Heart of a Lawman

by Patricia Rosemoor

“I’ve been picking up on things, too,” he said. “Like she always seems to be looking over her shoulder. Did she tell you anything else?”

  “No, but our paths really haven’t crossed much in the past few days,” Alcina said.

  A movement caught Bart’s attention and he noticed Moon-Eye coming out of the station eating a candy bar.

  “I’m glad you know now, though,” Alcina was saying. “So you can look out for her. This man…I think he’s dangerous, Bart. She was set to run again…to try to lose him. I hope I did the right thing by talking her into staying.”

  “You did the right thing,” he assured her. “Josie doesn’t have to run, not from anyone, not ever again. I’m going to see to it.”

  Alcina breathed a sigh of relief even as Moon-Eye caught up to them.

  “Hey, boss, we’d better get back, huh?” He indicated the sky.

  Bart nodded curtly. “We’ll talk again. Thanks, Alcina.”

  He only hoped he could protect the woman whose past might catch up to her at any moment.

  THUNDER RUMBLED in the distance as Josie drove the pickup for the barn. The cows had been glad for the water she’d hauled, but Bart had been right about the rains coming. Still the trip out hadn’t been a waste as far as she was concerned. She’d needed work—even busy work—to keep her on an even keel.

  Even so, Peter Dagget’s death haunted her.

  What if it hadn’t been an accident?

  Fog fingering, the old pickup raised her hackles, and a weird feeling shot through her.

  Josie hated driving in bad weather, and this particular drive was worse than most. The rock highway with teeth-clacking, back-breaking drops was a piece of cake compared to the bridge. Rusting old cables that supported rotting boards were suspended over Silverado Creek. The too-narrow bridge swaying as she inched across it had been one thing, but the breaking boards beneath her tires had been quite another, enough to scare anyone, she thought. She wondered if Bart knew what bad repair the bridge was in—he’d surely do something about it when she told him.

  As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already, she thought, feeling Peter Dagget’s lifeless hand in hers once more.

  That set her to thinking about it again.

  What if the lanky kid had been mistaken for her?

  A very real possibility…who else should have been working with the green-broke horse but her?

  The first fat raindrops hit the windshield. She turned on the lights and started the wipers.

  Clack-clack…clack-clack…clack-clack…

  The ragged sound dug deep inside, battering her. Josie tried to shake away the weird feeling, but before she knew what was happening, she lost her focus.

  She held her breath, the only sounds filling her ears the rumble of the engine punctuated by worn wipers clack-clacking as they streaked across the windshield….

  Her heart beating in time with the wipers, Josie snapped out of the memory as fast as she’d whirled into it.

  The accident. Had to be! She’d been driving a pickup as old as the one she was driving now. The night had been as threatening as this, too. A threat. Him. The one who roused such fear in her.

  The certainty that the man from her past had undoubtedly followed her from the hospital was stronger than ever.

  But who was he?

  Other than Bart, only three men were possibilities. He had to be one of them, but which? It was her responsibility to figure it out.

  She focused on the accident…hoped for some clue…let her mind float…

  She would never be free of him. She’d tried everything, and still he was there, a dark phantom, a portent of her future.

  He would never let her go. Never let her get away.

  Never let her live…

  Josie gasped. Had he been trying to kill her? But why? What had she done?

  Surely nothing as simple as rejecting him.

  Hugh Ruskin hadn’t taken her rejection well. Could she have known him before? Could she have responded in any way to such a crude man?

  Will “Billy Boy” Spencer knew her. How well? He’d been playing verbal games with her, but he hadn’t pressed her.

  And what about Tim Harrigan, the loner who’d lost everything, yet volunteered to give time and even money to her in the guise of a kindred spirit?

  “Think,” she muttered. “Which one?”

  Which of her three suspects would have been on the ranch early enough to see Juniper with a rider that he assumed was her? Only Will. But was Billy Boy the murdering type? Josie couldn’t fathom it. Neither could she put the thought away.

