The Great Escape

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Dan quirked his mouth, chiding himself for having brought that up. Not that it was a big secret, but still…he’d really killed the moment. Then he heard that thought. The moment? What moment? That did it. There was no moment. She was his prisoner. Dan got them both back on track with a sober expression. “Tell me about you and Tony LoBianco.”

  JOAN FROZE at his words. She gripped the branch’s rough bark, shifting from one increasingly numb butt-cheek to the other, before countering with, “First tell me about Lena.”

  The deputy eyed her but then, surprisingly, told her about Lena. “Lena’s my girlfriend. Or was.”

  Her heart leaped, unexplainably, at his word choice. “Was? Sounds ominous.” So why was she so happy about that?

  He shrugged. “Could be. Probably is ominous.”

  What woman in her right mind would leave this man? He was handsome, accomplished, intelligent, funny—Joan, get a grip. “Um, probably?”

  His frown stayed in place. “You’re on some pretty personal ground here.”

  “Look again, Sheriff,” she teased. “We’re not on any ground here.”

  Dan shot her a sidelong glance and said, “Fair enough. Okay, she wanted to get married. And I have no idea in hell why I’m telling you this.”

  Joan ignored his disclaimer in favor of commenting, “A problem with commitment?”

  The man narrowed his eyes at her—a clear warning she understood but didn’t heed. She shrugged. “I thought we’d bonded after our crash, that it gave me the right to poke my nose into your business.”

  “Well, it doesn’t”

  “Sorry.” The moment stretched, the cold invaded her bones, her belly rumbled its hunger. Seeking to amuse herself—they were still sitting out on a limb in the frozen badlands of New Mexico—she ventured another question. “So, how long had you and Lena been girlfriend and boyfriend before she popped the question?”

  He stared at her—overly long, in Joan’s opinion—before saying, “Three years.” He managed to sound as if she’d dragged it out of him with forceps.

  “Three years?”

  His expression became pinched. “I don’t have a problem with commitment.”

  Joan pulled back, stared. “Tell that to ex-girlfriend Lena.”

  “This conversation is over.” He frowned down to his ankles to prove it.

  Joan huffed out a breath. “Okay. So, do you want to watch some TV?”

  He stared at her for a long time. “I get it. We’re stuck in a tree with nothing else to do but talk, right?”

  “Right. One more question?”

  Dan scrubbed a hand over his face and jaw. “All right, but make it true-false, please. No more essay.”

  “Fine. When you were talking with Cal, you asked if Lena’s still around. So, I’m guessing she ran out on you, right?”

  Dan gave her a look that most people reserve for those individuals they don’t like a whole lot “True. You happy now?”

  Strangely enough, she realized, she was. But she opted for discretion over valor. “Is your butt numb? Mine sure is. And this branch isn’t getting any softer.” She shifted her weight, crying out when she nearly unseated herself.

  Dan grabbed her arm to steady her. “Easy.” Then he surprised her by going way out on a conversational limb. “About last night…that kiss? I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Joan looked into the warm light of his hazel-green eyes and prayed he couldn’t hear her heart hammering away. “Well, it’s not like I didn’t kiss you back. So, no big deal.”

  “Yeah, it was. I know better than to do something like that. You’re in my custody. I ought to be more…detached, I guess.”

  It was Joan’s turn to drop her gaze to her dangling legs. In the ensuing quiet, she could hear the bears having a smorgasbord of destructive fun inside the cabin. But suddenly she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself. She turned to him and blurted, “So why aren’t you? Detached, I mean. Somehow, I don’t think you’ve had this problem before. And I mean that kiss, not the plane crash.”

  Dan surprised her with a look that mingled guilt with shyness. “You’re right. I haven’t had this problem before. And why aren’t I detached? I can’t tell you. Probably something to do with you, wouldn’t you say?”

  Joan’s eyebrows raised right along with her heart rate. “Could be. I guess we have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  He continued to stare at her. “Yeah. We sure do.”

  Huffing out a heated breath, Joan leaped into neutral territory. “So, tell me about Grandpa. You asked Cal to check on him.”

