Winsor, Linda

by Along Came Jones

  "I'd like three sodas and one kiss from the little lady in the blue dress," someone drawled behind Deanna, sparing her from Esther's probing question.

  Realizing that Esther and Maisy were both staring at her blue shirt-waisted I Love Lucy style dress, her face grew warm. Tyler McCain stood on the other side, flashing a dazzling smile at Deanna when she turned. The black-and-blue swelling around his nose and eyes had diminished, leaving just a faint yellow trace of her attack.

  "Hey, it's the least you owe me after knocking me off my feet," he reminded her, pure devilment dancing in the pale green of his gold-fringed eyes.

  "I'll get the drinks for you, honey," Maisy offered, while Deanna's wits assembled like an army of stooges.

  "I-I thought you and your friends had gone back to the rodeo circuit," she stammered, still looking for a ready reply

  Ty leaned against the counter, enjoying her fluster too much for her liking. "When we heard about the shindig down here, we decided to come back and support our local community. We're setting up for some barrel racing and relays this afternoon in back of the community hall."

  "Here you go, Tyler McOnery." Maisy set three Styrofoam cups brimming with soda on the counter.

  Deanna extended her hand. "That'll be three dollars."

  "What about my kiss?" the sandy-haired rogue exclaimed as he placed the bills in Deanna's hand.

  "This is the soda booth," she answered, pointing across the way at the bake table where Juanita Everett, Ruth Lawrence, and two other ladies seemed to be doing a brisk business.

  "Kisses are sold over there—dark and white chocolate," Deanna rallied, recalling the gorgeous candy kisses cake she'd seen on display earlier. "But it's going to cost more than that silver tongue of yours can conjure up. Like twelve bucks."

  Ty lifted Deanna's money hand, which was still folded between his, up to his lips. "Touche, ma cherie." With a wink and a parting tip of his hat, he gathered the three sodas in his hands and walked over to a picnic table where two other cowboys watched from a distance. At his exaggerated shrug, his friends laughed at him.

  "Is he as big a ladies' man as he thinks he is?"

  "Bigger when you count all his money," Maisy informed Deanna. "Just like his daddy before him, which is why the two of them constantly butt heads like addled bucks. Too much alike," she explained. "Proud, stubborn, good-lookin', and rich."

  "But money isn't love. His daddy learned that too late, bless his heart," Esther observed, stepping up to help another customer.

  And so the morning passed. Her companions learned about Deanna's life in New York and a sketchy account of her disastrous move to Great Falls, while Deanna learned who was who in Buffalo Butte, complete with back stories, between customers.

  After his wife had been admitted to a nursing home with a debilitating stroke, J. B. McCain left Ty's mother for a woman half his age. Ty never forgave his father, despite the top-notch care and daily visits J. B. continued until his first wife's death. Nor had the young man accepted his new stepmother of seven years.

  Juanita Everett was as flamboyant as she was generous, the opposite of her husband. "The man's honest," Esther was quick to point out, "just frugal."

  "He has to be," Maisy exclaimed. "Juanita's weight fluctuates so much, she needs a complete wardrobe in three sizes."

  At noon, another shift of volunteers came on to relieve the Whet Your Whistle crew. As Deanna handed over her money apron, someone hailed her from behind. It was one of the bulbous-nosed clowns there to entertain the children. His iodine red hair stood up everywhere except from the rubber balding from his painted forehead to his crown. There, a bright yellow hat that would have fit a doll was held in place by a thin black elastic chinstrap.

  "Got a light?" he asked, an unlit cigarette hanging from his fire engine red lips.

  "Sorry, I don't smoke," Deanna told him. "And maybe you ought to think twice about it, given your present company." She nodded to the three painted cherubs behind him.

  The clown glanced over his shoulder in surprise, his red smile growing. "Well, well," he exclaimed, taking in his entourage with an encompassing sweep of his hand. "A round of sodas then."

  "That'll be four bucks," she told him as he handed three of the drinks to the little ones.

  "You don't have change for a hundred, do you?"

