Accidental Hero

by Lauren Nichols

  “Will he?” she asked. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away as Ross cleared the rails and dropped down onto the bull’s broad back.

  Suddenly the gate opened, and Brimstone exploded from the chute like fireworks on the Fourth of July. The roar of the crowd and the reaction from the announcers in the booth told Maggie instantly that something was wrong.

  Jess shot to his feet, yelling over the din. “What jackass opened that gate? He didn’t have his rope hand set!”

  Maggie watched in horror as the bull heaved his backside high and snapped Ross back against its spine, then wheeled to the left and spun wildly, trying to toss its rider. Ross clung to the rope, hugged the animal with his thighs, and jerked his raised hand for counterbalance and style as he was snapped forward and backward like a pretzel stick riding a paint shaker.

  The announcer’s voice blared from the speakers. “What a ride for not bein’ ready! And would you look at the size of that animal! That big guy ain’t missed many meals. Take him to the horn, Ross!”

  A split second later, a scream froze in Maggie’s throat as the bull spun viciously to the right. With a powerful lunge and whiplash thrust of its great head, the bull threw Ross into the air and sent him crashing against the metal gate.

  Chapter 13

  “Ross? Ross!”

  Maggie pushed through the knot of men clogging the doorway to the fairground office beneath the grandstand. It had taken her several minutes to reach the sparsely furnished room where they’d taken him, and her heart had been in her throat the whole way. Behind her, Jess kept assuring her that Ross was just shaken up, but his reassurances sounded hollow. She could tell that he was worried, too.

  Her concern deepened when she saw Ross seated on a green vinyl sofa. His hair was mussed and hanging over his forehead, his forearms resting on his spread thighs, as George Hellstrom, Comfort’s aging general practitioner, checked his eyes with a penlight.

  Looking irritated, Trent stepped in front of her and blocked her way. “Maggie, stay back and let Doc Hellstrom check him out.”

  Maggie jerked away from him. “Trent, if you don’t get out of my way right now—”

  “All I’m asking is that you give him some space.”

  “Better let her by, Trent,” the elderly doctor chuckled as he finished his examination. “Sounds like she means business, and this couch is a bit small for two patients.”

  Maggie hurried to crouch beside the sofa and slip her hand into Ross’s. The look he sent her was a mixture of discomfort, frustration and anger.

  “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

  When a scowl was the only reply she got, Maggie glanced nervously at the white-haired man who’d brought her into the world. “Doc?”

  “No need to fret, Maggie. Flying seems to suit him—though he might want to work on his landing some before he tries it again.”

  “But he hit the gate so hard.”

  Doc nodded. “His pupils are a tad sluggish, but they’re equal and responsive, so I suspect he’s got himself a slight concussion.” Doc’s expression sobered as he turned back to Ross. “Sure you won’t change your mind about the X ray? A quick trip to the hospital wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Ross,” Maggie interjected, “if the doctor thinks you should—”

  “I’m fine, ” he repeated.

  Doc Hellstrom’s shrug indicated it was Ross’s choice. “You’ll have a headache for a while, I expect.” He reached into his bag and took out several sample packets of pain relievers, then tucked them inside Ross’s shirt pocket. “You can take a couple of these. if you need them.”

  Hellstrom’s diagnosis filtered through the vigilant crowd, and murmurs of relief mingled with the arena sounds carrying into the room. As the crowd broke up, several cowboys called words of encouragement. Maggie was buoyed by their support. Ever since the church roofing, she’d sensed a subtle shift in the way the townspeople viewed Ross. More and more often, a smile was offered instead of a wary look, a handshake instead of a cold shoulder.

  Suddenly a timid, unfamiliar tenor voice broke Maggie’s thoughts.

  “I’m sure glad you’re gonna be okay.”

  Ross’s expression hardened, and his blue eyes speared the short, skinny man standing just outside the door. Clutching a beat-up brown cowboy hat, the visitor took a hesitant step inside.

