"Now everyone within satellite range of Buffalo Butte will know that I'm harboring a waif from the Big Apple who doesn't have enough meat on her bones to tempt a hungry buzzard... leastwise, to Maisy's notion."
She mustered a laugh more of relief than humor, but it was short lived.
"You know, Deanna Manetti, I get the feeling that you're not telling me everything about your reason for being in these parts."
"W-what do you mean?" She struggled to keep her gaze and voice steady.
"First, you're riding out here in the wild with no idea where you are, as if you didn't even have a destination. You're as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. You seem to be expecting something horrible to happen to you at any moment. And—" he took a deep breath before continuing—"you really have a problem with trusting anyone, particularly a man. Now you've either been watching too much TV or..."
Deanna's breath froze in her chest, the sip of water she'd just taken pooling in her mouth. She waited for the proverbial ax to fall.
"Or you are running from something, lady"
Seven
Shep's lips thinned into a grimace at Deanna's stricken silence. "I'd say you've had man trouble... maybe a relationship gone sour?"
Seizing on the excuse, she nodded, managing to swallow. Yes, that would work. Surely it came from heaven to his lips! Deanna resisted the urge to clap her hands in pious gratitude, swallowing the water instead.
"Sour is as good a word for it as any." That one had to be from God. She couldn't have put the notion in Shep's head. And for the most part, it was true. Framing her had certainly soured her relationship with C. R. At least God was speaking to Shep, if not her.
"And what about your job?"
"He was my boss." Was being the key word, as in dead. That part of her nightmare still didn't seem real, even though she'd seen the pictures of the charred remains of his car. She shuddered inside.
"Here's your drinks." Maisy set the soda and coffee on the table and left abruptly as though she knew this was no time to interrupt. "Food'll be up in a jiffy," she called over her shoulder.
Deanna couldn't freeze now. Her thoughts clicked, processing a believable scenario based on Shep's assumption. A week ago, her honesty did her family's raising proud. Now she couldn't tell the truth... at least not the complete truth. "I just wanted to get away from it all. In just six weeks, he...he took over my life, which wasn't what I expected when I came out here. Nothing was what I expected."
"In other words, East is East and West is West." The bitterness that surfaced in Shep's voice and expression took her by surprise.
"It wasn't that exactly I was willing to give the West a try, but my prince was a snake in disguise." Her shoulders fell. So far, she hadn't told an outright lie. "He frightened me and I ran. Now I..." The blade of emotion in her throat was real. "Now I don't know where to go or what to do. I just know I can't go back to Great Falls... or New York for a while."
"Do you think he'll follow you?"
She saw where Shep was going, thinking that maybe the owner of the jacket had been her ex's. Deanna wished C. R. were all she had to worry about. But the one who'd broken into her apartment, not to mention the police, was a different matter. As for her car... No, that was a coincidence, nothing more.
"It's possible I'm being followed." What would happen if she told Shep the entire truth? His concern seemed genuine enough—a straight arrow given the respect she'd seen afforded him by those who knew him. If only she'd sought references for C. R. Majors.
"I have friends with the police. They'd take care of him."
"No!" Her panicked thought was out before she could hold it back. "I...I was hoping the old adage out of sight, out of mind, would kick in. I mean, once he sees I didn't return to New York, he'd have nowhere else to look, right?" Folding her arms on the table, she buried her face in them. "I can't believe I was so stupid to think I was in love."
A tear trickled down her nose and dripped on the table. She had to pull herself together. It wouldn't do to turn crybaby. She needed her wits about her. She needed—
"Been there, done that."
Sympathy and compassion were rich in Shep's voice and in the warm hand he put on her shoulder. "All you need is three hots and a cot until you get your thoughts together. Maybe that's where the Hopewell name gets its meaning. I know I've certainly taken refuge there since I was a kid watching my folks get divorced. I always left well again and filled with hope that things would be okay, if not in my eyes, at least in the Lord's. The Father knows best." It was the quote embroidered on the small wall plaque over the sink in his kitchen. Deanna raised her head, staring at Shep. Had God really heard her prayer? Was this His answer? Could it be this simple and straightforward?
