Christmas in Coyote County

by Mary L. Briggs

  Jackson said nothing for a moment.

  “You think so?” he whispered. “I don’t know if I mentioned that it’s been a long time.”

  A seed of hope sprouted in her heart. How long? Could it be possible he was talking about the two of them? “I think you owe it to yourself. And her, too.”

  In the dim light drifting through the trees, she saw the steely gaze in his eyes soften. “I’ll think about it,” he answered.

  With a nod, she forced her tears aside. If Jackson loved someone else, this moment would sting in her memory forever.

  She had loved Ben once. She really had. But now it was Jackson her heart wanted. And not just for a crazy UFO-hunting week or so.

  “They don’t have much time left tonight,” she whispered, shifting her weight impatiently on the cold ground. “Morning will be here soon.”

  Jackson glanced at the glowing numbers on his watch. “It’s only three. They’ve still got three, almost four hours. They have plenty of time.”

  An argument from below carried through the night air. They scrambled to their feet and watched the backhoe driver emerge from the barn. “That’s crazy. I’m not goin’ over there. It’s against the law!”

  Laughter rang out from the woman and the other man as they followed close behind him. A third man stepped out of the barn.

  Mrs. Felton spoke up. “What are you so afraid of? We’ve come this far. It would be stupid to stop now! A few more hours and we’ll have it.”

  “Look, we’ve been on private property up until now. But I don’t hold to desecrating graves,” the driver argued. “My momma’s probably turning over in hers just hearing me consider it!”

  “Quit your moaning. It’s not like you’re digging up the dead.”

  The other man seemed anxious. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

  Mrs. Felton whirled to face him. “My husband knew what he was doing. If you two will just do your jobs, we’ll be done with this tonight, and we can all go our separate ways. Now start that machine,” she snapped.

  Libby’s heart plunged to her stomach. “They’re coming over here!”

  Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket, his face registering shock when he flipped it open. “Dead,” he hissed and slapped it shut. “I’ve been meaning to replace it. Did you bring yours?”

  She shook her head. The dozer roared to life, and her throat began to close.

  “We’d better get out of here!” Jackson grabbed the arm of her jacket and pulled her with him down the rocky slope.

  The sprint across the rickety bridge was a blur as she forced her feet to run, feeling one of the rotten boards snap beneath the heel of her boot. Both of them tripped on fallen limbs and rocks sticking out of the ground as they stumbled into the cemetery.

  At the gate, he pulled his gun from his holster and shoved it in Libby’s hands. “Take this and both the horses back to your house. Call 911. Explain everything to the dispatcher—have him send out Jim and Bill. Tell him no sirens at all.” He swallowed and took a breath. “The deputies can ride the horses back here and help me surprise our trio of would-be grave robbers. They both used to ride with us, so they know the way.”

  She pushed the pistol away. “You’ll need that if you’re staying here.”

  “No, Libby,” he answered, determination fierce on his face. “Take it. When the deputies come for the horses, they can bring it back to me. I’ll lay low until they get here.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” she began. The sound of the dozer grew closer, headlights flashed across the tombstones on the other side of the cemetery.

  “They’re coming across the creek,” he said. “Now go! And I’d better not see you back here. Do you understand me?” His tone was forceful, no glimmer of amusement anywhere in his eyes as she met his gaze one more time in the dull flash of moonlight.

  “Libby! Answer me!” he hissed.

  Saying nothing, Libby pulled away and stuck the pistol in her belt. It was impossible to say yes to a promise that might cost him his life. She was on Hattie’s saddle in a second, her hands clutching the reins of both horses.

  She gave Hattie’s sides a quick kick, leaving the cemetery behind. If she hurried, there would be time to make the call and come back better armed and better prepared to face off with these criminals.

  The blackness was deep and cold. Her heart pounded like a bass drum in her ears, blocking out night sounds of the forest. Keep me focused on the goal, Lord. Please, please protect us—keep Jackson safe on his own. As the opening loomed ahead, she pushed Hattie harder, glad they were now on the main road.