  Deanna looked at the crisp bill he fished out of a deep pocket in his green overalls. "Sorry, we need our change for the stand, and my purse is in the car," she added in jest.

  "Try the Lions' raffle table," Maisy suggested from the back of the stand. "They'll have it, with all those five dollar books of tickets. We'll trust you to come back and pay us."

  "My lands, yes," Esther said, topping off the clown's drink after he'd taken a long sip. "And that's on the house. You look like you're about to melt in that getup."

  "I'm forever indebted, ma'am."

  Deanna, who'd started away, did a double take, her attention triggered by the familiar quip—or was it the voice?

  The clown pulled the little hat up and let it go, the elastic snapping it back in place and causing the daisy in the band to bob on its spring stem. "Good day, ladies. I shall return."

  She was just being paranoid, she decided when he stopped on the way to the raffle booth and made a balloon animal for a wide-eyed preschooler. A horn blew in one of the dump trucks, signaling the end of the first contest. Judging from the cheers on the cowboys' side of the roof, the ranchers were ahead. Leaving Esther and Maisy to have lunch in the cool of the church hall, Deanna sought out Shep in the bare-chested throng around the galvanized bucket of canned and bottled drinks provided for the workers.

  Hat cocked back on his head, he rolled the ice cold soda can across his forehead and over the back of his neck in an effort to offset the sun beating down on the open area. "We won by one throw of shingles," he told her, staring up at the exposed barren plywood sheathing. "Some of the boys from Woolsy's Construction in Taylorville are going to patch a couple of soft spots during lunch. Speaking of which, I'm famished."

  Shirt slung over one shoulder, he put a possessive hand at Deanna's back and ushered her across the street in front of the church to the plaza. Never in her life, had Deanna felt more secure than among God's people under the watchful eye of her earthly Shepard.

  After purchasing two pulled pit beef barbecues with O'Donnells famous slaw, they tried to find an empty picnic table to no avail. Instead, Shep staked out a shade tree and spread his shirt on the grass for Deanna to sit on. Nearby, a push merry-go-round spun delighted squeals from the children riding it. The children, the watchful parents, and the antics of the clowns provided live entertainment as they ate the delicious food prepared by J. B. McCain and the Cattlemen's Club.

  "This is the biggest attendance Buffalo Butte has ever had for any civic or church event," Shep said, resuming his seat at the foot of the tree after disposing of their plates. "Seth has one of his clerks running folks back and forth to cars parked on the outskirts of town on a tractor-pulled wagon."

  "I've seen it circling the plaza and wondered where the people were coming from," Deanna said. "I sold a tray of drinks to a family from Great Falls. I guess that notice Esther put in the Meridian brought people in from all over."

  "No, your idea of a competition is what sparked the interest."

  The admiration in his gaze caused a quickening in her stomach. It might have rolled over in delight, if she hadn't eaten so much. Now she wanted to take a nap—in Shep's arms. Deanna sighed dreamily, imagining his sun-bronzed warmth, the interplay of the muscled pillow beneath her cheek. Altogether, the picturesque small town, the cowboy, the shade tree, and a blanket of grass combined for an old-time movie-perfect setting.

  God, I thank You for this moment and pray that it's a preview of our future together, that someday, we'll be watching our children on the merry-go-round, attending our church function...

  Three long beeps of the horn brought the lunch break and her secret prayer to an end. S
hep inhaled deeply, as though mustering enough energy to get up. Flexing his arms and shoulders, he groaned. "I have a feeling this kind of work is going to tell on us tonight."

  "Want me to rub you down in that horse liniment you used on the mare?" Having abandoned his shirt, she reached out from her standing position to offer him a boost up.

  He rose, a perfectly wicked grin flashing white across his face. Playful, he pulled her against him and lowered his forehead to hers. "Better not," he cautioned, the words rumbling from deep in his throat. "Might make me too frisky for my own good." He kissed the tip of her nose and backed away reluctantly. "At least the idea'll give me one up on the rest of the fellas this afternoon."

