With both fists, she struck the unconscious Shep full in the chest—once, twice, three times.
"Shoot, Deanna, you're going to kill him," C. R. said. She could see his feet in front of her but couldn't make out what he was saying, the sirens ringing in her ears.
"What do you know?" she shrieked at him. Tilting Shep's head back like she'd seen on medical shows, she pinched his nose and inhaled.
"Look, I gotta leave."
"So go!" Deanna inhaled again. Beneath her knees the ground shook with rolling thunder. God, I hope that's You coming to help.
As she started to share her breath with Shep, it was stolen by the bizarre Wild West scenario unfolding domino fashion in the street. Either she was hallucinating or maybe she had been shot after all and this was either a neurological phenomenon or a parting glance at what she left behind.
By magic, the red stallion of Shep's dreams materialized out of thin air with a hair-raising whinny. It bolted, mane and tail unfurled, as it had been the first time she'd seen it, toward a shock-riveted clown. His feet appeared to be set into motion by the pistol that fell to the dirt from his hand. With an abrupt pivot, the bozo ran over Dusault, who struggled to his feet, one hand clutched to his abdomen. Both men sprawled before the magnificent horse.
Its coppery coat glowing surreal in the fiery blaze of the setting sun, the stallion leaped over them and raced before an Ozlike wind down the street and out of the proverbial Dodge. The dust swirled and kicked up in its wake sounded like the beating of a thousand pairs of angel wings. An aged figure emerged from the open door of the barn in worn Levis and flannel, not a white robe. A rifle rested over his arm instead of an avenging sword. Instead of taking over with a powerful voice of omniscience, the slight figure cackled, shattering Deanna's shell shock.
"If that ain't a pair of wallerin' snakes, I'll quit. It took old Charlie long enough," Ticker grunted, nodding at the line of police cars driving single file up the street, sirens and lights flashing. Two ambulances rolled around from the backside of the town, stopping in the yard. People in uniform scattered with a purpose to the wounded.
It wasn't a heavenly vision after all, but it was heaven sent.
"You all right, Shep?"
Or was it? Dreading to look and more afraid not to, Deanna glanced down to see brown eyes, beautiful, beautiful brown eyes, looking up at her.
"You pack quite a wallop, Slick."
And those lips, now tugging in a grin that made her toenails curl. Just inches from hers, they broke the chain of fear that held her body in a relentless grip. But she'd seen him get hit. She saw the bullets plowing into his chest. His shirt was ripped and...
Hard and bloodless.
"Bulletproof vest," Shep explained, hopping to his feet. "Knocked the wind out of me, and I cracked my head on the wood, but I'll take bruises over bullets any day."
Reluctant to let Shep out of her sight, Deanna stuck to his side until the last of the police cars and the ambulance with the body bags pulled away. Jay Voorhees was on his way to a trauma center by helicopter. Much to Deanna's relief, Jon Kessler, thanks to another bulletproof vest, accompanied him with bruises and a nonfatal head injury where a bullet grazed his skull.
Dusault and C. R. traveled by ambulance to Taylorville Medical Center in police custody, where the crime boss was to have two slugs removed. Not only had C. R. shot him in the stomach during the struggle, but the shot that went off when Deanna yanked the gun free of her trousers came close to making the man a soprano. As for Agent Gretsky, he was about to enjoy the hospitality of the Taylorville jail.
In his glory, Ticker Deerfield regaled Charlie Long and Sheriff Barrett with the whole tale, starting with how he'd corralled the renegade Romeo that afternoon, shutting the stallion up before he could get away. Then things started happening so fast, he didn't have time to tell Shep about it.
"I was runnin' around like a skunked hound suitin' up in this fancy vest and gatherin' my guns. Like as not, I'll not sleep a wink for a month."
Deanna thought the same thing as she rubbed liniment on Shep's ribs later. For her sake, he insisted they stay over at Esther Lawson's bed-and-breakfast until the house was cleaned up. After showing them to their respective rooms, Esther went downstairs to call Maisy with the latest tidbits she'd gleaned from her guests. Drifting up in the breaks of her conversation, a hall radio played oldies but goodies.
When Deanna finished, Shep picked up the discarded vest that had saved his life and laid it on a chair.
"God is enough, but," he stipulated with a wince, "the Good Book also said there's no need to tempt Him."
God couldn't get enough credit for what she felt, nor was she ashamed of the joy and gratitude that had glazed her eyes and made her chin tremble all evening. Shep caught one of the sparkling tears with a kiss, just as he had every chance he'd gotten since they left Hopewell.
The bits and pieces of the incident replayed in Deanna's mind. The bloodshed and grim reality of a world she'd never seen except on TV, drove home again and again just how close she had been to losing Shep.
"You sure you're not hurt?" He'd asked her the same thing dozens of times, as if to convince himself that it was all over, that she was safe, and to convince her that she was the most important thing in his life.
Deanna shook her head. "Nah, it's just a joy leak." In the arms of her Shepard, she was light enough to float, ready to step out on the proverbial water of life at his side, no matter the storms that lay ahead.
"I'm not afraid anymore." She pressed her cheek to Shep's chest. "The bad guys can tie me to a railroad track and I'd just laugh."
Shep shook her with his chuckle. "What if they turned on the buzzsaw?" he asked in a sinister tone.
"I'd yawn."
"And what if they light," he drew out the word in a dastardly laugh, "the fuse to the dyn...omite?" He swung her around in his arms, almost dropping her as his injuries reminded him of his condition.