  Back to the accident…

  She had no one to blame but herself.

  Sickness welled in her as she acknowledged what she had brought down on herself…the bitter taste of acid filled her mouth….

  Her stomach tightened and the now-familiar burning began. But her stress was two-fold—the face she was trying to remember and the sight before her she couldn’t avoid. There was no helping it—she had to cross the bridge. It lay before her enveloped in arms of fog and drizzle. She could barely make it out.

  Pulse thrumming, stomach churning, Josie approached cautiously, going no faster than her headlights would allow her to see ahead….

  Her eyes filled again, this time with bright, blinding lights. The windshield wipers swept the image into focus: an eighteen-wheeler, horn blaring….

  Coming to with a jerk of the wheel, Josie heard the first crunch. More rotted planks breaking. She feared going on, feared stopping.

  She was tired of being afraid.

  But there was no helping it, not this time, not when a maw of blackness lay in the path of her headlights—a bunch of boards simply missing as if someone had removed them.

  “Oh, my God!”

  Stomping on the brake, Josie tried to stop, but the pickup was slow in responding. It rolled right to the edge of the hole and kept moving. Then the front end pitched forward.

  Flying without wings, for a second, suspended…

  Suddenly, a roller-coaster drop whipped her head into the side window and churned her stomach into her throat. Then the upended truck careered downward.

  Flaxen mane…almond-shaped blue eyes…a fresh grave…Clack-clack…clack-clack…clack-clack…

  BART CLOSED THE SNAP at the base of his throat and hunkered down into his rubber slicker. The rain had gotten serious. Every time he bent his head, water streamed from his hat brim.

  He barely tightened his legs against his mount’s sides and Honcho moved out. He’d chosen to ride a big sorrel gelding, who hadn’t been worked yet. Despite the rain, the horse was anxious to go and would have endurance, if needed.

  Though he was probably worrying for nothing.

  Bart tried telling himself that he would run into Josie any minute now. Only he didn’t, and the farther he got from the house, the more worry ate at him.

  He’d suspected something was wrong when he’d returned from town and Josie hadn’t been waiting. Not knowing what he might face in this weather, he’d chosen to go after her on horseback. Often in country like this, an animal could go where a vehicle couldn’t.

  They were jogging along the creek trail and the bridge wasn’t too far ahead—not that he could see it through weather like pea soup. Still no Josie. Knowing Honcho would go berserk if asked to cross something so rickety, Bart wove his way down to the water’s edge. The incline was steep and slick, and they went down with the horse’s haunches practically sitting in the muck. Luckily, Bart found a narrow spot in the creek where they could cross without too much difficulty.

  Even so, the rushing water had already risen nearly a foot, leaving Bart wondering how much higher it would be on the return trip, a problem since no alternate route existed.

  Rising water was always something to be concerned about in this country, but no more than Josie herself. That talk with Alcina had set Bart to some wild speculations.

  Now he was wondering if there was more to Peter’s death than he�
��d originally suspected. If Josie’s mystery man were somehow involved.

  Hard to believe the death hadn’t been an accident, though. Juniper had come from the direction of the Silver Springs Mine. That pasture was really rocky in spots—that accounted for the damage to the kid’s head and all the blood. No herd grazed there because the cows had been moved from the pasture after the anthrax outbreak, so it was a smart place for someone to hide out.

  Generally no one went there, Bart thought, so why had the kid?

  That train of thought ended the moment a horn blasted. A startled Honcho jogged to the side and snorted.

  “What the—” Bart muttered, quickly bringing the horse under control.

  The horn kept blaring and Bart goosed the gelding forward toward the source of the noise.

  The bridge lay just ahead, and finally Bart could see it. Mere yards from the bank, twin beams—headlights—cut through the fog and rain, illuminating the vehicle precariously suspended, half-on, half-off the bridge.