  Puzzled by Ross’s reaction, Maggie turned to Jess—and was surprised all over again. Jess’s expression, too, damned the man—a blonde in his late thirties who reeked of whiskey and obviously hadn’t shaved for days. “You the one who opened the gate, Dooley?”

  The man nodded miserably. “Lord as my witness, Jess, I heard him say ‘go’ just like he always does.”

  Ross bolted to his feet, then sank to the couch again, sucking air. “Dooley, you’re a slimy little liar. I didn’t say anything. I was too busy trying to firm up my rope hand.”

  “But I was sure I heard—”

  Jess grabbed the man by his stained shirt and yanked him up on his boot tips. “You heard something all right—the sound of money crackling.”

  “No! No, it was an accident, I swear!”

  Doc Hellstrom broke in quietly. “This is neither the time nor the place, Jess. I have a concussed patient, here.”

  Jess froze, then nodded and released the panicky cowboy. “Get the hell out of here,” he muttered. “And I don’t want to see you anywhere near those chutes again when you’ve been drinking.”

  As Dooley made his getaway, Hellstrom sighed, stood and tucked his stethoscope and penlight in his bag. He met Ross’s agitated look. “You’d better stick around here a while till your head clears, son. And if you start having a problem with nausea, blurred vision or memory lapses, you get your keister over to the hospital. You got that?”

  When Ross didn’t answer, Maggie did so for him. “He’ll go. I’ll see to it.”

  “Good. He’s your patient now, Maggie. Keep him quiet for a while.” Hellstrom paused in the doorway to caution them. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave. The association will have my hide if this door’s left open.”

  When the doctor had gone, Jess wandered over to Ross and smiled wryly. “Nice ride, considering.”

  “Didn’t make the horn, though, did I?”

  Jess shook his head. “Sorry.” After a moment, he spoke again. “Dooley said it was an accident.”

  “Right. And the Pope plays tight end for the Dallas Cowboys. We both know Dooley’s a coward and a drunk who always has his hand out. I didn’t say I was ready, and he didn’t open that gate early without some incentive.”

  Jess nodded. “Okay, I’ll ask around. Maybe somebody saw something. In the meantime, I’d better let Casey and Aunt Ruby know you’re all right.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for coming in to check on me.”

  When Jess had gone, too, Maggie sat beside Ross on the sofa. Dust from the arena clung to his clothes and streaked his face; on the desktop, his tan Stetson was just as gritty.

  “Are you really okay?” she asked quietly.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m just dandy. A thousand bucks just slipped through my fingers and landed in Trent Campion’s wallet. I couldn’t be happier.”

  She didn’t know what to say. “Can I do anything for you? Get you something to drink?”

  “No, just leave me alone for a while.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I do. Go back to the rodeo and watch the heir apparent’s golden moment. He’s got it sewn up now, and he’ll want a big audience for his victory ride.”

  Was it sour grapes that she was hearing? Maggie wondered as she studied the cold expression on his face. Or was it something else? “You think Trent had something to do with this, don’t you?”

  Ross pushed to his feet, winced, then steadied himself briefly with a hand on the desk. “Even if Cy won’t let you wear the badge, you’re still a trained deputy. Know anyone else with more to gain?”

  �
��That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he pay Dooley to sabotage your ride? The Campions have millions. He hardly needs the money.”

  “It’s not the money,” Ross snapped angrily. “It’s the publicity. I told you before, Ben and Trent have been manufacturing this—this image—since Trent went away to college. Winning rodeos, lobbying for environmental issues, showing up at church roofings—those things say ‘all-American boy’ to the voters, and make them positively giddy to get to the polls.”

  “But paying someone to give him the edge in a local rodeo is just so extreme. Are you sure you’re not—” she backed off “—Never mind.”

  Ross’s eyes darkened like thunderheads. “Imagining things? Ticked off because I lost? Is that what you were going to say? If you were, you’re dead wrong. Maggie, I can handle losing fair and square. It just takes me a little longer to mellow out when I know I’ve been screwed over. Now go find Jess and Casey. I’ll see you in the stands later.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “All right,” he said, grabbing his hat and storming out the door, “then I’ll leave.”

