Winsor, Linda

by Along Came Jones

  "I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I...I don't know what happened, I just..."

  "Looks to me like you went Western on 'em and gave 'em what for." The admiration in Ticker's observation did little to assuage Deanna's horror. Despite college and the finishing school she'd attended at nights, she behaved like Tony Triglia, the neighborhood bad boy

  "He deserved it," Jon assured her, hauling C. R. upright.

  "She broke my nose!" the latter whined through the two fingers he clamped on it.

  Deanna felt ill. Lord, I don't know what happened. I just...

  The younger agent gave C. R. a shove toward the house. "How do you know it wasn't me? There was a lot going on at the time." He winked at Deanna. "Have you got any towels inside?"

  At least she had one champion. No, two. Still... "Look," she said to C. R., "for what it's worth, if I did do it—" Like Jon Kessler had the nails to scratch C. R.'s face. "—I'm sorry. Come on in and I'll get you some ice."

  Numb from her emotional overload, Deanna led the way.

  "I'll put the dog up," she heard Ticker volunteer behind her. "Looks like we got enough trouble."

  "Has that dog had his shots?"

  Deanna sighed as she climbed the step to the porch. No better than she'd acted, maybe she was the one he ought to be asking about.

  Once Jon was finished cleaning C. R. up, as best he could, his nose was packed in ice, and Deanna left them. Retrieving her silk blouse and slacks, thoughtfully taken to the cleaners by her host, she hurried to take a shower before the helicopter arrived. With luck, she might slip and break her neck, putting an end to this misery once and for all.

  As she hung the garments on the back of the door, Deanna pulled off the cleaning tag, her thoughts going back to the man who'd paid for it. Had he taken her to the cleaners too? Even as the thought processed, another rebelled against it. Or could he have been really like her—innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time, trapped by circumstances beyond her control? Ticker had confirmed, Shep was an ex-marshal.

  Yet, he'd not trusted her enough to accept her on her word, her mind seesawed down. He'd called to check on her story the next day. On the upswing, she didn't trust him enough to tell him the whole truth. But—down again—she hadn't preached trust to him or toyed with his affections to win it. Deanna's feelings had been real. She'd done it all over again, fallen head over heels on the heel of her first betrayal. And this time, for some reason, it hurt worse.

  Sheesh, Pavlov's dogs were smarter! Ripping the plastic off, Deanna wadded it in a ball and slam-dunked it into the waste-basket. She knew the reason. With C. R. she'd hoped he was real and took the risk, knowing she'd have the executive position with or without the romance. The revelation somehow took the edge off her initial betrayal. C. R. was a weasel who'd used her, but she wasn't exactly the lily-white innocent she'd worked herself up to be. He'd crossed the line of law and morality for his ambition. Her ambition led her to take a calculated risk and she'd lost.

  But there'd been no calculation with Shep. It just happened. He was the real McCoy she'd hoped C. R. was—a straight shooter, gallant, shy but not too much so, and a good man. His friends were testimony to that. He might have fooled her, but he couldn't fool an entire town. And he hadn't faked that inner glow she'd seen when he sang in the church. No one could fake what Deanna saw.

  God, how can I separate this hurt from the ruins of my hope when I can't even think straight?

  Emotion collided with reason, feelings with knowledge. Yet above the confused clamor, there was one voice that, like Shep's plea, would not be lost in the fray

  "I will never leave you, nor forsake you."

  Deanna seized at it like a lifeline. "Then hold me, Lord. Help me to see what is right." She squeezed her temples with her palms, relieving the throb of the pulse there. "Give me strength and courage to do what You'd have me do. You alone are the Rock that will not shift beneath my feet. You are all that I have left."

  "God is enough." Shep's reassuring words came back to her, words of truth.

  "Amen."

  Taking a fortifying breath, Deanna turned on the shower to give the hot water time to reach it from the other side of the house. If she was going to step out on the water, she'd at least be warm. A mischievous giggle erupted from out of nowhere, followed by immediate contrition. God, I hope You're at least smiling up there. Gram said You gave me my sense of humor.