"But any stray who comes to Hopewell has to pull her own weight," he advised her. "How does room and board sound in exchange for keeping house and giving me a hand when I need it?"
Relief flooded Deanna's mind, but with it swept in one tiny cloud of anxiety It sounded like heaven, but the job itself was just the opposite to a woman who depended on the laundry down the block, food from a dozen local delis and restaurants, and a once-a-week cleaning lady to keep her apartment from being closed down by the Health Department. Her work had been her life, taking up and paying for keeping her singular household.
"Giving me a hand when I need it," he'd said. Make that two clouds, she amended as the rest of Shep's proposition registered. "But I don't know the least thing about horses."
"Ain't nothin' to know about horses that this fella can't teach you." Maisy leaned over and placed a bowl of hot soup in front of Deanna. Shep got his burger and fries. "Not that I was listenin'. And if I was, no need to keep such as that to myself, since everyone in here can tell the only horse you ever rode had to swallow a quarter to run."
"What, am I that green?" Deanna fell in with the ribbing.
Maisy chuckled. "Now, hon, you just got that citified look and manner, not to mention that accent. You call Shep's horses 'you guys,' and you just might spook 'em."
"I wish I knew what it'd take to spook you away," Shep said with a pointed look at Maisy.
"More'n you got, cowboy," the waitress fired back as she returned to the counter.
Deanna giggled. It seemed to ease the heaviness in her chest that had been there since everything had started to go wrong. It felt good, almost intoxicating. Shep Jones didn't exactly wear a white hat, but in that moment, he was her hero.
"She's a real character. Reminds me of someone I knew back in Brooklyn when I was a kid."
"Characters are all we grow out here," Shep told her with a grin that made her giggle again. Startled, Deanna put her hand over her mouth. Only half the schoolgirl reaction escaped, but it lit up mischief in his eyes.
"I didn't think you had a giggle under that streetwise facade of yours. Not to mention you've been white as old ashes since we left Charlie's."
Façade. He saw right through her. Deanna wasn't sure she wanted that with any man again—even a hero. Somehow she managed to pull a straight, stern face. "Facade, huh?" She pointed an authoritative finger at his plate. "Just eat your food before it gets cold."
***
In spite of his companion's confession, Shep had a niggling sense that he still didn't have the whole story. Or maybe his uneasiness was the result of the protective instinct she evoked in him. Taking in strays was a weakness of his, but this was a woman, not a cat or dog. Although, her spit and huff reminded him of a kitten, trying to intimidate for all it was worth out of fear. It was natural to want to coddle and reassure her.
And quite possibly dangerous. He must have taken leave of his senses to let her stay at Hopewell, much less offer her a job. The more he thought about it through the meal and a second cup of coffee, the more convinced he became. Deanna Manetti was definitely on the run and afraid of whoever was after her. The physical threat didn't bother him nearly as much as the emotional risk.
Despite her appea
l, she was like his ex-fiancée—city born and bred. And like Ellen, Deanna minced no words regarding her opinion of Big Sky country As soon as she excused herself to go to the restroom, he slid out of his seat and headed for the old-fashioned wooden phone booth located between the restroom doors.
For all Shep knew, cultural and social differences could have been the issues that broke the proverbial camel's back between her and her estranged boss/boyfriend. She was here out of desperation, he decided as he dialed a familiar number.
"U.S. Marshal Service, Holloway speaking."
"Don't tell me you're still around, old-timer," Shep teased his longtime friend. "I thought you'd have hung up your six-guns by now."
Bob Holloway had run into the same sort of physical disability problem as Shep had, except his friend chose to take a desk job rather than leave the service altogether. Shep couldn't blame him for taking a sure thing rather than chasing a dream with a wife and five kids to support.
"Well, if it isn't the big game hunter. How are things in the high country?"