  ****

  Libby tied the horses to her front porch railing and fumbled frantically with her keys. Her voice trembled as she explained to the dispatcher.

  “Thirty minutes! And then it will take them fifteen to get out there.” She gasped. “But Jackson’s out there by himself!”

  “There’s no way they can get there any faster, Libby.” The tension in the dispatcher’s voice was thick.

  “I’ll leave the horses tied to my front porch. Jim and Bill know the way.”

  She slammed down the receiver and grabbed the .22 that leaned against the kitchen wall. The back door swung shut behind her a moment later.

  There was no way she was leaving Jackson to face this alone. If she didn’t go, no help would be there for almost an hour. Scout had wanted in on the adventure. Now was her chance. And Scout would get her back there safely.

  ****

  Jackson eased around a large oak. The bright lights of the backhoe bounced off the old gray stones, creating an eerie fog in the damp air. His heart hammered in his chest as he crouched low behind the tree. No need letting them catch him. When Jim and Bill arrived, they could take them easily.

  His thoughts drifted to Libby and her mission. She was an expert rider, but the darkness was heavy in the woods, and it hurt to force her to leave alone. His heart quickened. She wasn’t really alone. Keep her safe, Lord. I know You love her and care about her even more than me. Please give her Your protection on this ride.

  He swallowed back the worry that choked in his throat. Why had God put her back in his life? Being with her had revived an old ache he thought was cured for good. Could he live with it on a day-to-day basis? He didn’t think so. He was going to have to tell her. Get it over and done and live with, whatever answer she gave him.

  You led me back here, Lord. I’ve been wondering why for a while. Whatever it is, I don’t think I can stay unless she’s part of my life. Not without a lot of help from You.

  The backhoe came to a halt at the top of the hill, and the driver killed the motor. Jackson swallowed hard and stood. The rough bark scratched his face as he pressed it hard against the tree and eased his head to a position where he could see.

  Paula Felton’s voice carried across the night air. “This is the one—it’s marked as Sophia Brown.”

  The machine operator jumped down from his position. “Are you sure? This looks pretty real to me.”

  Her voice was loud and angry as she waved something in the air. “I’ve got the papers to prove it right here in my hand. Now quit arguing and start digging!”

  “OK. But you’d better not be wrong,” the man shouted as he pulled himself back up on the machine. “If this turns out to be a real grave then—”

  “When you see the money stashed in that coffin, you’ll be sorry you didn’t get to digging faster. Now get started, or I may have to deduct a portion from your cut.” She threatened. “It’s been buried in there for over twelve years. It’s time someone enjoyed it.”

  His heart plummeted. Money! Was it possible? Rob Felton had been a friend to his father. He had sat in their house, their living room, assuring his dad that he knew he would never take the money from the bank.

  Hurt and anger started a slow burn up Jackson’s throat. The man had been nothing but a backstabber. His dad had trusted him as a friend, and all the time he had been the one who was the criminal.


  Well, Rob Felton might be dead, but the rest of these thieves were going to pay.

  He glanced at his watch. Libby had been gone almost thirty minutes. Bill and Jim would be on their way. He could wait. No doubt, it would take them a while to dig everything up. Moving quietly to the last row of tombstones, he ducked behind the shrubby bushes scattered throughout the area. No one would notice him there.

  ****

  The blackness in the woods enveloped Libby like a smothering blanket. Nothing to do but keep her eyes straight ahead and ignore that rustle from the leaves.

  Lord, give me courage to get through this. Jackson is out here unarmed. He needs me, at least for tonight.

  The snapping sounds in the forest sent a prickle up her spine. Faster, faster. Scout had to go faster. Something crashed in the leaves to her left, but she didn’t look. She needed to stay focused on the goal—more than one friend depended on her nerve tonight.

  The clatter from the cemetery seemed closer as she rounded the curve. The rumbling of machinery covered the woodland noise. Another few minutes and she saw a glimmer of light ahead. She switched off her flashlight and pulled the mule to a halt. No need to ride in too close. She slid from the saddle and threw the reins over a low branch.

