When Rafe and the rest of his officers rushed into the room scant seconds later, Krystal, sitting up in the bed, the covers flung back, had her gun shoved into the face of the menacing black clad figure beside the bed and John had his gun aimed at the man’s head from only a foot away. The intruder was whimpering in fear, his trembling arms raised above his head.
Rafe flipped on the light and moved toward the terrified criminal with handcuffs at the ready. Then he stopped and swore softly. “He ain’t riddin’ back to lock-up in my car,” he declared in disgust. “He peed all over the place.” He swore again. “I guess we’ll have to pay for someone to come in here and clean this rug!”
He fastened the man’s hands behind his back and turned him around.
Krystal Montgomery slipped her hand gun back into its holster and smiled at Rafe. “I guess it’s kinda hard to hold your water when, what you think is a defenseless woman, sticks a loaded 44 up your nose.”
A smile split her generous lips into a wide smirk. “Since he has to go down to county lock up, why don’t you let him ride in the back of that old surveillance truck? You have to return it to the compound anyway and it can always just be hosed out.”
Rafe grinned at her. “You and John use it to take him. My ride’s around the corner and the key is in the truck. This is your collar, not mine. You deliver him, you do the paperwork. I’ll sign it tomorr…,” he glanced at his watch, “later this afternoon. Right now, I’m going home to bed. It’s been a long time since six a.m. yesterday.” He glanced at his watch again and whistled. “A long time.” He’d been going for almost twenty-six hours straight. “I’m gettin’ too damned old for these long days.”
The other officers in the room laughed. At thirty-four, Rafe was one of the youngest of those present.
Leaving his perfectly capable deputies to finish up the details of the assignment, Rafe walked down the block and around the corner to his four-wheel drive SUV emblazoned with the insignia of the county’s law enforcement agency. He knew he was the youngest sheriff in the state, but he knew his job and took pride in knowing the citizens of his county had entrusted him with the responsibility for another full term, just two short months ago.
As he pulled the door of his vehicle open, he was greeted with excessive enthusiasm by a huge mixed breed bulldog. “Hey, take it easy, Spur! You knew I’d be back.” He patted the brindle spotted dog affectionately and slipped behind the wheel. He drove through the streets and was soon headed down the highway that led to the small cattle ranch that he’d called home since the day he was born. The only times he’d lived anywhere else was the stint he’d served in the Marine Corps and the six years he’d worked with the U.S. Marshals.
Parking the SUV under the dark shadow of an old oak tree in the back yard, he breathed in a sigh of relief to be home again. They’d worked a successful stake out and took a dangerous man off the streets. He stepped out into the yard and watched the bulldog jump out behind him. The animal dashed off to sniff and mark his territory. Rafe shook his head and chuckled softly. There wasn’t another dog on the place to mark over Spur’s last patrol, but it never made a difference to the animal. He was compelled to remark every spot, every time he came home. It’d probably be a half hour or more before all the sniffing and marking was finished so he figured he could just go on up to bed and Uci would let the dog in when she got up.
By the time he’d climbed the stairs to his room, he’d already removed his gun belt, unbuttoned his shirt and had his pants unfastened. He used the boot jack just inside his bedroom door and pulled his boots off, sat on the bed and shed his socks, tossed his uniform shirt and his t-shirt onto a chair beside the door before he stood again and slipped out of his jeans. He’d agreed to wear the tan uniform shirt of the Sheriff’s Department, but the khaki pants he’d refused from the first day. His jeans were comfortable, more durable and cheaper, so he’d convinced the county leaders to allow the officers to wear jeans. He dropped his across the chest at the foot of his bed and with another big sigh of relief, slipped between the sheets of his bed. He didn’t move again for almost nine hours.
It was the sound of Uci banging on his bedroom door that finally woke him up. “Rafter Storm Horse, I will not feed another meal that I have prepared for you to that…eating machine you call a dog. Get up, now!”
