At Close Range

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At Close Range Page 17

by Marilyn Tracy


  He’d been as astonished as she when he blurted out his feelings for her. Not that he’d given her all that much, but he’d given her more than he had anyone else in two long years. Perhaps more than anyone ever before. And it scared the hell out of him. He wanted to retract the words, to hide from the wistful blink of hope and realization he’d seen in her eyes.

  And he wanted to tell her more. He wanted her to know just how wonderful he thought she was, that he could sit and listen to her for hours and hours, wallowing in her luxurious voice, or could lie awake all night just watching her sleep, her abandoned body sprawled akimbo, her breathing soft and steady. And what did all that mean?

  That he loved her?

  And why not? She was beautiful, kind and so incredibly expressive and responsive. Any man with half a brain and even a quarter of a heart would love her.

  Loving her wasn’t the problem. Believing he could be with her was the issue. Believing he could be a whole-enough man to provide for her, to protect her, to keep her safe and happy, that was the key. Wasn’t it? To tell her he loved her would be simple. It would have the benefit of truth, but it would be without any sort of foundation for a solid future. He had too many ghosts, too many conflicts, too many doubts to drag her into that maelstrom of doubts.

  And yet, watching her with the children, buying into his quickly improvised training, seeing her sneak around the barn, hearing her instructing the kids on the finer points of owl hoots, horse raspberries and toad calls, he knew he’d never wanted anything so much in his entire life as he wanted to believe in a future with Corrie Stratton.

  Chapter 14

  Where dinner the night before had been subdued, this evening’s meal took on a party atmosphere, with little Pedro proudly presenting Rancho Milagro to his mother—who, as it turned out, spoke quite a bit of English—and with the other children enchanted with the notion of sharing a meal with a ghost, real or not.

  Mack sat in his usual place between Corrie and Analissa, but, as Pablo and Clovis were still out rounding up the spring calves, and he was the only male adult present, his was the face the children looked toward for assurance, approbation or even a discouraging frown.

  As Rita brought in dessert, Mack succumbed to combined pleas for a story and told the tale of Cabeza de Vaca’s journey through New Mexico, making it an exciting, hair-raising adventure. Hanging on to his words every bit as much as the children, Corrie could see his gift for teaching inherent in each phrase.

  And when he laughed and made some silly face over something Juan Carlos said, she suddenly caught a glimpse of the class clown.

  Unaware that a smile played on her lips as she studied him, she was surprised when he looked her way and suddenly stilled, then slowly smiled back, his eyes warm, his gaze unwary, open. If ever a moment were more inappropriate to a declaration of her feelings, she thought, she hadn’t known it. And yet, because he looked at her with such delight, such frank camaraderie, she wanted to blurt out the truth, whatever it was.

  He’d said being there had made him want to fight for a future, believe in it. She wanted to let him know that he made her want to stand beside him for that fight. To be with him.

  But how did one say that simply, knowing with a relative certainty that he would shut her out with an ice-blue stare, preferring the ghosts of his past to an uncertain future?

  Lucinda insisted on clearing the dishes and disappeared into the kitchen as Rita and Mack led the children back outside for a quieter version of their afternoon recon training. Hearing the children giggling and the deeper rumble of Mack’s laughter, Corrie felt she slipped a couple hundred notches deeper into a magical world, into one of the many miracles on this ranch. Just watching him smile made her want to laugh out loud. Listening to him laugh was enough to make her ache with a desire that transcended logic.

  When the phone rang, Corrie barely started and picked up the receiver with a cheery hello. Her good humor slipped a bit when she heard the sheriff’s voice. To her mild irritation and rueful amusement, the man asked for Mack.

  She called him inside and handed him the phone.

  Mack gave her a wry look and deliberately talked directly to her. “Dorsey here.”

