Accidental Hero

by Lauren Nichols

  “Are we havin’ a party?” he drawled through a scowl.

  Ross tossed the altered accident report that he’d been reading on the desk. “Yes, and it’s in your honor.”

  Returning Ross’s stare, Farrell ambled over to pick up the report. He paled for an instant, then recovered and let the document slip through his thick fingers to the desk.

  “A little mishap five years ago? That’s what this powwow is all about?”

  “No,” Walker said, “it’s about falsifying a police report—possibly concealing the truth about Saturday’s theft at the fairgrounds.”

  Cy started a blustery reply, but Walker spoke over him.

  “Ross just came from Mildred Tenney’s home.” He held up Mrs. Tenney’s statement. “She said Trent Campion was drinking the night he swerved into her on Clearcut Road. She also said that her accident required a hospital stay and months of physical therapy. There’s no mention of any of that in your report, Cy. Why is that?”

  Ross stood to prowl the room. “The word cover-up comes to my mind. What springs to yours, Cy?”

  Tension was evident in the gray eyes behind Farrell’s glasses as he stood there, seeming to evaluate his position. Then, apparently realizing that denial was useless, he sagged into the chair they’d set out for him. Cy wiped a hand over his thick cheeks and chin stubble. “The charges against you are going to be dropped. I’ve already phoned Brokenstraw and told Jess.”

  “Not that I mind,” Ross said, unimpressed, “but why?”

  “Because you didn’t take the money.”

  “That didn’t stop you from arresting me.”

  Farrell bristled defensively. “I had to arrest you. The evidence was in your truck! If you’d locked the damn thing, none of this would have—”

  Mark Walker broke in. “Look, I don’t want to be here all night pulling details out of you, Cy. Why are you dropping the charges?”

  Farrell, obviously trying to regain his poise, squared his shoulders. “Ben called me out to his place today. He needed me to do some damage control. Seems Dooley Spence was drinking himself stupid near Ross’s truck when Trent shoved the cash box under the front seat. Apparently, Dooley found some courage this afternoon and tried to shake Ben down.”

  Ross’s face turned to stone as he walked to the desk, towering over Cy. “Then why isn’t Trent behind bars?”

  Looking up at Ross, Farrell moistened his lips and shifted uneasily for a moment. Then he looked away. “He, uh, took off. I don’t know where. I expect his daddy does, but Ben’s not saying.”

  Maggie saw Ross’s expression, and knew that he, too, was wondering about Farrell’s guilty break in eye contact. Was Trent really gone? Or was Farrell still protecting him?

  “Look...” Farrell said. “This is a mess, for sure. But I think we can settle things without too much fuss if we just look at the facts.”

  “What facts are those?” Mark Walker prompted.

  The sheriffs voice grew more confident. “Since the fairgrounds association never lost a cent, and Trent did donate his part of the prize money to charity—even pledged to match the funds—Ben and I thought it would be best for everyone concerned if we—”

  “Just covered this up, too?” Ross lunged forward and banged both fists on the desktop. “No way. You’re resigning, you son of a bitch, and Trent’s going to be front page news if I have to buy my own newspaper and print only one issue. I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but stealing was never one of them. I don’t want people thinking I cut a deal or that charges were dropped because of insufficient evidence.”

  Maggie rose and eased Ross back from the desk. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “No, it’s not,” Mike Halston agreed. His firm look shifted to Farrell. “Sorry Cy, but I need your badge and gun.”

  Cy’s first reaction was shock. Then his angry eyes bored into Mike’s. “Who gave you the authority to—”

  “You did. You’re under arrest. Conspiracy, withholding evidence and impeding a criminal investigation. After I talk to Ben, I expect we’ll be adding extortion to the list.”

  As Cy was advised of his rights and led to a cell—loudly and furiously demanding to make a phone call—Walker spoke to Ross. “Mike and I can take it from here if you and Maggie want to go.” He shook Ross’s hand. “I’m really sorry you were put through this. I’ll be in touch about the particulars, but as far as I’m concerned, the matter’s settled. And don’t worry—we will find Trent.”