  She started after him, and he turned at the door. “Dammit, Maggie, I’m going to the men’s room. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to do it alone.”

  “Ross, there’s a rest room in here. Use that.”

  His only response was another glare. Sighing, Maggie gave up and watched him go, hoping he wouldn’t start something with Dooley, or Trent, or anyone else. If he did, concussion or no concussion, Cy would be only too happy to show him the inside of a jail cell again. Heaven knew, he didn’t need that. Not when people around here were finally changing their opinion of him.

  Maggie turned the lock in the door, shut it tightly, then tried the knob to make sure that it was secure. Then she returned to the stands to find Jess and Casey, cursing herself for not being a more attentive caretaker.

  One of Doc Hellstrom’s last directives to her had been to keep Ross quiet for a while. She’d certainly done a bang-up job of it.

  By the time Ross joined them twenty minutes later on the sidelines, they were all on edge. But no one asked where he’d been or what he’d been doing. Actually, Maggie thought, he probably should have just stayed away altogether. He’d shown up just in time for the awards ceremony.

  The announcer’s voice reverberated through the hot afternoon, naming the winners of the various events and asking the packed crowd for a show of support. Trent walked humbly to the center of the arena to stand beside the other winning contestants, while attendees applauded and the shutters on a dozen cameras clicked away. Worse, as president of the Fairgrounds Association, Ben Campion made a grand show of presenting his only son with the winner’s check.

  When it was Trent’s turn at the microphone, he thanked everyone for their support and their kind applause—then announced that he was donating the purse, along with a matching sum, to the local 4-H Club.

  The voters went wild.

  Ross released a disgusted breath as Harry Atkins from the Prairie Voice took more photos, and the crowd continued to applaud. “Sorry, but this is a bit much for me. I’m outta here.”

  As his family voiced their understanding, Maggie took a step closer to Ross. Earlier, Jess and Casey had mentioned getting together at Ruby’s after the closing ceremonies, but Maggie no longer had much of an appetite. “Want some company?”

  His tense look faded finally, and his voice dropped low. “I’d like that...if I haven’t turned you off, blowing up the way I did.”

  Turned her off? Not ever. Easing up on tiptoe, Maggie kissed him softly on the mouth, then smiled at the surprise in his eyes. How could he think he’d turned her off? She loved him, and whether or not his suspicions about Trent were true, he fervently believed they were. In Maggie’s mind, that justified his anger.

  “Kissing the town hellion?” he asked. “Right out here in front of God and everybody?”

  “Right out here in front of God and everybody,” she repeated. Maggie knew he was thinking of another time that she’d kissed him, a time when he’d accused her of waiting until the only breathing creatures around were birds and squirrels. With a twinge of guilt, she admitted that he might have been right back then. But no more. Her love for him grew stronger with each passing day. “Let’s go.”

  Waving goodbye to Jess, Casey and Ruby, they left the stands and headed for the cut field where their vehicles were parked. But just when Maggie thought that they’d be able to salvage part of the day, they strolled up one of the grassy parking aisles and came eye to eye with more trouble. A feeling of dread settled over her.

  Cy Farrell and Mike Halston were standing beside Ross’s truck.

  Maggie sensed Ross starting to boil again beside her, and she prayed with everything in her that he’d hold his temper. “Is there a problem, Cy?” she asked when they finally reached the black Dodge.

  “Maybe,” he answered, removing his mirrored sunglasses. He gestured to the driver’s side of the truck. “Mind opening the door for us, Ross?”

  “Mind telling me why?”

  “Somebody helped themselves to the cash box in the association office.”

  Ross’s expression hardened. “And you’re checking everyone’s vehicles for it? Or just mine?”

  Maggie sent a worried glance toward Mike, and he looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the proceedings.

  “Just open it. I’m extending you the courtesy of doin’ it yourself, but I can go ahead on my own.”

  “Without a warrant?”