  “You’re a good listener, aren’t you?” He contemplated her a moment and then cleared his throat. “Okay. About Grandpa. But I still don’t have any idea why I’m telling you all this.”

  Joan shrugged at the mystery of why he was, too. “Maybe it’ll be good for you. Who knows?”

  “So now you’re playing therapist, huh? Well, anyway, the old guy’s more my father than his own son’s ever been. I think he tries to make up for him. Long story short, he lives with me.” He then shook his head and chuckled. “How many people do you know whose grandfathers get named in paternity suits?”

  Joan hit at him, nearly unseating them both. “Get out! You’re lying! A paternity suit? How old is he?”

  Dan frowned in thought, crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. “I’m thirty-two. My father, then, is fifty-four. So…Grandpa is seventy-six.” He looked as surprised as she felt. “The old guy is seventy-six, and he’s making babies—allegedly. The expectant mother is a forty-fiveyear-old woman who works at the hospital. Guess who’s not allowed to, um, volunteer there anymore? And guess why?”

  Joan shook her head. “I don’t need to. But he sounds great, like someone I could hang out with. And probably would. So, look at you—you’ll have an infant aunt or uncle.”

  He laughed out loud, which made her grin, and said, “I guess so. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  His laughter had a way of finding her heart, making it thump. She couldn’t look away. A shallow breath helped her croak out, “Any brothers and sisters?”

  Still chuckling, he added, “Older sister. Kim. She and her family live in Santa Fe, close to my mother. And I have a half brother somewhere.”

  “Somewhere? So, you don’t get to see him?”

  Dan looked away, got quiet and concentrated on the snowcapped mountains in the distance. “No. I was eighteen when my father left—the last time. He remarried, had another son. Brent. He’s eleven years old now.”

  Joan wanted to touch him, to comfort him. Somehow, his hurting seemed to be her problem, too. But all she could do was sit there, knowing she didn’t have the right to comfort him. Instead, she chirped, “Are you a native of Taos?”

  He swung his gaze back to her. “Yep. Lived here except for college and those five years on the Houston P.D.”

  She nodded at his answer. “So why’d you move back to Taos?”

  His somber quiet deepened. Then Joan remembered—his wife. She also remembered that he didn’t know she knew about that. Sergeant Mackleman got those thanks. But again, Dan’s loss seemed the same as hers. As if her losing her parents, and him his wife, gave them a past together. Maybe that was why she was swallowing a wad of tears, wanting to hold him and to keep him from further hurt. So she said, “I’m sorry if I’ve stepped over some line—”

  “No, it’s okay. I moved back here for lots of reasons. The main one, I guess, is my grandfather. Even though he doesn’t believe it or act it, he’s getting older and needs help. But before that, my…” He stopped, looked away, but then turned to her. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

  But Joan knew it was, knew what he’d been going to say. About his wife. Sympathy squeezed her heart. But she said nothing. What could she say?

  Dan took another breath and added, “Let’s just say Houston lost its charm. Then, Ben Halverson called me about a job opening, asked if I wanted it. So here I am.” After another moment of q
uiet, he eyed her. Here it came, she knew. The hot seat. Sure enough, he said “Tell me about you. Help me understand the life you’re so willing to give up for Tony LoBianco.”

  6

  DAN’S WORDS reminded Joan of the cold, of the rough bark of the branch under her. She shrugged, quirked her mouth. “There isn’t much to tell. I don’t know my real family. I’m told my mom was a kid herself and alone. She abandoned me twenty-eight years ago, when I was a baby. It was probably the only thing she could do. So the great state of Texas raised me in foster homes.”

  Dan’s expression softened. Apparently it was his turn to feel sorry for her. Joan hated this part. Always the sympathetic look, the poor-baby stuff. But Dan surprised her, and warmed her grateful heart, with a matter-of-fact question. “So what was that like? The foster homes.”

  “It wasn’t horrible,” Joan heard herself going on. “I was taken out of a couple places where the people were into foster care for the money. But then I got placed, when I was ten, with Bob and Pam Jackson in Houston and got to stay there. They’re great people. I love them like they’re my parents. In fact, I tried to reach them when I was…there, but I…well, they weren’t home. I’m kind of worried, too. They should’ve been there. And I know they’ve seen all this on the news by now. I can only imagine what they must think.”