Groggily his pulled himself into a sitting position. “Uci,” the Lakota term for grandmother was his own way of respecting both the woman who’d raised him and their shared heritage, “open the door and stop shouting at me.” His voice was as groggy as his brain from heavy sleep.
When she pushed the door open her wrinkled face looked stern, but he knew she was smiling inside. “I’ve been listening to the radio and so I know what a hero you are today, but I don’t care and I’m not feeding that steak I got for you to that dog. Get up and get dressed. I’ll throw it in the pan when I hear you turn off the shower.” Her deep sepia eyes sparkled with pride as she looked at her grandson. He was the sunshine in her life, and had been since she’d held him in her arms still wet from birth and screaming his anger at having been pushed out of his mother’s womb.
He patted the mattress beside his hip, an invitation for her to cross the room and sit on the bed next to him. “What time is it?”
“Almost one p.m.,” she replied dropping her bottom onto the mattress so she was facing him. “What time did you get to bed?”
He shrugged. “Probably around four this morning. It was a long day.”
Uci nodded. “Susan Markham has called almost every hour since nine this morning. I guess she thinks I’m too old to remember to tell you to call her when you get up. That one must not be very sharp, because every time she calls, I tell her the same thing, ‘I’ll tell him you called when he wakes up.’”
Rafe grinned. “She’s probably wantin’ to make sure we’re gonna pay to have the rug in her bedroom cleaned. When Krystal shoved her 44 up that guy’s nose, he peed all over the place.”
The old Indian woman laughed softly while she shook her head negatively. “I think it is hero worship that’s behind all her calls. She says you saved her life.”
“Probably not her life,” he said softly, “and as bad as it has been, so far this guy hasn’t killed anyone. Rape and beating is more his style.”
Uci shrugged. “Things change. You never know what he would have done.” She stood up and walked to the door. “But you can bet your sweet behind that I will not cook that steak until I hear you turn that shower off. Now get out of that bed!”
She pulled the door closed as she walked down the hall. Rafe had always been a good boy and she took pride in knowing she’d helped him grow up to be the man he’d become. He’d worked hard for everything he had and she loved seeing him become a success on the paths he’d chosen for himself. Being raised by an old Indian grandmother had left little doubt in anyone’s mind what his heritage was and in spite of the occasional racial prejudices that he’d faced, he’d been able to become a bridge between the two communities of white man and Indian. He treated both races with respect and fairness and as a result, he received respect and confidence from them both. The last election had proof of that. She wondered if she should tell him about the other phone call she’d received that morning.
Her niece, Marlie Arrowhead had worked on the Howell ranch for several years and she was there when Rance Howell had taken the fall with that horse a few weeks back. She’d called this morning to let her aunt know that Rance’s niece, Mesa was coming home to look after her uncle and the Rocking H ranch. Well, to be truthful, Marlie had called to gossip and the tidbit about Mesa had been the part that needed to be remembered. Uci chuckled. She’d missed Mesa and she knew Jenny had as well. It was good she was coming home.
Mesa had been Rafe’s younger sister, Jenny’s, best friend their entire lives. Mesa, her mother and her Uncle Rance had inherited the ranch when Mesa’s father was killed in a bar fight. If his brother, Rance, hadn’t come to run the place, Mesa’s moth
er, Shirley Howell would have surely lost it, considering that she hadn’t seen much unless it was through the bottom of a whiskey bottle, ever since her husband died. As it was, she’d insisted that Rance live in the small house on the lake, away from the main house and had as little to do with him as possible. Mesa, however, had loved her Uncle Rance dearly. Right after Mesa and Jenny graduated from high school, Mesa ran away and little had been heard from her since, except on the radio. The broom that Uci had been using to sweep the kitchen floor stopped as she paused, her thoughts slipping back a few years.