  Deanna felt as though that silly, spontaneous pop of amusement had relieved a considerable weight from her chest. As she shed her soiled clothes, she imagined them her fears and doubts. What would be would be, she decided, testing the water. It was just right. God was enough.

  Twenty-nine

  The Jeep radio crackled with the hourly news brief, confirming what Will Addison told Shep. "After an extensive manhunt involving federal and state law enforcement agencies, the fugitive was apprehended with his female accomplice earlier today at a social event in Buffalo Butte. Majors and Manetti face charges for embezzlement of 3 million dollars from a Great Falls business called Amtron Enterprises. An additional count of alleged money laundering by the firm is pending further investigation. More on this story as it develops." The announcer shifted to a brighter note. "And now, in the sports arena—"

  Shep turned the button, silencing the speakers. Gripping the wheel as though it were Jay Voorhees's throat, he turned into Hopewell. Shep knew exactly what the man was up to. Voorhees called in the arrest, counting on Dusault's henchmen being on their way to Buffalo Butte the instant the news hit the airwaves, which had to have been a little over an hour ago. Addison said that wiretaps picked up the informant's call to Dusault, but the tech team couldn't trace it to the source before the caller disconnected.

  So Voorhees was playing with a wild card. The informant could be on the agency's end or right here at Hopewell—which was why Shep came prepared to take no chances. Dusault was a new player to Shep, but by all accounts, he was a deadly one.

  Leaving a trail of dust in his wake, Shep accelerated past the travel trailer when he spied Ticker rushing out of his home in the alley, waving like a wild man. The Jeep skidding to a stop, Shep leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door. Ticker poked his head in, breathless.

  "Boy, all kinds of tarnation and surprise is broke loose since you left—"

  "I know," Shep cut him off. "Just listen. There's no time for questions."

  "But—"

  "Saddle up the horses, take your guns and radio, and suit up. I'll meet you in the barn."

  "About the barn, that's what—"

  "Tick! We don't have much time. I need to get Deanna out of here and quick."

  It had taken some doing, but Addison secured clearance for Shep to take Deanna and—if Voorhees was smart enough to cooperate—C. R. Majors up to the cabin in the high country If not, let the man risk losing his witness and possibly his life. As for Deanna, she was going with him, like it or not.

  "Suit up?" His partner repeated Shep's instructions as if he hadn't heard right.

  "We're dealing with gun carrying critters this time."

  Snapping to, Tick nodded and backed away.

  Pulling off as Tick gave the door a sling, Shep raced straight down the narrow dirt street and pulled up to the house.

  While he got a head start with Deanna, Tick would carry Majors and the agents over to the Double M for extra horses. They'd rendezvous at the cabin below the tree line and hole up until the authorities came up with a plan Dusault wasn't privy to.

  "Hey, buddy, where's the fire?" Jay called from the porch as Shep vaulted out of the vehicle before the engine stopped.

  "I'm taking Deanna out of here before she winds up another victim of your ambition."

  "I'll be—"

  Shep spun on his heel and grabbed the agent by the jacket. "Come with us or stay and shoot it out. Don't like it, call your supervisor. My friends in high places have already cleared it."

  Letting Voorhees go as if he'd dirtied his hands, Shep
ducked inside, the agent following him.

  Kessler and Majors sat in the living area watching the news. Kessler jumped to his feet. "Something wrong?"

  "You mean aside from you guys airing my death warrant on the evening news?" Majors sneered. "Like I'm going to live to testify."

  Shep took up short. "What the devil happened to you?" C. R.'s face looked as if the barn cat had used it as a scratching post. Not that Shep really gave a hoot. "Never mind," he said, leaving Majors sheepish and fumbling for words. All he cared about was Deanna. She was the only one who mattered.

  ***

  Deanna struggled with the delicate buttons of her silk blouse as Shep barged into the room like a steamroller. Her startled shriek blended with the bang of bedroom door against the wall.

  "What... have you ever heard of knocking?" she sputtered, the same heat that flushed her face tripped her tongue, but her fingers were frozen on the last button.

  "Hurry up and get dressed."

  "Why? What are you doing—" she exclaimed as Shep began shoving the hem of her blouse into her waistband when she didn't move fast enough to suit him. "Is the chopper here?"