  Dan sent her a sincere smile and said, “When we reconnect with civilization, I’ll call Hale and Carter, ask them to send someone around to check on them and anyone else you’re concerned about.”

  Joan’s whole spirit brightened. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

  He grinned, ducked his head. “We cops have our moments, too.”

  Joan laughed, then told him, “I have two friends, Brenda Martin and Kate Jefferson, who might know where Bob and Pam are. Maybe Hale and Carter could call them.”

  “Okay. Just remind me of the names later. So, go on. What about the rest of your life?”

  Joan stared at Dan. Where had this great guy been when she wasn’t charged with a capital crime? Seeing him raise an eyebrow, and realizing it was because she was staring, Joan said, “Oh. Um, when I was eighteen, I started college and put myself through with a job in a tag agency and some scholarships. Got my degree. Moved out. Dated. Lived my life. Screwed everything up over a man. And here I am. End of story.”

  “Well, not quite the end. But let’s talk about that man you screwed up your life with. Tell me about Tony LoBianco.”

  Joan’s breath caught. Tony LoBianco wasn’t who she’d meant. Jack the ex-boyfriend/ski instructor was. Now what? “So, what do you want to know?” she squeaked out.

  “The truth would be nice,” he said…pointedly. “Because once Ursa Major and The Minors clear out of the cabin, you and I have work to do. We’ll clean up the mess and then I’ll write the owner a note. And—”

  Joan cut her gaze to the cabin. Come on, Mama Bear and Baby Bears. Show yourselves. Help me out here. She focused again on Dan. “A note? To explain all this destruction?”

  “Yeah. And about who to contact for reimbursement for the damage and for the things we’re going to take.”

  Good. Keep talking about this. Anything but Tony LoBianco. “What are we taking? And why?”

  He pinched his face up, adequately expressing his desire not to be questioned. “The why is because we’re leaving. And the what are things like gloves, scarves and goggles. Then I’ll radio Cal and we’re outta here.”

  “Where’re we going? Snake River Lodge?”

  “Snake Riv—” He gave her a look of chagrin.

  Joan quirked her lips. “It’s a small cabin. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

  “Uh-huh. We’re going to the Taos Ski Valley. Not too far from here.”

  “Sounds wonderful. As long as I don’t have to ski. Wait. Why would a ski lodge be open in September?”

  Dan cocked his head, looking at her as if she were a demented person whose medication had worn off prematurely. “Why? Because tourists happen. People come up here to hike, get away from it all. Take in the scenery. And to get snowed in and wear orange parkas. Like us.”

  She wrinkled her nose at that. “So I’m supposed to schlepp over this mountain—me and my tennis shoes? Great. I ought to have a full-blown case of pneumonia by this afternoon.”

  “No schlepping. We’re skiing. There are two pair in the cabin.”

  “And one will stay. I do not ski.”

  He huffed out his breath. “Joan, watch my mouth move. We’re skiing.”

  She watched his mouth move, liked it a lot, heaved out a breath—and then shook her head no. “No, we’re not. I can’t ski. I won’t.”

  “Yes we are, and you will. So get ready for a crash course—no pun intended. Because we can’t stay here.”

  “Why can’t we? I like it here. It’s nice.”

  Now Dan huffed out his breath. “Not anymore it isn’t. Because A—the supplies are low, and will be much lower when our furry friends are done. B—there’s more weather on the way. See those dark clouds building up over that range? C—there’s no easy way to get rescued here. And D—”

  “Just cut to X, Y, Z, please.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “And Z—now that Mama Bear knows there’s easy food here, she and her cubs will be back as regularly as poor cousins.”

  As if on cue, the threesome in question waddled fatly out of the cabin’s front door. Trailing behind them were shredded quilts and the litter of the cabin’s entire contents. Joan’s heart sank. She watched their Wild Kingdom visitors until they disappeared into the thick undergrowth across the clearing. She listened until their snorts could no longer be heard.