"Beautiful but troublesome." Shep glanced a few booths away where Deanna took her seat again. Maisy chatted with Deanna while she indulged in a slice of one of Town Diner's home-baked cream pies. The waitress insisted that it was on the house, a welcome to Buffalo Butte gift.
"Sounds more like a woman than an elk."
"It is. I need you to check out a Deanna Manetti—New York City, maybe Brooklyn with her accent... moved to Great Falls for a job with Image International. It's a marketing firm, I think."
"That it?"
"I have a license number and car to trace." Shep fumbled through his wallet for the note he'd made and gave his friend the data.
"Nice," Bob drawled. "A high-price city gal. You must have a weakness for the type."
"Once burned, twice shy I just want to know what I might have to deal with," Shep explained, as much for himself as the man on the phone. "She's not been forthcoming with information. Claims she's running from a possessive boss/boyfriend."
"Don't tell me you've taken her in."
Wryness tugged one corner of Shep's mouth. "Didn't have much choice. It was my stallion that ran her off the road, even though she was on my property"
"And you felt obligated—"
"Yeah, yeah. Just call the sheriff's office in town and have him contact me when you get the info, okay, buddy?"
"Watch your back," Bob cautioned.
"I usually do."
The warning prompted a distracting rush of unwelcome memory. Shep hung up the phone, snatched back to a time he'd tried to forget. He'd been so busy watching his back, and that of the witness in his custody, that he'd failed to see what the DEA agent assigned to the joint operation was doing. Before Shep knew what was going down, he'd taken a bullet in the knee while protecting a female snitch.
A full-scale gunfight had broken out. The other agency hadn't bothered to tell the Marshals that the witness assigned to their transport and protection was being used as bait to draw out the big fish. His gung ho partner got a promotion. Shep got an award and forced retirement from active duty.
He'd returned to the high country to reconcile the bad turns in his life. Psalm 18:33 became his mantra: "He makes my feet like the feet of deer, and sets me on my high places." There Shep reevaluated his life, his love, and rediscovered the closeness he'd once known with God, before his busy life had come between them like a time-stealing, attention-grabbing predator.
Was Deanna Manetti a different kind of predator, either by design or by chance? Barely healed himself, Shep struggled with the inner voice that urged him to take her in. Why would God put another woman in his path after the last one had come between them?
Shep opened the folding door of the age-darkened phone booth and met Deanna's smile. It wasn't an invitation, but there was a part of him that wished it were. It was that part of him that scared him more than the possibility of some gun-wielding, jealous boyfriend.
Lord, lead me not into temptation, he prayed as he stepped up to the table and took the check. "Well, Slick, are you ready to hit the road?"
Nodding, Deanna gathered up the small purse from the vinyl seat beside her.
"Don't you forget the community hall meeting Friday night," Maisy reminded him. "Bring Deanna too. Maybe she can come up with a way to stir more interest in our Craft Days fund-raiser."
Even though he was committee chairman, Shep had forgotten. Deanna was disrupting his life in more ways than he could count.
"Better watch out for this one," Shep said, with a sigh. "If the government had Maisy O'Donnall on their interrogation team, she'd unravel the secrets of the criminal world like a crocheted blanket."
Maisy snorted with indignation. "I'm just bein' friendly to this nice young woman. Not that she'd have a secret to her name."
Was that a check of alarm Shep detected in the deep pools of his guest's eyes or the shot of sunlight reflected on the diner's shiny door opening to admit a new customer? Reservation clouded over his playful humor as he followed Deanna to the checkout. He hoped he was mistaken.
Eight
Do you need to call anyone before we head back?" Shep held open the door to the Stop and Save Market where they picked up a few groceries.
"One lie begets another." Gram's sage observation haunted Deanna as though whispered straight into her ear. Gram, bear with me and... and, Lord, please forgive me. I know You've given me refuge. I'm just trying to hold on to it. She chose her words with care, sticking to the flight-from-a-relationship-gone-sour scenario she'd sketched earlier. "The only one I might call is the one I dare not call."