  Twenty-six

  While the roof of the church grew before the eyes of the cheering crowd, Maisy, Esther, and Deanna filled in as gofers for the various church booths. As far as she could see, the ranchers and farmers were matching shingle for shingle to the point that the contest might well be a draw. Naturally, she gave an enthusiastic whistle each time she passed the Stetson-dominated side.

  Behind the church and community hall on the public ball field, Tyler McCain and some other young men were taking names for a barrel race and relay competition to be held that evening during the private steak cookout his father sponsored for the volunteers and their families. He'd even talked his father into posting a hundred-dollar purse to be split between the winners.

  "That boy'd bust his tail for a hundred-dollar prize but won't work up a sweat for real money," J. B. McCain derided when Deanna delivered a tray of large sodas to the men assembling a big barbecue pit behind the community hall. "You wouldn't have any banner ideas that would lure that show-off back to Buffalo Butte and the Double M, would you, gal?"

  "Sure." She followed up her flippant answer. "Turn Hopewell into a working Western town resort and put Tyler in charge of a rodeo show for the tourists. He'd have work and play, plus he'd be close to the Double M."

  To her astonishment, J. B. appeared to be taking her seriously.

  "Hey, I'm just kidding," she said hastily "It just popped into my head, you know."

  J. B. motioned Deanna away from the confusion of the grill. "Anything else popped into that pretty little head of yours?"

  Embarrassed that she'd put her mouth in motion before engaging her brain, Deanna shared her thoughts regarding Hopewell—fixing up the buildings as lodgings for tourists, gearing the shows toward family entertainment, providing some dude ranch type experience in riding and running a ranch.

  "Of course, I'd have to do the demographics to see what the competition is and if there's enough interest to keep it going, sufficient investors willing to take the risk, et cetera. I haven't really thought it through."

  "What does Shep say about all this? Last I heard, he was set on breeding a hardy mustang line and training workhorses."

  "He listened." Why did she have to say a word? Shep was intrigued but not sold.

  "He always was the cautious type."

  "Sometimes that's a good thing." Heaven knew she could have been more cautious with C. R. Majors.

  "And sometimes it can mean the difference between making a fortune and making a living."

  And that was a key factor in her reckless decision, moving to the top in a male-dominated world. Recalling Esther's observation of J. B. McCain, how he thought money was the key to everything, Deanna couldn't help but relate to the man. "Guess it depends on a person's priorities."

  J. B. pulled her aside as a pair of boys just missed running into her. Absorbed in their chase, both risked losing the shaved ice from their snowcones.

  "I haven't had a snowcone in ages," she said, ending the uncomfortable conversation. "I'm going to find out where they're making those."

  "I think they're shaving ice in front of the hardware store so they can share the electric hookup with the Chuck Wagon," J. B. called after her.

  Shep was on the ground crew handing up supplies as Deanna passed through the parking lot between the church and community hall. Hard as it was to believe, the roof was already half done, at least on his side. Slipping up behind him, she tugged on the key chain hooked to his belt. "Can I have the keys to the Jeep? I need to get my purse."

  Due to the nature of their duties, Shep had locked both her purse and his wallet in the vehicle so they wouldn't have to worry about keeping track of them while they worked.

  "Go ahead, but take one of the ladies to go with you," he advised over his shoulder, never missing a beat in the rhythm of the human chain passing bundles of the new shingles along to those on the roof.

  Unable to resist, Deanna planted a surreptitious kiss between his shoulder blades and hurried off before she got the blame for Shep's dropping his pass of the building materials.

  While Shep's caution was sweet, the place was crawling with townspeople, including the parking lot. Besides, the church women were busy as bees as it was. Keys in hand, Deanna made her way around the opposite side of the church past its tree-lined cemetery to a back lot, where Shep had finally found a place to park.

  The back lot was packed with assorted trucks, SUVs, and the trailers that had transported the ponies. The maze was perfect for a group of kids who were playing hide-and-seek in and around the vehicles. Between two large elms outside the chain-link graveyard fence, a dozen or so horses were tethered, the transport of choice for many of the volunteers from close by.