  “Damn right, we’ll find Trent,” Ross muttered a few minutes later as his long strides took him out of the office and into the warm night air. “Can I get my truck out of impound?” They’d dropped off Ruby’s vehicle at the café, and once again Ross was without transportation.

  Maggie hurried to keep up. “Not until everything’s been resolved. No exceptions, I’m afraid.”

  “Then I need to borrow Lila’s rig.”

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going out to the Campion ranch. You saw Farrell’s reaction when I asked where Trent was. I think he lied about Trent leaving. Maybe that’s why he’s so hot to make a phone call. Ben could be waiting to see if Cy can smooth things over before he ships Trent off somewhere.”

  Maggie disagreed. “How could Cy smooth things over? There was a witness to Trent’s crime.”

  “Dooley Spence?” Ross released a short, flat laugh as they reached Lila’s truck. “How hard would it be to discredit the town drunk’s claims as hallucinations? If we’d all agreed to go along with the sweet little scenario Ben and Cy cooked up, Trent would’ve gotten off scot-free. Again.”

  Maggie tossed him the keys as Ross strode to the driver’s side, and he caught them neatly. They both climbed in. “Okay, say, for the moment, you’re right and Trent’s still at the ranch waiting to hear if he’s in the clear. When Cy doesn’t phone within a certain amount of time, Ben could get nervous. The Campions have a small plane and airstrip near the boundary of their property, and Trent’s a pilot. He could already be in the air.”

  Ross hit the key, and Lila’s ’68 Chevy roared to life. “I can’t worry about that right now. Hang on.”

  The imposing grounds around the Campions’ sprawling Spanish-style residence were softly lit, as was the long, paved driveway that marked the last quarter of a mile to the house. Earlier, as they’d driven the curving, wooded access road, they’d passed white plank fencing, handsome outbuildings and the shadowy outlines of horses in the pastures. Everything about the place shouted “wealth.”

  Ross extinguished the headlights and shut off the truck just short of the first light pole and the heavy iron gate that hung open. A row of pines followed the driveway nearly to the house.

  “Okay,” he said quietly, “we won’t get anywhere knocking at the door to the castle. If Trent’s still here, no one’s going to admit it.” He got out of the truck, and Maggie followed. “We’ll make our way up to the house through the trees in case someone decides to look out a window.”

  Suddenly Maggie was chilled to the bone, though the daytime temperatures were still holding. Shivering, she followed Ross into the pines and spoke in a whisper. “Ross, this is trespassing. And if they have an airstrip, they almost certainly have security cameras on the grounds.”

  “If they spot us, they spot us. You’re a deputy sheriff searching for an alleged felon.”

  “I’m not officially a deputy yet.”

  “You will be soon enough. And if this pans out, no one will worry about trespassing. Besides, it’s not posted and the gate’s open. Looks like an invitation to me.”

  They proceeded stealthily through the pines, using the elaborate landscaping and shrubs for cover. Finally, they were quietly circling the house and, to Maggie’s discomfort, peering through the lighted windows.

  They saw no one until they reached the kitchen and viewed the housekeeper wiping countertops. Then, off the veranda at the rear of the house, they noticed Ben sitting stonily at the desk in
his study. He was alone, his expression despondent, as classical music pulsed against the glass doors. Maggie could almost feel his misery.

  But there was still no sign of Trent, and they’d run out of lighted windows. Somewhere down by the stables, a dog had begun to bark, stirring up the horses. Maggie’s nerve endings thrummed. As desperately as she wanted Trent to pay for framing Ross, she wanted to leave.

  Ross didn’t.

  “Now what?” she rasped a few minutes later, when they’d checked out the dark, silent garage.

  Ross swore in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe Cy was telling the truth. Maybe Trent’s already gone. It’s too dark to see anything inside the damn garage, so I can’t tell if his fancy Lincoln’s in there or not.” He swore again.

