Alice Sharpe

by Cowboy Incognito

  “Pull over!” Zane shouted, and once again lent his muscle to hers. They rolled from beneath the bridge, emerging on the other side and to the oasis of a small turnout.

  Zane was out of the car in a flash. Kinsey followed suit. She had no idea what had hit them, although it seemed to her that there were too many thumps and crashes to be a single body. And yet, in the corner of her mind, she could see one large oblong object falling toward them before all hell broke loose.

  Had that oblong shape been a human being?

  Zane took her hand. It was dark under the bridge, though car headlights revealed the broken glass from her little green car. They moved carefully along the sidewalk, dreading what awaited them. Debris in the road showed up as weird shapes they couldn’t immediately identify.

  “Over there,” Zane said, pointing at a long object sitting on the verge beside the road. Kinsey held her breath as they approached.

  She expelled her breath when she saw it wasn’t a human being. “It’s a box,” she said, taking in the long rectangular shape. It appeared to be metal, three feet long, twelve or fourteen inches wide, twisted now, the lid clasps open, the lid itself askew. It didn’t look as though it had been there long as the grass beneath and around it showed no signs it had begun to grow up around the sides and no rust had attacked the myriad of dents and scratches.

  “A toolbox,” Zane said.

  “And all that stuff on the road...those are tools,” Kinsey added. “That maniac threw a toolbox off the bridge. He could have killed us!”

  They both looked up toward the top of the bridge at the same time. It was darker than it had been, but the bridge lights had flickered on. There was no longer a truck—or a man—in sight.

  “What are the odds we would be in the car happening to pass under the bridge at that exact moment?” Zane said, lowering his gaze to connect with Kinsey’s. She didn’t miss the edge of sarcasm in his voice.

  They both fell silent as their minds worked overtime, or at least that was Kinsey’s excuse for the chill that cut through the humid air. She’d felt this same way just the day before when she’d stood on a New Orleans sidewalk and watched a fake messenger push Zane into a busy street. The sound of approaching sirens, along with the sight of pulsating lights, assured them another driver must have called the police.

  “Here we go again,” Zane said softly.

  Kinsey was just glad he was still holding her hand because her knees felt like cooked noodles. She didn’t think the fact that the box hurled toward their car spewing missiles of destruction had anything to do with coincidence.

  And she couldn’t believe Zane thought so, either.

  Chapter Six

  “Had to be kids,” Sheriff Crown said with a slow shake of his head. “Parents let them run wild nowadays. What starts out as a prank can turn deadly in the blink of an eye.”

  They’d been driven to the sheriff’s office. The deputy who had responded to the call stood in the doorway. “You think it might have been the Owen boys, Sheriff?”

  “Could have been,” the sheriff said. “Their daddy has a big old white truck. You better drive on out there.” An older man with a gray mustache, he appeared to be at the end of his lawmaker career. He sat back in his chair and shook his head again. “You folks were mighty lucky.”

  “They pretty much killed my car,” Kinsey said. Zane had to agree. The police tow truck had hauled it to a garage that wouldn’t be open until the next day. Zane suspected Kinsey’s insurance would total it outright.

  But for now they were stuck. There was no way in the world Zane could pay for any of this, not the car, not a hotel, not even breakfast tomorrow morning, at least not right this minute. And Kinsey was not rolling in money. He marveled at how composed she looked in the midst of this disaster. Maybe, like him, she was counting her lucky stars that the toolbox hadn’t landed on her windshield. If it had, he doubted either one of them would be sitting here.

  He felt positive the sheriff was on the wrong track thinking this was the act of misguided, rambunctious kids looking for excitement on a Saturday night. Zane would bet his life that the guy on top of that bridge had been waiting for Kinsey’s distinctive green car and the passengers it contained. It was the same kind of spontaneous deadly act as the other two attempts, using the means at hand, in this case a toolbox that had probably rattled around in the back of his truck for ages.

  Zane knew why he wasn’t telling the sheriff about his suspicions. He didn’t want to get tied up in statements and red tape. He didn’t want to sit in this small burg of a town waiting for the law to figure things out while their assailant had time to plot his next move.

  The question got to be why Kinsey was going along with the sheriff’s suppositions. Why wasn’t she launching into a recital of the events leading up to tonight?

  She suddenly stood up. “Sheriff, we’ve told you everything we know about what happened.”

  He looked down at the paper on his desk. “Lone man, white truck. You don’t know what kind of truck and you didn’t see anything about the man you can identify. Is that about right?”

  “It all happened so fast,” Kinsey said.

  “That’s not much to go on,” the sheriff grumbled. “Course, we do have the toolbox to check, and the tools might produce some prints or something else that ties them to someone around here.” He pulled at his mustache and added, “Funny thing about that bridge. It’s not used much anymore. Once upon a time it led to the Chemco Company back parking lot, but Chemco got involved in a big lawsuit five, six years ago. When they closed up shop, they boarded up the property, so now the bridge doesn’t lead anywhere.”

  “That’s why we didn’t see any moving traffic up there,” Kinsey said.