Mesa had always had an incredible voice and had recorded several hit songs that had put her in the spotlight for a few years, but lately there hadn’t been much from her. She seemed to have dropped out of the music field and just disappeared. Not that anyone from home had looked for her. When she left Oak Ridge, it seemed she never looked back. Then, several years ago, Rafe came home from a U.S. Marshal’s Service assignment and told Jenny that he’d run in to Mesa while he was working undercover. The two childhood friends had reconnected and they’d learned she was living in Branson, Missouri. She was singing in a small club that she owned on the outskirts of Branson. Rafe had been vague about the meeting with her and wouldn’t talk about it with anyone, but he’d purchased most of her old hits and even now, six years later, he spent listened to her rich voice when he had time for music. Personally, Uci suspected something meaningful had happened between Rafe and Mesa during that time he’d been working undercover, but he refused to discuss it with anyone, except to say that she’d been doing well, as far as he could tell.
When Rafe came down the stairs wearing a clean black t-shirt and starched, creased jeans, he smiled, his nostrils filled with the smell of meat searing in an iron skillet. Uci would surely have already cooked potatoes smothered in another pan with small, yellow, crooked necked squash and onions. His mouth filled with warm saliva. He walked into the kitchen as she lifted the medium rare steak out of the pan and placed it in a plate. She turned and set it on the table in front of the chair he pulled out.
Without speaking she poured him a glass of freshly brewed iced tea and set that in front of him as well.
Rafe picked up his knife and started to cut into the meat, when Uci’s fist punched into his arm firmly. “Ow,” he said, exaggerating the sound as if it had really hurt him.
“Don’t you dare take one bite of that meat until it’s been blessed!” she scolded him. Efficiently, she poured another glass of tea and settled into the chair beside him. Wordlessly, he bowed his head and listened as she gave thanks and asked a blessing for the food they were about to eat.
“Sorry, Uci,” he mumbled as he lifted his knife to the steak again, following her softly spoken “amen.”
She grunted, took a sip of her tea and then spoke, her voice still soft. “Even in the old days, The People thanked Creator for the food He provided and asked Him to bless it. Don’t you ever forget who you are and where you came from! We are a proud, but humble people, and we can’t ever forget that, you hear me?”
He nodded solemnly. “You’ve taught me better, Uci, but sometimes I get wrapped up in…things.”
“In your job and the wasicu ways,” she smirked softly. “You are only one forth wasicu, so you better let the other three fourths, that understand what’s important, control your behavior.”
He wisely remained silent and tried for his most convincingly repentant look.
Lizzie Storm Horse might be his grandmother, but she’d been a mother to him as well. His own mother had died in an accident when Jenny was only a couple of years old and his memories of her were faded gray with time. Lizzie knew Rafe probably better than he knew himself.
Her dark eyes sparkled with silent humor. She knew her words had gone in one ear and out the other. Out of respect and love for her, he would at least try to take her words to heart, but she also knew that even if he did sometimes forget to show the proper respect and homage for the gifts bestowed by Creator, in his heart, he held great reverence for all things wakan.
“So, have you heard anything about how Rance Howell is getting along?” She hoped her question sounded casual.
He shrugged. “When Levi came in last night…this morning…whenever he came in, he said Rance was doing better. They think maybe he’ll be released from the rehab center in a few days. Will Marlie stay at the Rocking H and help out with him?”
“Marlie has three children who need a mother, at least at night, and she has all she can do seeing after Shirley and the big house. I don’t think that’ll change just because Rance goes home. She told me that Mesa’s coming home to take care of him and the ranch.” She watched him closely while she spoke and was quick to note the tightening of the muscles along his bronze jaw, and the way the fingers holding his fork turned white as his grip tightened subconsciously.
He took his time chewing the steak already in his mouth, giving his whole body a few seconds to regain control of itself. Finally he swallowed. “Well, that’s interesting. I imagine Jenny will be glad to hear it.”
“Yeah,” Uci nodded. “After you came home and gave her Mesa’s address, the two of them have stayed in touch.”