  Only then did she exchange a look with the deputy out on the limb with her. “So! We’re going to ski, huh? I’ve always wanted to learn how.”

  “THIS IS NOT GOING to work. It’s impossible. You’re going to get me killed.”

  “Have I yet?” Tying a rope around Joan’s waist while she held her arms out to her sides, Dan raised an eyebrow at her.

  His red-haired prisoner huffed out her obviously low opinion of his guardianship over her life. “No, but not for lack of trying. Let’s see, there was the snowstorm, the plane wreck and the bears, to name a few. Do you always lead such a life of adventure, Sheriff?”

  “Deputy. And no, I don’t. Lead a life of adventure, that is.” With that, Dan stepped back and surveyed his handiwork, adjusted the knot, tugged on the rope looped around her parka-thickened waist. He then squatted to check her tennis shoes’ fit in the toe bindings of the old cross-country skis from the cabin.

  Fiddling with the adjustments, he divided his attention between the skis and her face. “And just for the record, this crazy stuff never happened to me before I hooked up with you. So maybe you’re causing it”

  He stood up, watched Joan’s narrowed so-green eyes sparkling with confusion. She shook her head. “You’re laying all this at my door? I’m the boring accountant. You’re the dashing cop-slash-pilot. All I want in my life is stability. Maybe a husband and kids. The house with the white picket fence. You know, the American Dream.”

  Dan chuckled, trying not to look at her pink and pouting mouth, only inches away. “A—there’s not the least thing dashing about me. And B—if you want to live the American Dream, don’t go around killing mobsters.” With that, he looped his fingers through the rope around her middle and gently tugged her forward, toward him. “Good advice, no?”

  Slip-sliding on her skis, nearly losing her balance, she screeched and grabbed for his arms, holding on. “Don’t let go! I’m liable to rocket down this mountain, doing about ninety miles an hour with no way of stopping. And pinging like a human pinball off every tree and boulder—What’s so funny?”

  “You,” he didn’t mind telling her around his chuckles. “I am in over my head. No doubt about it.” Then, gripping her elbow to steady her, he reached over to retrieve two ski poles from where they leaned against the outside wall of the cabin. He staked them, one to
either side of her, in the hard-packed snow and said, “Here, hold on to these so you don’t jet down the mountain.”

  Grim and silent, she clutched at the poles and stared up at him. Dan stepped back, advising, “Go on, work with them. Get used to their feel. And be careful of the pointy ends.”

  “Oh, even better. I’ll fall and shish-kebab myself.”

  Dan watched her awkward efforts, thinking she looked as though she’d sprouted a few extra limbs. But when she finally seemed to have the hang of the poles, he sidestepped her and started to crunch his snowy way toward his skis. Another grin lit his face. He realized he was trying to picture his cool, blond, take-control Lena in this situation. Couldn’t do it.

  Wait a minute—she was no longer his Lena. Dan stopped in his tracks. Lena was gone. Just up and left Taos, heading back to San Diego. Shouldn’t he be crushed? Or guilty that he wasn’t? He frowned, assessed his feelings, realized he was neither. So, Lena was right—he didn’t love her. But he should’ve. She was perfect for him. Intelligent, warm, loving. Self-contained, successful, a real adult.

  But what he’d really liked about her, came the unguarded thought, was that she could take care of herself. She didn’t really need him. Dan stiffened, as if someone had put a gun to his back. That department shrink in Houston was right. So was Joan. He didn’t want to commit, to be needed. Because of Marilyn? The truth now blinded him, like the sunlight glinting off the snow. All these years after her death, and here he was…still protecting his heart, still refusing to feel. Still throwing himself into his work, avoiding finding anyone to care about again.

  When are you going to accept that Marilyn was taken from you, killed in a stupid, senseless crime? A drunk driver, Dan. Not you. It wasn’t your fault. Maybe not. But it felt like his fault because here he was, a cop, and he couldn’t even protect his own wife, hadn’t been there when she’d needed him the most. Dan narrowed his eyes, looking around and wondering why he was thinking about this. He hadn’t dragged this baggage out in years. So why now?