  “And that’s why I figure kids are behind this. I put that in the plural because they tend to run in a pack. You might have missed seeing the others. Anyway, they’d know about the bridge. They probably thought it would be funny. Once they set their plan in motion, they undoubtedly got scared and took off like bats out of hell.”

  Kinsey nodded as though agreeing. “I wonder if we could leave now. You have my phone number if you need anything else.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and rattled it off as though double-checking he had it right. Then he turned his attention to Zane. “You didn’t leave me an address or a phone number.”

  “He lives with me,” Kinsey blurted out. “We’re engaged.”

  “And what about the fact you aren’t carrying any identification?” the sheriff asked with a pointed look at Zane’s still-bruised neck.

  Zane adjusted his collar. “I didn’t realize I’d forgotten my wallet until we were hours from home. Seeing as I’m still light-headed from that polo accident I told you about, I didn’t plan to drive, so I didn’t figure it was a problem.”

  “Sheriff,” Kinsey added, “Albuquerque is still a long way from here. My girlfriend is going to be crazy disappointed if we don’t show up for her twenty-sixth birthday party.”

  “You can’t drive your car until they get it fixed,” the sheriff pointed out.

  “I know that. I left my charge card information for the garage with instructions I’d call to hear the damages and okay the work depending on what my insurance company says. For now, could you tell us where to rent a car?”

  “Aren’t you kind of rattled after what happened?”

  “I’m fine,” she said firmly.

  The sheriff stared at her a second, then at Zane, who did his best to cover his surprise upon hearing Kinsey planned to rent a car. Maybe she was washing her hands of the whole thing and going home. Part of him hoped that was the case.

  And a bigger part didn’t.

  Finally, the older man slapped the top of his desk and nodded. “Deputy Norton will give you a ride to the rental place. You could head on back to Shreveport for more choices—”

  “I’m sure we’ll find something here,” Kinsey interrupted. She put her hand on Zane’s shoulder and added, “Come on, honey
, it’s time to get back on the road.”

  Zane got to his feet, stumbling just a hair as he put his weight on his left leg, the injury exacerbated by the sprint back under the bridge. Kinsey gripped his arm and steadied him. They picked up the satchel of Bill Dodge’s clothes, Kinsey’s bag of art supplies she swore she never left behind, and started toward the door.

  “You two take care of yourselves,” the sheriff called.

  Muttering thanks, they escaped while they could.

  *

  WITHIN AN HOUR, they were under way again.

  “What bothers me is how he—whoever he is—knew about that bridge,” Zane said.

  “I know,” Kinsey whispered.

  “How could that be unless this dude is local?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he worked at Chemco sometime.”

  “So he followed us all the way from New Orleans, waited around while we ate dinner, drove ahead to the bridge and then dumped the back of his truck on us?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. Either that or it’s those kids the sheriff is so fond of.”

  “I can’t quite buy that.”

  “Neither can I.” She sighed. “But maybe the delay coupled with the different rides in different police cars will throw him off.”

  He was quiet and she decided not to pursue that line of thought. Zane had hardly been traveling in a straight line since this whole ordeal had begun, and yet, whoever was after him seemed to be one step ahead or behind, depending on your point of view.

  “You must be really tired,” he said.

  “I am. Are you okay to drive?”

  “Sure. There are lots of big signs directing me to Dallas. I’ll get us there.”

  “And from there to Amarillo,” she said around a yawn as she found a good spot to pull off the road.

  While Zane acquainted himself with the car, she took the opportunity to call her mother. It was getting late, but her mom answered on the first ring.

  “James brought me home from the hospital a half hour ago,” she said. “He wanted to come inside, but he looked so tired. When I went to my room, I found it had been searched.”

  “By who?” Kinsey asked, but added, “It doesn’t matter who. Call the police. Leave the house immediately.”

  “Don’t be silly. It had to be Bill’s snoopy nephew. I loaded Bill’s shotgun and walked through the whole house. No one is here and I can’t see that anything was taken.”

  Ignoring the image of her tiny mother hauling a shotgun around an old mansion with four floors, if you counted the attic and the basement, Kinsey repeated her warning. “Please, leave for the night. Go to a hotel.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Time to give up on that, Kinsey decided. “How is Mr. Dodge?”

  “His breathing is better, but we all know it’s only a matter of time. He wants to come home. Maybe tomorrow, they said.” She paused for a long second and Kinsey imagined her mother’s moist eyes. “I’m not sure what I’ll do when he dies.”

  “You always warn me not to look too far ahead,” Kinsey said softly.

  “Yes, that’s true. Listen, why don’t you give me a lift to the hospital in the morning and say hi to Bill. He always loves seeing you.”

  “Well, actually, I can’t,” Kinsey said.

  “The gallery?”

  “Not exactly. See, my doctor friend—”

  “Wait just a second. That man is no more a doctor than I am. Did you see his hands? Those are not the hands of a professional. What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t intend to mislead you,” Kinsey said, which was a half truth at the very best. “Things just kind of got out of hand. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “I’ve been worrying about you since the day you were born,” her mother said. “I sacrificed just about everything for you.”