  She leaned against the wall watching him, blatantly eavesdropping. Even if the sheriff hadn’t spoken so loudly, she would have been able to read the conversation from Mack’s face.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” the sheriff said. “And it’s my fault. Corrie Stratton told me Lucinda didn’t want anyone to know she was out there, and it made sense. But, stupid cuss that I am, I didn’t have the door closed when I was talking with her.”

  “And somebody was listening.”

  “Right the first time.”

  “And whoever was listening told somebody who ran into Joe Turnbull.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” the sheriff said. “Whenever you want to make a really crappy salary and get beat up on Saturday night by the town drunk, let me know and I’ll make you deputy.”

  “Are you thinking Turnbull will come out here?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. According to my source, he’s on his way right now, along with a couple of creepazoids that used to run with him.”

  “Oh, my God,” Mack said.

  Corrie merely tilted her head when he looked a hard question at her. She refused to give in to the fear that made her want to slide down the wall and huddle against the floor. She waved a hand at him as if making him continue.

  The sheriff was saying, “I’ve already called Ted. He and some of the deputies from the feds’ office are on their way out there and I’m on my way, too. We should be there in about twenty minutes, give or take. But in the meantime, get the kids inside a safe zone and alert the others.”

  “I will,” Mack promised. His eyes met hers.

  She felt she might be as pale as writing paper and looking about as strong. Mack gave her a pained smile. He mouthed It’ll be okay.

  “Thank God you’re there,” the sheriff said.

  Corrie frowned as Mack hung up the phone in a seeming daze. Then she understood. She didn’t have to be a psychic to read his thoughts. They were written in the tabloids and between the lines of all the news accounts. If something went wrong, nobody would be thanking any deity that he was there. They’d be remembering the five children he’d lost in the Enchanted Hills incident. They’d compare the two tragedies. So-called hero loses six more children in orphanage disaster. Hero or pariah? And, even if they never blamed him, he would blame himself. And he might not be able to survive another such failure.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “They’re right behind him. We just have to get everybody to safety.”

  He raised a haggard gaze to hers, and whatever he read in the depths of her eyes seemed to steady him. He squared his shoulders. “Right. Safety. That’s all that matters.”

  She drew a deep, shuddering breath. She’d heard him say that before. It wasn’t true, or even really possible, but right at that moment, she wanted him to believe it, to feel it. So she could have faith in it, too.

  “I need you to be with me on this, Corrie,” he said.

  She held up a hand as if warding him off. “I know. No arguments. I’ll get Rita and Lucinda and the kids—”

  “The kids will be coming with me to the barn. And I’ll take the pups. We’ll arrange a few surprises for this guy. Just in case. Besides, it’ll give the kids something to do. You get Rita and Lucinda—and yourself—into the bunkhouse.”

  “Your bunkhouse? Why? You need my help with the children.”

  “I want us separated. It’s more difficult to go after people if they’re in two separate locations. This guy’s not going to think about you hiding in the bunkhouse. He’s going to come straight for the house. The last time he went for Lucinda, I understand he attacked the shelter itself and waited for people to come running out. We don’t want that to happen here. At least, I don’t give a damn if he goes for the house, I just don’t want him
near any people. Houses can be rebuilt. People can’t.”

  “No. You’re right,” she said. “Bunkhouse it is.” She thought of other options and swore softly. “Jorge went to town right after dinner. Should I call Pablo and Clovis on their cell phone?”

  “Good idea, but I doubt they’d be able to get here in time to be of any help. It’s still light enough for them to be riding, but in an hour or so, it’ll be dark and that’d be dangerous.”

  She nodded. She could breathe a little easier now and hoped a little color was creeping back into her cheeks.

  He gave her an odd look, half speculation, half raw hunger. With a low growl, he leaned down and kissed her hard before pulling her to him for a swift, almost rough hug. She kissed him back equally fiercely.

  “See you in a few,” he said, releasing her.

  She hoped that would be the truth.

  Mack was already out the door, calling the children to a huddle, while she stood rooted by the telephone, aware that a pivotal moment had just slipped through her fingers.