  She gave a whispered instruction. “Now you stay here, girl.” Scout snorted and stomped. Libby gave her a pat and prayed the animal would stay put.

  Flashlights with bright beams were shining in front of a backhoe when its engine suddenly stopped.

  The operator jumped from the machine, his voice echoing through the graveyard. “I don’t think I should dig anymore. We ought to be about deep enough, and I don’t want to damage anything. We’ll have to shovel it from here.”

  Libby dropped to her knees and crawled through the gate, one hand holding the rifle, Jackson’s pistol digging into her stomach. Her heart throbbed in her throat and ears. Twigs and rocks stabbed her palms and knees as she crept behind a cement bench and peered around the side.

  Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, and a hand covered her mouth. She started to struggle.

  “What are you doing here?” Jackson’s angry voice spoke low in her ear. He eased his hand from her mouth.

  She swallowed and willed her heart to slow as she pulled the pistol from her belt. “They won’t be here for another thirty minutes or so. I knew you needed—”

  He took the gun from her. “I told you not to come back!” Fury rushed through his whispered voice.

  She blinked back tears. This was no time for blubbering. “I wasn’t going to leave you out here unarmed.”

  “This is serious business, Libby. I don’t want to have to worry about you. Now you get out of here!” he growled. “I’m going to head closer towards the digging. You’ll meet Jim and Bill on the way out—tell them where I am. Now go!”

  She set her jaw and began to crawl away. As she neared the gate, Libby heard the crunch of his footsteps fading away from her. She looked at her watch: five thirty. Not long until daylight. Could she really leave him now?

  A rustling caught her ear and she turned, the hair on her neck rising at the sight of a shape just ahead. She pressed herself against the back of a tombstone and stared.

  The creature stood at the cemetery gate, watching her. Green glowing eyes trained on her, beneath small antennae curling away like thick strands from a grasshopper’s head. The antennae swayed as it turned its head towards the activity of the lighted area.

  Her eyes followed the plodding movement until the green glow faded behind a row of tombstones. Cold sweat coated her palms. What on earth is that doing here? Was it connected to the thieves? No wonder Mrs. Felton had been anxious to see poor Maddie go off to the nursing home.

  Intrigued, Libby turned and focused her attention on the digging area. The lights from the backhoe were off, and only one flashlight appeared to be in play. The two men, almost shoulder depth in the hole, were grunting as they shoveled out the heavy spades of dirt. “This ground is hard as a rock,” one complained.

  A flash of light blinded Libby; cold metal touched her cheek. Her heart took a fast dive as every muscle in her body went taut.

  “Well, what have I got here?”

  A shiver of dread coursed through her. It was the man they’d met at the gate yesterday.

  “Stand up, girl, and put your hands behind your back.” She didn’t hesitate. Dropping her rifle, she caught a glimpse of his hand pulling a piece of cord from a utility belt around his waist.

  The rope he tied dug into her wrists. Her fingers tingled when she wiggled them. The more she moved her hands, the tighter it became.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pushing her forward.

  Libby trudged in front, the blunt end of the barrel in her back. She stumbled over a rock, almost losing her balance. The man behind her laughed.

  Where was Jackson? A part of her desperately wanted to see him leap out from behind the trees and rescue her, while the other part dreaded seeing him in any kind of danger. Please give him a clear mind, Lord. They might not hurt her, but Jackson—she didn’t want to think about it.

  “Get going!” The man prodded her shoulder with the shotgun barrel. “We got trouble, Mrs. Felton,” he called.

  A bright beam shone in her face, and Libby squinted, refusing to close her eyes from the brilliant glare.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Libby set her jaw at the arrogant tone from Mrs. Felton. “I think the question is what are you doing here? Last I heard, grave robbing was illegal.”

  “What are we going to do with her, Mrs. Felton?”

  The woman laughed. “We’ll stick her in this hole when we’re through. Just keep your shotgun on her, Larry.”

  Libby gagged on bile that rose to her mouth. “You’ll never get away with that,” she snapped. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I doubt these men are willing go along with murder.”