  He stopped abruptly. "What chopper?"

  "There's a chopper on its way to pick us up, Jones," Voorhees said from the open doorway, "so we don't need your Lone Ranger act."

  "There's no chopper coming for you, none with clearance from Great Falls anyway." At Voorhees skeptical expression, Shep challenged him. "Call and see for yourself. I just finished talking to the agency less than five minutes ago."

  "You can bet on it, buddy." Voorhees dug in his jacket for a cell phone.

  "Shoes."

  Shoes? Before Deanna realized Shep was speaking to her, he put his shoulder into her side and hoisted her foot like she'd seen him do to clean Patch's hooves. "Hey—" She hopped sideways as he shoved one of her slippers on. Frantic, she tried to hold up the trousers she'd yet to fasten with one hand and catch herself on the bed with the other. "I'm not a horse."

  The bed slid under the weight of her impact as Shep dropped to his knees and reached for the slipper's mate.

  "Don't I know it," he grumbled. "Horses are a lot easier to deal with."

  "What is the matter with you?" Deanna jumped to her feet and hauled up the zipper of her trousers, only to have it snag on the tail of her blouse. "Jiminy blue Christmas!"

  "Here." Shep stepped up to help, but she dodged the maniac.

  "I can dress myself, thank you very much."

  "Jon, go get that tech head Gretsky and find out where in static land he got his information," Voorhees shouted from the kitchen. "This is one messed up..."

  Deanna winced at the string of expletives the agent in charge—or rather, out of charge—used to describe the infectious mania that had assailed them. At the slam of the porch door, Shep hastened to the window to watch Jon Kessler leave.

  God, You have just gotten me calmed down and everyone else is going nuts.

  The silk material of her blouse wouldn't budge from her zipper, no matter how she tugged on it. Deanna rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "What difference does it make if we go to jail in a chopper or a car?"

  "Because bad guys are coming in the chopper and they can take out the car." Shep spun away from the window. "Let me get that."

  Her eyes widened as he brandished a knife from his boot big enough to skin Old Bull with one fell slice. "Oh no you don't." Turning her back to him, she wrestled with the zipper.

  Shep grabbed her arm. "Just hold still—"

  "This blouse sells for ninety bucks at Saks," she grunted, "not that I paid that much, but—"

  "I don't care if it cost nine hundred dollars, just—"

  "Put that knife away or your head's gonna be up there with Old Bull's!" Deanna stomped her foot, glaring at the man glaring back at her in what had to be the most ridiculous standoff in the history of time.

  "I think you would." The electronic tick of the Neanderthal radio alarm on the nightstand marked off the passing seconds as he considered his next move in silence. One, two, three, four...

  Unable to stand it any longer, Deanna confessed in a tiny whisper. "You're scaring me, Shep... and I was just beginning to see your side of things."

  The half-crazed look on his face gave way to surprise. "You were?"

  She nodded.

  "What changed your mind?"

  "I decided to go with what I believed instead of how I felt." A sheepish smile licked at one corner of her mouth. "I realized that I was like the pot calling the kettle black. If I want God to forgive me for the lies I told, I'd better forgive you."

  He answered with a corresponding twitch that accented a charming dimple she'd not noticed before. "I love you, Slick—"

  She was in his arms, her eager lips meeting his.

  "Me, too—" she groaned, burying her fingers in the thick of his hair. Apology sounded with every beat of her heart only to be echoed by his. Joining as one in a love song that traveled from pulse point to pulse point, they spread the word of surrender. It felt as though her senses waved white flags of passion, while fireworks popped in her ear... or was it firework?

  Whatever it was, Shep jerked away from Deanna at the sound. Before she could think, he dragged her to the floor. "Stay down!"

  "You bet," she managed, alarm snaking its way up her spine as he crawled to the front window. "Is it the bad guys already?"

  Waving her to be quiet, Shep ventured a cautious peek over the ledge. He winced as two more pops sounded. "Aw, no—"

  Without thinking, Deanna looked in time to see Jon Kessler stumble away from the tech trailer as though drunk. He reached behind him with awkward gestures as though he had an itch he couldn't quite reach when, knees buckling, he went down on his face.