  “Probable cause,” Farrell said. “There was no sign of a break-in, and accordin’ to Doc Hellstrom, you and my brand-new deputy here were the last people in the office. I trust Maggie. I don’t trust you. Now open the door.”

  Glaring, Ross shoved past Farrell. “This is ridiculous. I wasn’t anywhere near the office after Maggie and I left.” He yanked the unlocked door wide open. Then Maggie’s heart dropped, and Ross went pale beneath his tan. The corner of a gray metal box stuck out from beneath the front seat.

  Farrell looked almost as stunned as Ross did. Then he recovered and caught Halston’s eye. “Get it out of there.”

  Halston took a handkerchief from his back pocket and used it to remove the box. He examined it. “Still locked,” he said to Farrell.

  “Good.” Farrell still looked deeply puzzled as he turned back to Ross and began to recite his Miranda rights.

  But in the past two months, Maggie had grown to know Cy well, and she saw that Farrell was hesitant to make the arrest. In fact, unless Maggie missed her guess, until Cy spied that cash box, he’d only been playing his usual game of harassing whichever Dalton was handy.

  “...have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney...”

  Blood pounded in Maggie’s ears. Had anyone seen Ross during the time they’d been apart this afternoon? Could anyone corroborate his whereabouts? Her mind snagged something positive, and she told herself he’d be okay; they wouldn’t find his prints on the cash box. Then that small hope died as she recalled that he’d worn a glove during the bull-riding event. The absence of fingerprints on the cash box could easily be explained away.

  As Farrell finished advising Ross of his rights, Maggie’s thoughts were reeling. Cy had called her his brand-new deputy. That meant he’d made his decision to hire her over Harvey Becker’s newly graduated son. What convenient timing.

  What very convenient timing.

  Taking a deep breath, Maggie backed away from the truck—and in doing so, backed away from Ross. Farrell had made his decision, now she had to make hers. No matter how difficult it would be.

  Maggie’s eyes met Ross’s, and she saw the trapped look that he was trying to hide beneath his anger. “I thought I knew you,” she said coldly. “How could you do this?”

  The hurt and betrayal in Ross’s eyes nearly destroyed her.

  Three hours later, Maggie thanked Mike Halston, squared her shoulders and crossed the reception a
rea in the sheriff’s office to the cell alcove. Farrell was out having a late supper, and she’d convinced Mike that she just wanted to end things with Ross once and for all.

  A feeling of déjà vu struck when she saw him stretched out on the cot, long and lean, still dusty from his fall, much the way she’d encountered him on the first day he’d come grinning back into her life. His booted feet were crossed at the ankles again, and his tan Stetson rode low over his eyes. She knew without a doubt that he knew she was there, but he didn’t acknowledge her or look up. He made her speak.

  “Ross?”

  “Get out.”

  Maggie moved to the bars, keeping her voice low. “Not before I have a chance to tell you why I said what I did. There was a good reason for it.”

  “Catchy little tune, but I’ve heard it before, and I didn’t like it all that well the first time.”

  Yes, he had heard it before, she thought—the day her father had pressured her not to see him anymore. “Ross, please, if you hear me out, I can explain.”

  “Explain it to someone else. I’m through with you.”

  Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes, and suddenly she was so hurt and so angry...that she knew exactly how he felt. If there had been any other way to handle things this afternoon... But there hadn’t been.

  “Well, I’m not through with you yet,” she answered, trying to control the trembling in her voice. “If I hadn’t made it look like I was backing away from you, I wouldn’t have Cy’s trust, and I wouldn’t have a job here anymore—a job I need if I’m going to help you.”

  He exhaled derisively.

  “I have a few ideas, but I need access to this office to check them out. I think...I think that if you’re right about Trent paying Dooley to open the gate early, Trent could be behind the robbery as well. I’m not sure why. Maybe he’s angry about my relationship with you, or maybe he’s still holding a grudge over the horse-beating incident. Maybe both. But I think it wasn’t enough of a payback to see that you lost the rodeo. He wanted you shamed.”