Saving Allegheny Green

by Lori Wilde

“Oh man, you are seriously screwed. I mean nothing to Conahegg. He won’t negotiate a deal.”

  “Wrong. He’s in love with you.”

  “He’s not.”

  “He doodles your name and I saw you coming out of his cabin the other night and the next morning he was whistling around the station. He never whistles.”

  Conahegg had been doodling my name? And whistling over me? Ah, now why did I suddenly feel sappily hopeful about our relationship?

  “Sam’s not in love with me,” I denied.

  “You better hope you’re wrong and I’m right,” Jefferson said. “Otherwise your death is going to be very Edgar Allan Poe.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. I stopped walking and turned to look at him over my shoulder.

  “Keep moving.” Jefferson nudged me with the end of his gun.

  We hiked over a hill and when we cleared a copse of trees down by the water, I saw it.

  My fate.

  My blood froze.

  There, in the middle of an isolated pasture, in the middle of a twenty-thousand-acre cattle ranch, sat a pine box that looked eerily like a coffin, and beside it, a mound of dirt, a gardener’s shovel and a very deep hole.

  Oh no way. I was not going to sit still for this.

  I spun on my heels and took off at a dead run, but Jefferson anticipated my response. I hadn’t taken two steps when he stuck out his leg and tripped me. I couldn’t even put my hands up to break my fall.

  Splat.

  I hit the muddy earth face-first.

  Jefferson grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to my feet. I’m afraid I did some blubbering. It hurt and I was scared.

  Hey, I never claimed to be a badass.

  He forced me into the coffin, with my hands still cuffed behind my back, and closed the lid. Darkness. The smelled of fresh-turned earth filled my nose and fear was an acrid burn at the back of my throat.

  The situation was so bizarre I had trouble believing it was really happening. Jefferson slammed a lid onto the coffin and nailed it shut. I yelled until I was hoarse but it didn’t deter him.

  Then he pushed me, box and all into the hole he’d dug. The top of my head whammed into the end of the coffin. A few moments later I heard the sound of dirt being shoveled in on top of me.

  Panic grabbed hold hard.

  I couldn’t die. Not yet. I’d never traveled. I never learned to snow ski. I’d never dined in a fancy French restaurant.

  And I’d only had sex with Conahegg once! How was I going to get out of this?

  Face it, Allegheny, you’re going to die.

  I’d stupidly, idiotically gotten into the car with Jefferson Townsend because he told me my sister was in trouble.

  Then another horrifying thought occurred. Where was Sissy? What if Jefferson had disposed of her the same way he was disposing of me? Was that how she’d disappeared?

  Sissy, where are you?

  I lay in the darkness of my tomb, listening to the sound of my heart beating, listening to the noise of my greedy breath desperately sucking in precious air.

  That was when I realized dirt was no longer being thrown on top of the pine box.

  I’d just been buried alive.

  I FLOATED.

  It wasn’t sleep. It wasn’t loss of consciousness. Rather, it seemed I’d gained a whole new level of awareness.

  I’m only reporting what occurred. I have no solid explanation for what happened to me. My mind separated from my body, detached and rose up through the pine coffin, past the layers of dirt and beyond.

  Suddenly, I was looking down at the mound of dirt that was my grave. I could see the area clearly. The river, the copse of oak trees, the expanse of field. Even a herd of white-faced Herefords. And I saw the tires of Jefferson’s squad car billowing up dust as he sped back up the one-lane pasture road toward FM 51.

  Was I dead?

  Was this astral projection?

  Is this how Aunt Tessa felt when she channeled Ung?

  More than likely it was nothing more than hallucinations induced by hysterical hyperventilation.

  But here’s the cool thing. I felt more at peace than I ever had felt in my life. No matter what happened I knew everything would be okay. My family could and would survive without me. And while I would miss them, while I would mourn what I’d almost had with Sam and lost before it could even take root and bloom, I was no longer afraid.

  Movement along the river caught my eye. I turned my head in the cosmic flow of ether and saw a small johnboat pulling to shore not far from my grave.