  Two teenaged boys, who had been assigned to keep the animals watered, led the horses two at a time to a big trough by an old-fashioned pitcher pump for a midafternoon drink. Montana's answer to a bicycle rack, Deanna wisecracked to herself as she searched for the row of vehicles they'd parked in. The lot hadn't been filled then, so it looked different now. She thought it was in the first two or three rows.

  As she meandered down the second row, she spied the front of Shep's trusty dusty steed on wheels, but upon reaching it, she stopped short. A clown, the same one who'd asked her for a light earlier, was climbing out of the back window. Certain that Shep had locked up, it could only mean one thing. Fire flew into Deanna.

  "Hey, Bozo, what do you think you're doing?" she demanded in a loud voice, hoping to draw attention from those nearby.

  Half in and half out the rear window, the clown peered over the roof of the Jeep, bemused at first, until he spied Deanna's indignant approach. Leaping to the ground, he stumbled over his oversized shoes. Something went flying from his hand, landing in the dirt ahead of him.

  Recognizing her purse before the clown grabbed it up and scrambled to his feet, Deanna broke into a run. "Thief!" she shouted, running out of her heeled designer slippers in determination. There wasn't any money in the bargain basement bag, save a five-dollar bill that Shep insisted she take, but it was a matter of principle. Besides, she'd seen a purse just like it in Saks for over a hundred dollars.

  "Stop that clown," she hollered at the boys watering the horses. "He's got my purse!"

  Instead of helping, the two boys stood agape at the sight of a barefoot woman, full skirts hiked above her knees, chasing a clown around the back corner of the cemetery. Hot on his heels, Deanna could only hope the cowboys setting up the parameters of the competition would recover faster.

  "Thief," she screamed with what little breath she could afford. Bozo started for the thick crowd watching the roofing contest between the church and community hall and then changed his mind, striking out across the barrel-studded ball field, headed for the high grass and brush beyond.

  The moment's hesitation and his oversized shoes gave Deanna the advantage. Her heart beat with each step she took across the hard-packed field, thundering in her ears as if she had four feet instead of two. Her burning lungs were assailed with as much dust as oxygen, but the thief was almost within her reach. Just another inch and she'd have him.

  ***

  Impatient, Shep stood with an armful of the warm, rough shingles, looking up at the team on the roof, which for some reason had stopped working. "What's the holdup?" he
shouted, his thoughts mingling with those of the other outspoken members of his team.

  "Blow the horn," Reverend Lawrence ordered from his supervisory perch on the roof's peak. He repeated himself twice before someone had the presence of mind to obey him. The one long beep was the signal for all hands to stop where they were.

  "They can't be finished," one of Shep's teammates exclaimed from the ladder.

  The ranchers had at least three more rows to the crown. Shep made a megaphone with his cupped hands. "What's the problem?"

  The team leader on the ridge near the back of the church climbed to his feet, straining to look at something behind the church. "Looks like Ty McCain's roped himself some clown and a woman in a blue dress in the back lot by the ball field."

  Blue dress? Shep stiffened. Deanna's had matched her eyes. Surely—

  "Shep!"

  "Shepard!"

  From somewhere in the crowd, two women were shouting his name. He peered over the sea of bobbing, turning heads when Reverend Lawrence called out to him in an incredulous tone from his lofty station near the steeple.

  "My heavenly days, Shep, it looks like your Deanna."

  "Shep!" Reaching through the crowd, Maisy O'Donnall brushed Shep's arm as he shoved through the bystanders between him and the ball field behind the cemetery. "Wait!"

  Esther Lawson inserted herself into his path. "Shepard—"

  "Not now, Esther."

  He practically lifted the retired schoolteacher out of his way rather than run her over, then plowed ahead. A clown... what had Deanna said about a clown smoking in front of some kids? And where the devil were Voorhees and Kestler? They'd certainly been gawking at him and Deanna during lunch. Shep had wanted to kiss the mischief off Deanna's lips more than he wanted the food, but not with those two as witnesses.

  At the thinned edge of the crowd, he broke into a dead run toward the group of cowboys gathered around Ty McCain and the dark bay quarter horse that Shep had trained for his friend. The pressure of the hunting knife Shep had tucked in his boot reassured him he'd have a weapon if he needed it.