  In times of danger, a wise person admitted loving another. Did she love him? Did she truly love Mack Dorsey? How would she go about defining that, the way he made her feel? The way she suspected she made him feel? The lovemaking that left them both gasping for air and shuddering with passion?

  The way her hands stopped their trembling when he touched her?

  And this moment hung for a moment in the air. All she had to do was call him back and tell him how she felt.

  But she stood there, watching him planning something with the children, not saying a single word about how he affected her, what she thought about him, what she wanted, needed and craved from him. She had, in fact, almost argued with him over such a minor point as hiding with the women in the bunkhouse where he’d made love to her.

  And like so many moments, this exquisite one passed.

  He glanced back at her and frowned. “What? Come on, Corrie, get a move on! This lunatic is on his way out here now!”

  His words both spurred her into action. The children raced pell-mell toward the barn, followed by the lanky pups. Little Analissa tripped and cried out. Tony scooped her up without even slowing down.

  The big doors closed behind them and Corrie realized the exodus had taken place so quickly she was still in the process of opening the kitchen door.

  She’d been wrong to try stopping his training of them. She thought of Joe Turnbull on his way out to the ranch, how vulnerable they were. All of them. But thanks to Mack, they weren’t quite as defenseless as they had been only a week before. They were still susceptible, could easily be wounded, and were probably scared, but they weren’t without a few tricks up their little sleeves.

  The one she suspected might be most vulnerable was the man ramrodding the operation. Because if anything happened to any of them, he would demand the hardest toll be taken on him.

  She burst into the kitchen. “Rita, Lucinda? Quick. Your husband’s on his way here.”

  “Dios mio.”

  “Pedro? Where’s Pedro?”

  “Mack’s got him. He has all the kids. He wants you to get to the bunkhouse.” Unconsciously, she’d adopted the tone of command Mack injected into his voice. “He doesn’t want Turnbull to find you and Pedro together. The bunkhouse is the safest place for you,” she said. “Right now.”

  To her relief, the two women didn’t argue with her. Rita automatically dried her hands on her apron and reached for Lucinda. “Come along, niñita,” she said. “Señor Mack will keep your son safe. He’s a hero, you know. I’ll tell you about it.”

  He was a hero, yes, but who would keep him safe? No one had gone in after him in the Enchanted Hills incident. And he not only still carried the scars on the surface, but the unhealed wounds inside.

  Corrie punched in Pablo’s cell phone number as she watched the two women scurrying across the drive. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the door bang shut behind them.

  Pablo answered on the fourth ring, cursing the hand-held device. Corrie didn’t bother with preliminaries. She filled him in on the afternoon’s events. “And now, Joe Turnbull is on his way out here and has a couple of friends with him.”

  “Did Mack call in reinforcements?”

  She grimaced at his assumption that only Mack could handle things. Just as the sheriff had done. But she didn’t belabor the point. Oddly, she would have made the assumption herself just a couple of weeks before. There was only one thing that had changed in her life, her meeting Mack Dorsey. Her innate faith in him.

  To Pablo, she said, “The sheriff called Chance’s office. Ted and a couple of others are on their way. And the sheriff.”

  “He’s a good man even if he did steal my girlfriend in the fourth grade,” Pablo said. “Okay, we’re coming now. But we’re about fifteen miles out, on horseback. It’ll take us a while, even at a hard run.” She heard him shout for Clovis to mount up. “Damn it. I had a bad feeling about going out yesterday.”

  “Is this Joe Turnbull really that bad?”

  “Only if he’s been drinking. Otherwise he’s just a big, mean redneck. You hide the women and children, okay?”

  Corrie grimaced again. “Mack’s got the kids in the barn. Lucinda and Rita are in the bunkhouse. Mack said he’s planning some surprise with the kids.”

  Pablo swore again, but this time with a chuckle. “I’ll bet he does it, too. Trust him, Corrie. He’s got what it takes.”