  Calmly, I watched as the boat docked and a young woman got out.

  She hurried up the slope. I studied her with detached curiosity as she grasped the shovel Jefferson had left behind. With fierce determination, she began to dig.

  It was my sister. And for the first time in our lives, Sistine was rescuing me.

  LATER, SISSY told me Sam had ripped the pine box open with his bare hands, never mind the nails. All I remember was that Sam’s face was the first thing I saw and it was his arms that went around me and gently lifted me from the coffin.

  I trembled in his arms and damn if Sam wasn’t tearing up. Sissy was jumping around all excited. It barely registered that we had a massive entourage. Mama was there and Aunt Tessa and of course three-fourths of the sheriff’s department.

  And in the back, over by a bank of squad cars with their lights flashing, waited Jefferson Townsend in handcuffs, a burly deputy with pistol drawn standing alongside of him.

  “I saved you,” Sissy said, and thumped her chest without one shred of modesty. “It was me.”

  I looked at Sam. He nodded. “Sissy’s been working with me.”

  “What!” I blinked at him.

  “I suspected Jefferson all along and when Sissy told me she thought she could get proof that he’d murdered Tim and Rocky, I gave her the go-ahead.”

  “You put my sister’s life in jeopardy?” I scooted out of Sam’s embrace quicker than if I’d just discovered he had a severe case of crabs.

  “I assigned a man to look after her,” Sam said, as if that was good enough.

  “You told me Jefferson had an alibi. That he was on patrol the night Rocky was killed and that his partner had been with him the entire time.”

  Sam shrugged. “I lied.”

  “You lied to me?” I stared at him. I would never have expected an honorable man like Conahegg to tell a bald-faced lie. Especially after what we’d shared. My disappointment must have been written across my face.

  “It was for your own protection,” he said, a tad defensively.

  I glared and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I was trying to keep you safe. I knew you’d go snooping around if I didn’t throw in a red herring.”

  “And that worked out oh so terrific. If you’d told me the truth I wouldn’t have gotten into the car with Jefferson.”

  My feelings were more than a little hurt that he’d lied to me and recruited Sissy to help him crack the case instead. What was I? Chopped liver?

  “I’m sorry, Ally,” Sam said and I heard remorse resonate deep in his tone. “I made a very bad judgment call.”

  “Damn skippee.” I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from crying. I had to change the subject and pronto. “I don’t get it. Why did Jefferson kill Tim?”

  “A few months back Jefferson busted Tim and Dooley Marchand for making out in the park,” Conahegg said.

  As he talked, things began to fall into place. That night Conahegg had run over a naked Tim in my driveway. I had felt certain there’d been someone in the bushes with him. It must have been Dooley.

  “But instead of running them on public lewdness charges, Jefferson, always the little entrepreneur, made them an offer. Make gay porn home movies using the equipment he’d confiscated from a high-tech electronics theft ring and he’d distribute the films. The cut was seventy-thirty. Seventy for Jefferson, thirty for Dooley and Tim.”

&nbs
p; I shuddered. Jefferson was even more of a creep than I’d guessed.

  “Dooley and Tim went along with the scheme, more because they were afraid that Jefferson would trump up some bogus charge and have them thrown in jail than for the money.” Conahegg took a deep breath. “This was all going on before I took over as sheriff of Cloverleaf.”

  “But of course.” I met his eyes and he gave me a tight grin. I tried not to notice how sexy his forearms looked with his shirtsleeves half-rolled up like they were.

  “The movies brought in a lot of money but Jefferson got greedy. He wanted more. When some lowlife dirtbag offered him a hundred grand to make a snuff film, Jefferson couldn’t resist.”

  “Snuff films? You mean those porn movies where they kill people? I thought that was just a myth.”

  Conahegg shook his head. “Sadly, no. There’s some sick bastards in the world.”

  I drew in my breath through clenched teeth and tossed a frightened look over at Jefferson. His face was stony. To think I’d been alone in the car with him and survived.

  Just barely.