  The horn blasted again and Bart recognized the pattern—the same pattern Josie used to whistle for the horses.

  “Josie!” he yelled, his gut tightening. “Hang on! I’m coming!”

  All kinds of thoughts raced through Bart’s mind as he moved in on the accident waiting to happen.

  An accident that could prove fatal to the woman who was already a part of his heart.

  A VOICE CUT THROUGH the fog between horn blasts. Carefully, Josie rolled down the window.

  “Josie!” She heard her name even as she was deluged by rainwater. This time it was only slightly muffled by the fog.

  “Bart!” she yelled, spitting rainwater. “Don’t get on the bridge! It’s too dangerous!”

  His added weight might be enough to send them both over into the waters below. She could hear the rushing sound of the creek overflowing its banks.

  “Can you move?” he asked, sounding closer.

  How could he be? He was on the wrong side of the creek. Unless he’d crossed through the water itself. When she heard a snort and the sound of a hoof hitting board, all became clear.

  “I’m all right,” she called. “But I’m not sure about the pickup. If I open the door, it could go over.”

  “What about the window? Can you climb out?”

  Josie judged the situation to be serious enough to try. The pickup’s nose dipped down and to her right. And the rain was getting heavier.

  “This will be a trick, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  A testament to her trust in Bart. Had she been alone, she would never have tried this, at least not until she could see something. She’d been hoping all along that someone would come looking for her; it was the reason she’d been leaning on the horn.

  Removing her seat belt, she immediately plowed forward into the steering wheel. The horn’s blast accompanied a stomach-plunging dip and a splintering sound that zinged along her nerves.

  “Carefully!” Bart barked.

  “Like I had a choice,” Josie muttered, though she was so glad not to be alone that she planned to throw her arms around Bart and kiss him.

  Assuming she got out in one piece, that was.

  Bracing a foot against the base of the floor shift, hanging onto the steering wheel with her right hand, Josie slowly inched herself into a standing position. Her head, shoulders and the top of her left arm cleared the opening. Rain drove into her face. Seeing was near-impossible.

  “About a third of me is out,” she said. “And I probably could hook a foot in the steering wheel to push up…but I don’t know what will happen to the truck if I shift my weight too much.”

  “Are your hands free?”

  “Uh, letting go wouldn’t be my first option right now.”

  “Not even to catch a lifeline?”

  Able to make out some movement on the bank several yards away, Josie imagined Bart was tying something to his saddle horn.

  “You’re going to rope me like a calf?”

  “And brand you,” he threatened. “Count out loud so I can place you. Be ready. When you get to ‘five,’ I’ll throw. Pull the rope down and secure it around your waist.”

  A thrill of challenge shot through Josie. “Oh, yeah, that’ll be easy.”

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “One…two…”

  A whirling sound muffled the count.

  “…three…four…”

  Josie braced herself.

  “…five!“

  A sharp whir cut through the fog and rain. The rope hit her shoulder and bounced off.

  “Almost doesn’t count in horseshoes!” she reminded him. “Too far to the right.”

  “So we’ll try it again. I have all night. Tell me when you’re ready.”

  Josie couldn’t believe they were joking with each other. But maybe that was the trick to making this work—she being relaxed.

  Only Bart could manage this, she thought, getting her to act so daringly with such calm. Seeing him with true clarity for perhaps the first time, she decided that, if he got her out of this mess, she would owe him everything, including the truth.

  She owned a little more of it now. Bits and pieces of memory had been tumbling through her awakening mind ever since she’d set off. Unfortunately, the one thing she wanted most—the identity of the faceless man—still eluded her.

  “Hey, Josie, what’s going on?”

  “Ready!” she called.

  He tried again and managed to hit her other shoulder.

  “Almost…but no cigar. You overcompensated.”

  “Third time’s the charm,” he promised.

  Josie prayed so. She was wet and cold and her teeth were starting to chatter.

  Bart repeated the ritual. “Four…five!”