  Maggie pressed her forehead to his warm shoulder and yearned for the closeness she’d been missing. Ever since that horrible scene with Cy at the fairgrounds, their relationship had deteriorated into something that wasn’t quite platonic, but that was heartbreakingly far from intimate.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know how badly you wanted to bring him in.”

  Ross tugged her close for a moment, then released her. “It’s okay. This was a long shot anyway.” Taking her hand, he dipped to a crouch again. “Come on. Let’s just go back.”

  They had just emerged from the trees above Lila’s truck when an engine roared to life and a vehicle shot down the driveway toward them.

  Maggie turned swiftly, instantly blinded by headlights. The driver swerved toward them. With a hoarse cry, Ross tackled her, and they tumbled into the safety of the trees. The black Lincoln Navigator roared on.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes!” Maggie answered. “What on earth—?”

  “It was Trent,” Ross shouted, scrambling to his feet. “Stay here!”

  “No! I’m coming with you!”

  But he was already yards ahead of her, climbing into Lila’s truck.

  “Ross! Dammit, don’t you do anything stupid!”

  “I’ll come back for you! I don’t want you in the truck when I try to stop him!”

  Adrenaline pumping, Ross hit the key and backed onto the access road. Then in a flurry of gears, spinning tires and spraying gravel, he was fishtailing up the narrow road after Trent.

  He gripped the steering wheel in a stranglehold and pushed the old truck as hard as he could. The Navigator was streamlined and built for power. But the road was a corkscrew, and Ross prayed that would slow Trent down. It had to. The preppy bastard had to pay for what he’d done. These last few weeks, Ross had regained some trust and respect in this town, and it had felt damn good. Trent’s vindictive act had almost turned Ross into the town pariah again.

  Distant brake lights flared briefly in a thick cloud of road dust, and in the high beams Ross saw a blur pass in front of Trent that might have been a deer. He thanked nature for the delay. What was it that Lila had said about her truck? That it was a gutsy old girl that could take anything Ross drove?

  “Come on,” he muttered to the truck. “Come on. Make Lila proud.”

  Ross took the next turn on two wheels; coming out of the turn the old truck hit the road hard, but he was gaining on the Lincoln. Trent was hell on bulls, but he obviously couldn’t make a vehicle do what he wanted. Ross punched down on the accelerator and Lila’s old Chevy did things that it should never have been able to do. The distance closed between them.

  Suddenly, in a haze of road grit and taillights, Trent was right in front of him.

  Ross jerked the wheel hard to the left and came abreast of the Lincoln, both of them still speeding. Trent lunged ahead as they came into another sharp turn. Ross was back on his tail in seconds.

  Up ahead, the gullies along the road were deeper and the trees were thicker. Ross braced himself and floored the gas pedal. Trent glanced out his window and shouted as Ross came even with the Navigator again. Then Ross cut the wheel hard to the right, struck the Lincoln’s front fender, and the Lincoln went bouncing up and over the ditch and into the trees.

  Ross was out of Lila’s rig in a moment, running to stop the man climbing out of the Lincoln. Trent tried to run, but he was no match for Ross’s adrenaline-fueled anger.

  One roundhouse punch settled it once and for all.

  Breathing hard, but exhilarated, Ross shook his stinging hand, then dug behind Lila’s seat and found some rope. It gave him tremendous pleasure to hog-tie Trent and to drag, hoist, then shove him into Lila’s rusty truck bed. Then he slammed the old tailgate and slipped in the pins.

  “Finally,” he whispered in the darkness, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Finally a little justice.”

  Ross climbed back in the truck, then turned it around on the narrow road and headed back for Maggie. She’d be spitting mad that he’d left without her. But if she had come along and then been hurt during the chase, he never would have forgiven himself. An emotional knot rose in Ross’s throat. She was everything to him.

  But he couldn’t have her.

  When Ross and Maggie left the sheriff’s office for the second time that night, Ross’s relief at being cleared was tempered. Trent was locked up and screaming profanities at the ex-sheriff in the cell next to him. But there was still another matter to be settled tonight, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Maggie slipped her hand into his and squeezed, and emotion tugged hard at his chest. After she’d finished chewing him out for leaving her, fuming about Lila’s dented fender, and ranting that he could have been killed, she’d flown into his arms. And fool that he was, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from hugging her back.