  Kinsey had never heard her mother say anything about sacrificing everything and it jarred her. What did she mean?

  “Tell me about this man.”

  “I just met him yesterday,” Kinsey said. “He was in an...accident. He can’t remember his name. I’m trying to help him. We’re on our way to Utah where he has a kind of a lead.”

  After everything that had happened, Kinsey didn’t think she’d ever gotten around to admitting to her mother that Zane had been asking specifically about her before his injury. She wasn’t about to bring it up now, especially since she was still trying to figure out the unspoken antagonistic edge of this conversation. Her mother made leaps of her own, however. “Why was he asking me so many questions this morning?” she demanded. “What does that cowboy want with me?”

  Kinsey paused before stammering, “Why...why do you call him a...a...cowboy?”

  “Those boots,” her mother said.

  “Lots of ordinary people wear boots, Mom.”

  “He left here in a Western shirt and jeans wearing those boots and looked totally at home. The way he walked, that swagger! And you heard him talk. Even his tan and his haircut announce who and what he is. That man is a cowboy, Kinsey, no matter what silly story he’s feeding you. And you can’t trust a cowboy. They’re dangerous. They want one thing and one thing only. Please, wherever you are, just come back to New Orleans. Wash your hands of him.”

  “What do you mean the way he talks? What about it?” Kinsey asked. And since when did her mother lump cowboys into the same group as sex offenders?

  “Come home,” Frances Frost repeated.

  “Not yet.”

  “Now!”

  “I stopped taking orders quite a while ago,” Kinsey said softly.

  “You’re just like your mother!” Frances sputtered.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. End of story.”

  “You said it, not me,” her mother snapped and the line went dead.

  Kinsey slid into the passenger seat, still dazed by the conversation. When Zane touched her cheek with a gentle caress, she almost jumped out of her skin.

  “Hey, are you okay?” he asked. “Is something wrong at home?”

  I sacrificed just about everything for you...

  “Kinsey? Just tell me. What’s wrong? Do you want to go back?”

  “No,” she said. “Do you?”

  “No. But I feel very uncomfortable with you going into debt helping me, and if that’s compounded with family problems, you need to pick your priorities.”

  She nodded. Internally she knew that she had chosen what was right and necessary.

  He cupped her chin, leaned across the midconsole and brushed her lips with his. Instant fire reminded Kinsey she might not be thinking totally with her head.

  As he started the car, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She’d dealt with a lot of confusion in her life, the by-product of her mother’s personality and tumultuous lifestyle. But this took the cake.

  *

  KINSEY’S EYES DRIFTED OPEN. The reassuring sounds and motion of the moving car almost lulled her back to sleep, until the bright sunlight bathing her face registered in her brain. She sat up abruptly.

  “Morning,” Zane said. She looked around. The countryside zooming by was dry, rural, a hundred shades of brown. How had she managed to sleep through the entire night? “What time is it?” she croaked.

  “Almost seven.” He glanced at her again and added, “Someone needs a cup of coffee.”

  “You can say that again. Where are we?”

  “Just outside of Amarillo, headed to Albuquerque. We’ll be in St. George by midnight, even with a couple of stops.”

  “Maybe we should spend the night in Vegas and finish up tomorrow morning,” she said. “Otherwise, we may not be able to walk when we get there.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I can’t believe you drove all night,” she added as she tried to do something with her hair.

  “I was wide-awake and anxious to avoid any more falling objects.”

  “So, nothing happened?”

  “Not a thing. I don’t think anyone is following us. We do n
eed fuel, though, so keep your eyes peeled for a gas station.”

  A moment later, she gestured at a billboard beside the road. “Look. Five miles to the Armadillo Roadhouse, home of Dave’s famous flapjacks.”

  “Do you like flapjacks?” he asked her.

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “I’d like them better if I was the one buying them for you,” he said.

  “We’ll find out who you are and then you can hit up your friends and family to repay me,” she said breezily. There was no reason for him to obsess about this as there wasn’t a thing either one of them could do about it. Her card would stretch a bit further, and then they’d have to think of something else. But that was another catastrophe away.

  She looked at her phone to see if she’d received any messages while she slept. Neither her mother nor Ryan had called. She knew her mother’s reason was out-and-out stubbornness; it was Ryan’s fate that worried her. The confusion of the night before resurfaced.

  *

  THEY CLEANED UP in the restaurant bathrooms, ate breakfast and filled the car with gas. Kinsey called the hospital and learned Mr. Dodge was being released later that day. At least that much was going right in the world.

  Her next call was to her insurance company, then the repair shop. The last call was followed by a moan.

  “What did you learn?” Zane asked as he buttered the pancakes that had just arrived.

  Kinsey looked at her small stack, her appetite gone. “The repair shop gave me a number I’m pretty sure the insurance company will deny. That means they’ll total the car and give me what their tables tell them it’s worth, which isn’t enough to actually replace it. Damn.”