The fact was she had no one to call, no one to turn to. Her chivalrous host was her only friend, and that was based on false pretenses.
"What about family back home in the Big Apple?"
"No one close anymore. Just a distant relative or two." She'd never been a social butterfly. More like a business bee, she had friends only in the context of work. Time hadn't been there for others. After Gram's death, her extended family's gatherings had stopped. With Deanna's parents gone, she had no one close with whom to keep in touch.
Heavily populated as it was, New York had been a lonely place. No wonder she'd been such an easy pick for the first guy brave enough to breach that no-nonsense wall she'd erected around her almost nonexistent private life.
"Well, I'm having second thoughts already," Shep quipped as he deposited the three bags of groceries into the back of the Jeep.
Second thoughts? Deanna abandoned her morose evaluation of her life with a startled look.
"I don't know if I can afford to feed you," he teased. "Looks like I'm feeding a herd of rabbits."
Picking up on the friendly debate, which had started at the produce counter when she suggested they purchase more than one kind of lettuce for a salad and something other than apples for fruit, Deanna rallied in relief. "Fruit and vegetables are part of the basic four food groups, but your lettuce has little nutritional value. And in case you hadn't heard, beans don't make the fruit and veggie grade." Or did they? She tried to recall a home economics lesson long since moved to the recesses of her memory about the placement of legumes. They went with meat and proteins didn't they?
"I had vegetables and fruit already... plenty of both."
"In cans, dusty cans at that." Deanna had seen them when she put away the dishes last night. "Everyone knows that fresh salads and produce are far more healthy."
"And more trouble," Shep pointed out with a stubborn quirk of his lips. "Especially when a man doesn't know if or when he'll have time to cook. I just got tired of throwing stuff away If it's in a can, it's always good. It's not like I have a market within spitting distance like you do."
If not for the mischievous light in those bourbon brown eyes of his, Deanna would have retreated. The last thing she wanted was to jeopardize her temporary reprieve from life on the lam.
"That's where health-conscious planning comes in," she told him with brazen authority
as he backed out of the row of parking spaces that ran parallel to Buffalo Butte's tree-dotted main street.
Surely, Martha Stewart was choking somewhere at that very moment, given Deanna's helter-skelter home life. It was more than literal miles away from this small town, U.S.A. But for the street vendors and delicatessens so prevalent around her previous work- place and neighborhood, she'd be eating out of cans and the frozen cardboard boxes she'd spotted in Shep's freezer, too.
"But those two cans of Chef Luigi's macaroni and franks don't count, I guess."
Caught, there was nothing to do but fess up. "When it's on sale, one can indulge on occasion."
"Oh, I get it." Shep cut a sidewise glance at her. "Breaking the rules is okay when it suits you."
His question struck the bulls-eye of her conscience. Were they still talking about food? Squirming mentally, she forced a grin. "Okay, I admit it. I've been a Chef Luigi addict since childhood." At the raise of his brow, she added, "What, do you think cowboys have the monopoly on an unpredictable schedule? It's a quick meal in a pinch."
Shep lifted his hand, acknowledging the wave of the young man sweeping the pavement in front of a pharmacy/soda fountain. Everyone here not only knew Shep but obviously liked him. The more she saw of him, how could anyone not like Shepard Jones?
Deanna felt guilty deceiving such a nice guy, but what choice did she have? Would he be so nice and understanding if she'd said she was on the run from the police and God only knew whom else? Would he believe in her innocence when the facts the detective had presented her were almost enough to convince even her that she was guilty?
With an involuntary shiver, she turned away to stare at the lazy roll of the pastureland as they left the equally slow-paced town.
"You too cold?" Shep's inquiry gave away the fact that his attention hadn't wavered from her. Under other circumstances, it would have been flattering, even hoped for.
Deanna shook her head. "Somebody must have stepped on my grave," she offered, repeating one of Gram's sayings.
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