  Now, with his truck still impounded, she was taking him home.

  “All set?” she asked through a bright smile.

  Ross nodded, feeling a stab of guilt because he would have to take that smile away.

  The ride back to the house was interminable. It didn’t take many long silences from him before Maggie’s high mood faded and she seemed to realize that something was wrong. Several times, he nearly plunged right in and told her. Then the coward in him—the one who didn’t want her hurt—vetoed the idea.

  But he couldn’t delay their discussion any longer when she got out of the truck and started up the steps to his log home.

  “Maggie...I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Your going inside. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  He watched her expression change from confusion, to disbelief, then finally to hurt. Slowly, she lowered herself to the top step of the porch. Jess had apparently turned on the porch light, and moths fluttered near the door, some clinging to the gleaming logs. In the post-midnight darkness, crickets chirruped nonstop.

  “You were quiet all the way back from town,” she murmured. “Are you still angry because of what I said to Cy at the fairgrounds?”

  Shaking his head, Ross walked slowly over to the steps. “No. And most of my anger was frustration because you were out there fighting my battles for me. I hated feeling helpless. It reminded me of all the times—” His gaze fell to the log handrail and he ran his thumb over a raised nub. “It reminded me of all the times I screwed up, and Jess had to make things right.”

  “That’s ancient history,” Maggie replied solemnly. “Why shouldn’t we see each other anymore?”

  Regret tightened his chest as Ross met her eyes again. She was so beautiful, so sweet, so strong. And it would be so easy to reach out, pull her into his arms, and keep her there forever. But that would be the selfish thing to do—and he was through being selfish.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think lately,” he said. “And most of the time, I thought about you. Maggie, you’re the best person I’ve ever known. You deserve a lot better than me.”

  She was on her feet in an instant, dark eyes flashing as she, too, gripped the handrail. “Don’t you dare say that about yourself. If you really want me out of your life, don’t make excuses. You tell me th
e truth.”

  “It is the truth. I’m telling you this for your own good.”

  “Really? Well, I’m sick to death of people doing things for my own good. First my father decides what’s best for me, now you’re jumping on that bandwagon. I make my own decisions, and I’ve decided I want you.”

  Frustration made him grab her by the shoulders. “Maggie, for God’s sake look at me. I’m not the kind of man who can commit to a lifetime of wedded bliss. I was the biggest tomcat this town ever saw—a partier and a gambler who didn’t give a fat fig about anyone but himself.” He released her. “Is that the kind of man you want?”

  “No!” she shouted, already missing his touch. “I want the man he’s become. The decent, hardworking, caring man he’s become.” Once; her uncle had called him an accidental hero, but that simply wasn’t true. Not then, and not now. Maggie drew a deep breath, and swallowed. “I don’t need a wedding ring and an organist. I just need to know that you’ll give us an honest chance.”

  Reaching up, she touched his face tenderly, feeling the faint scrape of his beard beneath her fingertips as poignantly as she felt the ache in her heart. “Ross,” she repeated in a whisper, “why can’t you give us a chance?”

  The phone rang.

  And rang.

  And rang.

  To Maggie’s dismay, instead of replying, Ross went inside to take the call.

  When he came back out, he was still subdued, but he managed to dredge up a weak smile. “That was Lila. There was an emergency meeting of the town council a few minutes ago. Congratulations. You’re the interim sheriff’s new full-time deputy. Mike wants you to call him.”

  What should have been happy news made little impact on her, although she wondered vaguely who she would eventually be working for. Mike was leaving in a month, so the council would be looking for another lawman to take his place. It wouldn’t be Joe Talbot; Joe was satisfied being a part-time deputy. And it wouldn’t be her. No one went from dispatcher to sheriff in two months.

  “Where’s Mike now?” she asked.

  “Still at the office. You can use the phone inside.”