  Sam saw where my gaze had gone. He reached out, drew me to him and squeezed me tight. Protecting me. “Jefferson knew he wasn’t going to be able to blackmail Dooley into snuffing Tim on camera, so he decided to do it himself.”

  I slapped a hand over my mouth and willed myself not to throw up.

  “He would have gotten away with it,” Conahegg said. “If it hadn’t been for Rocky.”

  “Rocky?”

  Sissy looked at Conahegg and he nodded. “You can take it from here. You’re the one who unraveled this part of the mystery.”

  My baby sister had been instrumental in helping Conahegg solve the case? Impressive.

  “On the day Jefferson made the snuff film with Tim, Rocky saw his car in the yard and decided to go over and see if he could buy a lid of marijuana,” Sissy said. “Jefferson didn’t answer the door of course, he’d just killed Tim. He hid out in the closet, hoping whoever was in there would go away. But Rocky walked on into the house, found Tim’s body and saw the camera equipment.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “He took the tape and used it to blackmail Jefferson.”

  “Yes, except he made a copy. He gave the original to Jefferson when he paid up, but then hid the duplicate. He told me if anything happened to him I was to get the copy and take it to the sheriff. But Rocky was killed before he could tell me who was on the tape and where he’d hidden it. I had no idea where to look for the tape. Then, I remembered he’d had a tape with him when we went to Tim’s funeral, but that was the last I saw of it. I figured he’d stashed it somewhere in the church.”

  “And that’s where I found her,” Conahegg said. “In the chapel, searching for the tape. That’s when she told me her half of the story.”

  “And you decided to use my sister as bait,” I interrupted.

  “Sam didn’t use me. I wanted to do it. I wanted to catch him.”

  “Problem was—” Sam picked up the story again “—Jefferson figured it out. He knew I was closing in on him. He didn’t show up for the rendezvous with Sissy. Instead he called me and told me that he’d buried you alive.” Conahegg’s voice cracked. “Ally, that was the worst moment of my life.”

  “Not too great for me, either. How did you know where to find me?”

  Sissy grinned. “I’d been secretly following Jefferson and I’d seen him dig the grave a few days ago. I think it was originally meant for me. So you see, I saved you.”

  “Yes, you did.” Then I started to cry and Sissy started to cry and we hugged each other tight.

  Several minutes later we pulled away from each other and I turned back to Conahegg and that’s when I noticed he was bleeding.

  “GOT A NEW PATIENT for you,” Joyce said and plopped a folder on my desk. A week had passed since Jefferson had been arrested for burying me alive and I hadn’t seen or heard from Conahegg. The last time I’d seem him he was being wheeled away on a stretcher. He’d neglected to tell me he’d gotten shot in the shoulder while taking down Jefferson. What was it with that man and his secrets?

  I’d resisted the urge to call him. I was done hovering over people. The ball was in his court.

  Groaning, I picked up the chart and chased after Joyce. “Hey, wait a minute. You’ve given me the last four new patients. I’m overworked and underpaid.”

  Joyce stopped and eyed me. “You don’t want the case?”

  “No.”

  “Fine then.” She plucked the chart from my hand.

  Something was up. That had been far too easy. I turned to go back toward my desk.

  “I’ll take him,” Joyce said.

  Joyce? Taking a patient? Something was most definitely up. I snatched for the chart but she held on tight.

  “Who is it?” I demanded. I didn’t like the canaryeating-feline expression on her face.

  “You don’t want the case.”

  “Joyce,” I said, “Give me the chart or I swear I’ll take you down at the kneecaps.”

  I must have looked as if I meant it because Joyce quietly passed me the chart. I held my breath and flipped it open.

  Samuel J. Conahegg.

  I suddenly felt very short of breath. I didn’t know whether to throw the chart back at Joyce or immediately run right over to Sam’s house.

  “So what are you waiting for?” Joyce snapped. “Go already.”

  I flew.

  Twenty minutes later I was standing on Sam’s front porch, knuckles poised to knock, but unable to make that simple follow-through. What was I going to say to him?

  “How long you gonna stand there?”