  “I do. I trust him with my life,” she said.

  “Good. You know he’s crazy about you,” Pablo said.

  “I’d like to believe that,” she said, then added, “because I’m so in love with him, it’s a physical pain.”

  “Ah, then that’s good, eh?”

  Corrie found it ironic she could so readily admit her love for Mack to Pablo but never had come close to saying the words to Mack himself. She’d been so busy worrying about how he felt about her she’d forgotten to let him know that he might easily have a safe harbor with her. A place in which to be loved. A heart to live in.

  She looked out the window as she ended the call with Pablo. The view reminded her of some of the magnetic puzzles Jeannie had purchased for the smaller children. The barn, the bunkhouse, the corrals, even the drive all looked exactly as they always did in the evening at Rancho Milagro: beautifully restored buildings the muddy color of earth glowing in waning sunlight. But all the people were missing.

  Hiding.

  This wasn’t what she and the others had intended when they began the ranch, she thought. It was to have been a safe haven for the lost children of the world.

  Almost as if connected to Mack’s mind, she suddenly saw it through his eyes. The empty drive, the abandoned lawn, these were symbols that they were doing exactly what was intended, they were fighting for safety, banded together against a crazy man and his cohorts.

  She saw the horses race away from the barn in the back corral, caught a glimpse of Juan Carlos herding them outside, before he disappeared back into the dark, hopefully safe interior.

  She grabbed up one of the kids’ baseball bats, the cell phone, and, of all things, Lucinda’s shawl, and started for the front door, prepared to do as Mack ordered and join the women in the bunkhouse. She could hear the pups barking in the barn.

  Glancing out the window, she saw a strange red-and-white pickup careening up the ranch road. Whoever was driving it managed the truck as if drunk, weaving back and forth across the road, sending a great cloud of dust behind him. Joe Turnbull was dangerous only if he’d been drinking.

  “Dios mio…” she whispered, unconsciously adopting Rita’s favorite phrase. Her breath caught in her throat and she inched back through the door, shutting and bolting it against the intruder.

  Kneeling down and peering out the window, she saw with gratitude that Mack had already locked and chained the front gates.

  But to her horror, the truck swerved into the field and, almost as if on two wheels, neatly circled around the gates. I
t smashed right through the wire fencing, tearing it out with a muffled groan of metal and wood ripped from the ground. The truck jerked to the left, then to the right, and shed the remnants of the fence. And only paused for a split second before bearing straight for the veranda.

  Though she knew it was impossible, she had the feeling the man driving the truck had seen her at the window and was coming straight at her. And although she felt adrenaline shoot through her, her primary, gut reaction was undiluted fury.

  The idiot was going to drive right across the newly laid lawn, the lovely flowers and ram into the veranda.

  She’d never felt real hatred before, but she recognized it now.

  Mack didn’t pause in his preparations for Turnbull when he heard the maniac plow through the fence. His heart lodged in his throat for a second when he heard the revved motor and knew the man was heading for the porch. A couple of well-placed rams on the right support poles and the whole portal could come crashing down.

  Thank God, Corrie had taken the women to the bunkhouse. He’d seen them rushing through the door, a swirl of black skirts and flurried movement. It might be no safer in the long haul, but they only had to hold on until the sheriff and the U.S. deputies arrived. And that would be what, ten, fifteen minutes?

  That was about all the time it took for five children to die in the Enchanted Hills disaster. A wave of despair rolled over him.

  And, surprising him, following that wave came blessed, clean anger.

  Those five weren’t these six wonderful kids. The barn wasn’t on fire. And if he had to die trying to stop him, the jerk in the pickup wouldn’t touch one hair on these kids’ heads.

  Or Corrie’s. Or Lucinda or Rita’s.

  He surveyed their handiwork. Even little Analissa was busy tugging on a bale of hay, getting nowhere with it, but busy nevertheless. Pedro leaped across the bale she struggled with and gave a mighty shove as the bale slid into place.

 

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