  "Omigosh—" Belated, Deanna covered her mouth.

  "Stay down," Shep said, ducking her head below the window level. "And listen close. Ticker is saddling the horses." He paused as if thinking his plan through. "He'll take you to the safety of Double M and—"

  "On a horse? Why don't you just shoot me?"

  "I thought you were getting comfortable with Molly and Patch."

  "Hey, I'm comfortable with a lot of things," she told him, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to hop up on their backs and hi-ho-Silver away."

  "Everyone okay in there?" Voorhees called out from the kitchen.

  "Secure." Shep's reply was mechanical, but his mind spun wheels behind the gaze he fixed on Deanna. It didn't take a genius to see that he was trying to figure out what to do with her.

  "And I'm not leaving you," she declared. Anticipating objection, she stood defiant as a black gum tree in a lightning storm. "I got you into this mess."

  "All right then. There's no time for me to argue, so you do exactly as I say, got it?"

  "Got it."

  "Crawl to the bathroom and stay there. It's the safest place."

  "What are you—"

  "Just move it," he said, shoving her forward with his shoulder. "I have a plan."

  With Shep right behind her, Deanna met Jay Voorhees dragging C. R. into the central hall.

  "Well, now you know who your friends are, buddy."

  Voorhees ignored Shep's dour observation. Phone in hand, he punched out a number by memory and touch, because there certainly wasn't any light.

  "I have plenty of firepower in the gun cabinet, and Ticker's armed and got enough sense to lay low. I think we can take—"

  The agent swore, throwing the phone down. "Either I have the worst luck in history and my battery's acting up, or that murderous tech wit out there has done something. I can't get through for backup."

  "Think you and I can take him?"

  "If we can flush him out of the trailer. Otherwise, all he has to do is—"

  "What about Jon?" Deanna interrupted.

  "Hey, best worry about us," C. R. reminded her. "Your golden boy's toast."

  Voorhees gave the self-serving prisoner a sling into the bathroom. "Keep it up, Majors, and I
'll turn the girl loose on you again."

  Shame burning her face, Deanna looked away from the startled glance Shep cast her way.

  "You're not going to take these cuffs off?" C. R. exclaimed as Voorhees pushed him into the bathroom.

  "Why," the agent derided, "so you can cover your eyes?"

  "I know how to use a gun. It's my life on the line here. Besides, someone needs to protect the girl."

  "Oh, puh-leez," Deanna said, shoving her ex's face back into the room.

  "We can slip out the back and circle round from both sides," Shep said to Voorhees, all business. "Or, we can make a run for it in the Jeep and leave the son-of-a-gun and his buddies for another time."

  Voorhees shook his head. "No, I think between us, we can take them in. There can't be more than four in the chopper."

  Shep thought a moment, his face darkening with each passing second. "Not worth the risk. You cover me while I—"

  A shot rang out, simultaneous with a thunderous pop. Three more successive sets sounded as Shep hurried, hunkered down, to the kitchen window and peered out. Exhaling heavily, he dropped and leaned against the front of the sink cabinet.

  "Who'd have thought that computer-addicted twerp was a marksman?" he said to no one in particular, before rallying. "Okay, the Jeep and sedan are out of commission. That leaves Ticker's truck and the horses." He scratched his chin, studying the floor as if looking for directions.

  "Jay, if you can get the truck and drive behind the buildings, I'll cover you while you cross the open land, then I'll come up behind the house for Deanna and Majors."

  "I'm not leaving," Voorhees said.

  "Let him stay if he wants to play Wyatt Earp," C. R. told Shep, "I vote for your—"

  "You're not going anywhere, punk."

  "We don't have time to waste arguing, Voorhees." The quiet thunder in Shep's voice forecasted a fierce impending storm. Grim as the gathering darkness on his face, he dismissed the stubborn agent and motioned to Deanna.

  "You can ride with me on Patch. Ticker can take Molly As for you," he said over his shoulder to Voorhees, "help yourself to my gun cabinet, but I'd recommend you give one to Majors. You're going to need every gun you can get."