  My heart took the express elevator to my throat and I whirled around to find Sam standing behind me, an amused smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

  “I…um…you’re my patient.” I waved the chart. “I’m here to dress your gunshot wound.”

  “Uh-huh.” He never took his eyes from mine as he trod up the steps toward me.

  He looked so big and beautiful and…nervous?

  I recognized the signs. He was clenching and unclenching his hands and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

  It’s August, you ninny.

  August or not, ninny or not, something extraordinary was happening inside of me. My pulse blipped and a surge of pure joy rushed through my stomach, so strong it almost buckled my knees. Hope and a giddy happiness enveloped me. Elation. Exhilaration. Euphoria.

  Oh, what was happening to me?

  He reached out and took my hand and led me into his house. And I let him. It felt nice. Letting someone else be in charge for once.

  “Ally,” he said, guiding me to sit down on the couch. “We have to talk.”

  Talk? What was this about? He studied me and my early euphoria vanished.

  His bigness and nearness was a bit overwhelming. Testosterone radiated out from him and it was almost more than I could handle. “What is it?” I whispered.

  “There’s something important I have to say.”

  I gazed over his shoulder so I wouldn’t have to keep staring into those penetrating eyes. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his confession. Was he married? Had he fathered four hundred children out of wedlock? Did he secretly like to dress up as a cartoon character when he had sex? My mind jumped to the stupidest conclusions.

  “Hit me,” I said, and cringed, prepared for the worst.

  He squirmed. I grew more anxious.

  “This is hard for me.”

  “Spit it out, man,” I cried.

  Sam took my hands in his. “Look at me, first.”

  I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, braced myself and gazed into his eyes.

  He looked tortured. “I apologize.”

  “For what?” I eyed him suspiciously.

  “For not calling you.”

  “Pfft. It’s only been a week.”

  “And I’ve been thinking about you every damned minute.”

  “Really?” I liked how this wa
s turning out. “So why didn’t you call?”

  “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Allegheny Green, and I’m so damned afraid of screwing it up.” In that moment he looked so sweet, so damned adorable. “I’m not the easiest person in the world to live with. I can be arrogant and hardheaded.”

  “Don’t forget demanding and uncompromising and secretive.”

  “That, too.” He grinned.

  “If this is your let-me-be-your-boyfriend sales pitch, it definitely needs some fine tuning. You’re supposed to focus on your good points, not your bad,” I pointed out.

  He draped his arm across the back of the couch and leaned forward to gently stroke my cheek with his thumb. “This isn’t a let-me-be-your-boyfriend pitch.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good, because like I said, it needs work.”

  “I was thinking of something far more serious.”

  “You were?” My voice came out all squeaky. “Uh-huh.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “This.” Then he kissed me like I had never been kissed before.

  And as I tore off his shirt and pulled him down on the couch, as mindful of his injured shoulder as one could be while locked in a lusty frenzy, I realized Samuel J. Conahegg had just saved me from myself.

  Author Interview: A conversation with LORI WILDE

  Why did you name your heroine Allegheny? It’s such an unusual name!

  When I was a kid I used to collect unusual names. I used to keep long lists. (My mother thought I was really weird.) I ran across a singer named Allegheny and I loved the name so I added it to my collection. That was years ago, but when I started writing this book, the central character introduced herself as Allegheny Green.

  How did Ally’s story come to you? Had it been sitting with you for a while?

  Actually, yes. For quite some time I’d wanted to do a story combining my nursing background with my love for life on the Brazos River, but it never seemed the right fit for my category books. I’d also been dying to write in first person. The book swirled around my head for several years before I wrote it.

  How did you begin your writing career?

  I wanted to be a writer since I was eight, but my father, a journalist, knew how difficult it was to make a living writing fiction. He urged me to become a nurse so I’d have something solid to fall back on. I became a registered nurse, but I never lost my desire to write. I took a job working double shifts on the weekend so I’d have Monday through Friday to write. I sold my first book to Silhouette Romance in 1994, four years after I started writing seriously.