  This time she reached a hand up toward the soft whir and was rewarded when the loop fell over her arm. Quickly, she grabbed and dropped the rope over her shoulder.

  “Got it, Bart! Hold on.”

  Carefully lifting her arm through, she found another handhold and adjusted the other side until the rope was around her waist. Quickly, she snugged it.

  “We did it!” she yelled, suddenly boneless with relief. “Now what?”

  “Now you climb out.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  The rope between them grew taut and she got the idea—if the pickup did a nosedive, he meant the rope to keep her from going with it. Only she had to be free of the cab first.

  She eased herself up with her hands…moving very, very cautiously…balancing her weight as best she could.

  Raising a leg, she found the steering wheel with her foot. And as she pushed up an inch at a time, Bart made certain the rope stayed taut, undoubtedly by backing up his horse exactly as he would if he’d just roped a calf.

  “I’m setting a knee on the edge of the window,” she told him even as she managed it.

  She was hanging on to the rope with one hand, balancing herself on the vehicle with the other. But when she lifted her right foot free of the steering wheel, she kicked the horn and startled herself.

  Only a small jump…but enough to set the pickup teetering.

  Apprehension gripped her. As if goosed, she lunged herself out of the window and grabbed onto the rope, yelling, “Pu-u-ull!”

  From behind her came a huge metal groan and a sharp set of splinters as the vehicle pushed farther through the broken bridge.

  “Hang on!” Bart yelled as Josie took the plunge toward him.

  The rope came up short, as did she into the side of the creek bank. The wind was knocked out of her, but up she came, turning and twisting through the muck. Bart didn’t stop pulling until she was on the flat.

  “Josie, say something!” he ordered.

  “Let me spit out this mud first.”

  Groaning at the new wreckage of her body, she got to her knees. And then Bart’s hands were hooked under her arms, pulling her up. Josie threw herself against him and somehow found his face for tha
t kiss she’d promised herself.

  She was filthy and he was dripping wet. When their lips touched, little rivulets of mud slid between their faces and mutual laughter ended the brief embrace.

  Still, he touched fingers to her cheek and murmured, “Thank God I got here in time.”

  “No, Bart, thank you for rescuing me yet again.”

  “We’ve got to get you someplace warm and dry,” he said, loosening the rope from her waist. “You’re shaking.”

  Indeed, she was, but from relief or the chill or his touch, she didn’t know. Maybe a combination of all three.

  Glancing behind her, she noted the pickup was still dangling from the bridge. The headlights beamed through the thick weather, and she wondered how long it would remain in its precarious position before surrendering to the inevitable.

  Rain drove at her, washing away the mud, but chilling her to the bone, as well.

  “Josie, c’mon.”

  Bart was back in the saddle, holding out his hand. Josie took it and started to circle behind him to mount. He tugged, pulling her back where she’d started.

  “In front,” he said.

  He slipped his foot from the stirrup so she could step into it. As she bounced up, he pulled her over his lap.

  “Sorry about the saddle horn.” He opened the front of his slicker. “Grab my waist and pull in close.”

  When she did as he told her, he wrapped the slicker around her as best he could and managed to secure a couple of the snaps. Josie luxuriated in being cradled by the man who had come to mean so much to her in so little time. Her wetness and his heat created steam together.

  Later, she’d probably be able to laugh at that.

  Head tucked against his chest, she asked, “Isn’t this going to be awkward for you?”

  “We’re not going far. It would take too long to get back to the house, and the weather is bound to get worse. We need to get someplace dry and warm until it lets up.”

  “Where, then?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Right,” she muttered, knowing that with her night vision, that was highly unlikely.

  Sighing, she settled in for the ride, content to let Bart take her where he would. Her world narrowed to the warm, moist cocoon he’d created for her.

  Simple warmth soon progressed to something far more personal, however, and Josie thought she would gladly stay wrapped in Bart’s arms forever.