  “Keep her quiet!” Mrs. Felton turned the light from Libby’s face and directed it back to the man in the hole. “You two hurry it up.”

  “We’re doing the best we can,” one of them replied. “If you want it done faster, you can just come down and do it yourself.” The backhoe driver tossed aside his shovel and placed his hands on the edge of the hole.

  “I’m taking a break,” he declared.

  Mrs. Felton leaned down, mere inches from his face as she glared. “Oh no, you’re not,” she hissed. “And if you decide to pull anything, I’ll start this machine up and take care of the two of you, first,” she threatened. “Now dig!”

  A flash of green glinted behind Mrs. Felton, the darkness hiding its shape. A second later, the woman screamed as she plummeted into the hole. The form vanished into the darkness again; the sound of cursing was audible from the pit below.

  Knife-like pain shot up Libby’s arms as Larry grabbed hold of the rope that bound her wrists. “That one of your friends? Well, they won’t think that was such a smart decision in a minute,” her captor said. She heard the sound of the hammer cocking; her eyes squeezed shut with fear.

  A sudden light from the graveyard illuminated them.

  “This is the sheriff!” a voice boomed. “Everyone freeze where you are!”

  Libby jerked forward, and the large fingers clamped harder. She stomped his foot with her boot and swung her leg back, scraping her heel down his shin.

  He grunted and clung to her tightly, shielding himself from the deputies. She felt the barrel of his shotgun beside her.

  No! She flung herself backwards, throwing her weight into his flabby form. Stumbling backwards, he fired into the air before landing on his back, Libby’s weight squarely deposited on his belly.

  Her ears throbbed from the blast as she struggled to get up. She scrambled to her feet and began to move before he had time to grab her again.

  A light bobbed from the darkness, and another pistol cocked.

  “Don’t touch that trigger,” a deputy’s voice warned. Libby tripped on a rock and fell, s
liding down an incline.

  “Libby? Libby?” Jackson’s voice.

  “Over here!” she shouted, as she struggled to her knees, her wrists tugging harder. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. Jackson was safe. That was all that mattered at the moment.

  A shiver raced up her spine as something soft touched her hand. Warm, wet breath puffed across her palms; she turned in the dark to see glowing eyes beside her, thick antenna bobbing as the creature examined her fingers.

  She felt the soft movement of fur as the head went down and nibbled along her palms. Teeth seized the rope that held her prisoner, tugging free the knot tied in the cord. A flash of light from Jackson illuminated her liberator.

  Unable to stop herself, she laughed out loud and sank into a cross-legged sitting position, her trembling hands brushing the frozen leaves and sticks from her hair.

  “Libby! Are you OK? Are you hurt?” he gasped. “Hey—get away from her!” He swatted at the animal with his hand.

  Sparky bleated in response, content to chew the rope he gnawed from Libby’s hands, his upright ears bobbing with his head. Green glow-in-the-dark paint—that outlined his horns and fuzzy face—vanished to normal shades in the flashlight’s bright beam.

  ****

  Scout kept a slow, steady pace with the other mules in the Search and Rescue squad as Libby waved and tossed Christmas candy to the children along the sides of Main Street. Their excitement was catching, and she laughed aloud as they scrambled for the sweet treats.

  She had done the same when she was their age. Grandpa had always made sure to throw an extra handful of candy her way. The first time she’d ridden in the parade beside him had been one of her most treasured memories.

  The Search and Rescue group rode behind The Coyote Times. The Times’s float featured a cardboard replica of an old printing press, slowly flapping and coming apart in the breeze, a large Christmas tree and a wooden bench where Charles Smith, editor of the paper, sat beside Maddie Thompson and Sparky the goat.

  She was bundled in a heavy coat, with a red blanket over her lap. A furry red Santa hat covered her gray bun and kept her ears warm. Sparky, tied close beside her, was more interested in chewing on the leather strap than accepting the admiring cheers from the crowd. Libby was sure he’d escape before the parade was over.