Having scarfed down the steak, Rafe pushed his chair back and stood up. “Thanks for…what meal was that, breakfast, lunch or supper?”
She chortled softly. “Knowing you, probably all three.”
He bent and brushed her forehead with a quick kiss. “Whatever it was, thanks for cooking it for me. It was delicious. I got paperwork to sign off on, so I’m heading back to the office.”
Her eyes followed him as he bounded up the stairs to slip into a clean uniform shirt and get his gun belt and weapon. She knew he dealt with some uncertainties about his job because of his age, so he worked extra hard to make sure no one could even think he wasn’t a good sheriff.
Her youngest son, Rafe’s uncle, John Storm Horse, had been the sheriff of the county for years and when Rafe left the Marshal’s Service and came home to stay, he’d gone right to work for him as a deputy. It didn’t take long for Rafe to work himself into being the head deputy and when John died of cancer a little over five years ago, the county officials had asked him to finish out the rest of John’s term. Then he’d been elected to the job by the citizens of the county in a vote, just recently. She missed both her sons, but knew how proud John would have been of the way his nephew had stepped in and done the job he’d loved so much. It seemed the men in her family gravitated to law enforcement. Rafe’s own father, her oldest son, Jessup Storm Horse had served as a law enforcement officer for the tribal council until he was killed when he responded to a domestic disturbance call. He’d been fatally wounded when he attempted to arrest a man who was beating his wife. A fight arose and the abusive husband had stabbed Jessup in the chest, the knife penetrating his heart. He was dead when the second officer responding made it to the scene.
Rafe trotted back down the stairs, kissed her again on the head and grabbed his hat as he hurried out the door. She could hear him whistling for the bulldog that went almost everywhere with him, then the door of his SUV slammed and he left.
Chapter 2
Rafe’s mind was whirling. Mesa was coming home! He couldn’t make himself believe it. All this time he’d never once asked Jenny anything about her. Oh, he’d wanted to. So many times he’d wanted to, but what good would it have done? She’d sworn she’d never come back. There weren’t many good memories for her here. He understood that. Even when he’d asked her to leave Branson and come back with him, she’d refused. She wouldn’t even consider it, justifying her decision by claiming she could never be happy in Oak Ridge because of all the bad memories. He couldn’t help wondering what had happened in the six years since he’d seen her to change her mind. Oh well, she wasn’t coming back for him, so it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t, but dammit, it did.
He heard an alarming, rumbling, pfffing sound from the dog lying peacefully on the back seat and then swore loudly as he pushed the b
utton to lower both windows in the front seat. “Damn, Dog! What have you been eatin’?”
By the time the smell had dissipated from the cab of the truck, he was slowing to pull into his reserved spot in front of the Morgan County Sheriff’s Department. Pushing his door open, he made a soft kissing sound to the dog, which quickly jumped out behind him. A hand signal put the animal at his heels and together they entered the office.
He spoke to each person he passed until he reached his secretary’s desk where he paused. “Beth, since school is out, do you think you can get Heather to come down here and take Spur out for a run? He’s got the worst case of gas I’ve ever smelt, and I don’t think any of us want him inside until he’s had time to get rid of it.”
She grinned and fondled the big dog’s head affectionately. “Actually, she’s in the break room finishing a summer reading assignment. I’m sure she’d appreciate a break, but it’ll mean more if you ask her.” Beth had worked in the office since her seventeen year old daughter, Heather had turned a year old. That was when she’d caught her husband fooling around with her best friend and divorced him. There wasn’t an officer in the place that hadn’t pulled a little babysitting duty over the years as Heather practically grew up in the office, almost as much as in the small home the mother and daughter shared. Well, Rafe hadn’t been around during that time, but since coming home, he’d come to respect Beth and like the rest of the staff, he thought of Heather as part of the family. They’d all shared her birthday cake just last week.
Sweet Talking Lawman Page 2
