantly as a friend, whickering softly and reaching toward her with their velvety muzzles, jostling for the privilege of being the closest and the first to be petted. One even bumped Rachel’s back with her head, which made her laugh with sheer joy.

  “Oh,” she lamented al
oud, “I wish I’d brought you some treats. I’m sorry-I’ll bring some next time, okay?”

  After crooning to them and stroking and petting each in turn, she said a reluctant goodbye to the horses and slipped between their big warm bodies to continue her walk across the meadow. The horses followed a few paces, whickering in disappointment, then stopped to watch her make her way down a slope toward a thicket of willows and cottonwoods that bordered the far side of the meadow.

  There was a creek there, she discovered, and just beyond the creek and the trees, brush and boulder-covered hills rose to meet taller mountains thick with junipers and bull pines. The creek was running too high at this time of year to risk crossing, but she found a nice rock in the shade at the water’s edge, sat on it and began to take off her shoes. Moonshine, who had been off rambling through the meadow grass in pursuit of her own pleasures, came to flop down in the cool sand a short distance away, panting happily.

  The ice-cold water on her bare feet made Rachel gasp, at first. Then laugh out loud. She wiggled her toes in the clear water and giggled as minnows darted away from the alien intrusion.

  “Feels good, don’t it?”

  She ducked instinctively and jerked her feet out of the water, heartbeat gone wild on adrenaline. Still in a half crouch, she cautiously lifted her head to search for the source of the voice.

  On the other side of the creek, an old man was sitting on a paint horse, leaning on the saddle horn, watching her. A chill ran through her, one that had nothing to do with the ice water running past her bare toes, as she realized she hadn’t heard him approach, probably because of the noise the creek made. Anybody could have sneaked up on her. Anybody.