Deanna dropped instead onto an overstuffed ottoman done in the same material as the drapes and chair, giggling, "I'd sing 'Happy Birthday to Me.'"
"That's not what I want to hear." With a scowl, Shep reached for his hat. "Guess again."
Enchanted by his half-boy, all-man mischief, Deanna pretended to think. "'My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less?'"
He set the beat-up Stetson on his head. "Try again."
"'Rag Time Cowboy Joe?'"
Growling, Shep drew her to her feet and put his hands at her waist. "I'm only going to teach you this once."
"Just once?"
"Just once." He cleared his throat and pressed his forehead to hers, knocking his hat back. "And then.
Deanna swayed to the left, following his lead.
"'And then...'" he said, voice going up a few notches. He swung her to the right and, moving up another octave, he squeaked out, "'And then.
The space between them vanished. Pressed against him, Deanna felt his deep-throated chuckle, the warmth of his breath upon her cheek. "'And then...'" Shep dipped her backward. As he pulled her back up, he launched into a soulful rendition of the chorus. "'Along came Jo-o-ones.'"
The wacky lyrics were enough to make a grown woman swoon; Shep's clumsy dance around the furniture-crowded room enough to shame the most romantic Viennese waltz. And that hat... Well, what could a gal say? It was a crowning touch.
Epilogue
"I declare, I think our church bell sounds even clearer with our new roof!"
Esther Lawson counted off twelve strikes and, with her characteristic schoolmarm nod of approval, resumed her last minute check of the table decorations in the community hall. The ladies circle had turned the homey but nondescript decor into an extravaganza of wedding bells, doves, blue-and-silver ribbons, and coordinating plates, napkins, and table linens.
Shep and Deanna had planned to elope to Las Vegas, while the house was being remodeled and rewired to accommodate twenty-first century life, including a phone, fax, and internet for Deanna to work out of the h
ouse.
The church ladies would not hear of it. Deanna had no immediate family? Just what did she think they were? She would have a decent church wedding, just like her mother would have wanted for her, not some drive-through paper-signing with the price tag hanging over the door.
Deanna teared up every time she thought about the love and acceptance of the little community. She'd once thought it the backside of the world, but she couldn't have been more wrong. Buffalo Butte was the heart of the world. Before she knew it, the wedding was planned and all but a done deal. Four weeks had flown by. Shep moved back to the ranch so that Esther's second bedroom could be filled with shower gifts from sisters she hadn't even met.
Caught in a whirlwind of plans and activities, Deanna discovered the slower pace her city friends used to joke about was a choice. When the chips were down, these folks made Wall Street look tame.
Hands damp with perspiration, she wiped them on a tea towel rather than risk ruining the beautiful brocade of her wedding dress. It and the veil of Spanish lace had belonged to Maisy's grandmother. "I wore it forty pounds ago," the diner owner told Deanna as she removed the special bag it had been preserved in. "Last time I ever dressed up," she reflected with an unladylike snort of humor. "Been wearin' an apron ever since, so that just goes to show ya, don't it?"
Seeing Deanna had no clue what she was getting at, unless she was trying to discourage the bride, Maisy explained. "Love is love, no matter how you dress it up or down. In fact, I might even love my Chuck more since I took up the apron than I did when I wore that dress."
"More blue flowers!" The minister's wife hurried in with a large white box. "Juanita is putting the carnations on the men. Praise the Lord, they're white with just a smidgeon of blue."
The church ladies insisted the groom have some say in the wedding plans, even though he deferred without exception to whatever Deanna wanted. Trapped at the shower by a passel of mother hens, Shep picked the color blue, "To match Deanna's eyes."
Deanna thought Juanita Everett would swoon then and there in the hall kitchen, but the mayor's wife was made of sterner stuff. The president of the flower club, which she named the Buffalo Butte Bouquettes, managed to find more blue flowers than Deanna ever knew existed. And if they weren't blue, she spray-painted them.
"Oh my," Ruth said in a something-isn't-quite-right voice after opening the box and pulling back the tissue.
"Hey, Slick, is everything a go in here?" Shep called through the door.
The ladies set upon the groom the instant he walked in.
"Shepard," Esther chided in a tone that had kept children in their places for years. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."
"Now how am I going to cart her down the aisle without seeing her?"
With no one from her family to give her away they'd decided to break with tradition. Shep was going to usher Deanna down the aisle and the entire congregation would answer "I do" when the time came to give her away.
Shep smiled over Esther's and Maisy's heads at Deanna.
"Besides, ladies, if that's bad luck, I can't imagine what good is."
Neither could Deanna. She'd heard of love light in songs and always thought it was some silly metaphor... until now. Deanna basked in it, her body tingling in its warm glow. It just didn't get any better than this.
"Well, just in case..." Maisy emptied salt from a nearby table and tossed it over Shep's shoulder.
"Maisy," Esther huffed, brushing it off his shoulders. "You'll mess up his tux."
His shoulders looked half again as wide, pronouncing the taper to his trim waist and hips.
"It's the man that makes the tux, not the other way around," Maisy argued. "It'd take more'n salt to mess up a handsome dude like Shep."
His embarrassed grin faded as Ruth pulled out the wedding bouquet. "You're not going to carry that, are you?"
No more impressed than Shep, the minister's wife just stared in disbelief at the massive collection of blue flowers.
"I've seen smaller sprays on casket lids!"
"The mayor's wife said she wanted something different just for me. They came all the way from Hawaii." Deanna felt compelled to come to Juanita's defense. "Anthuriums, I think she said. She had to keep them overnight in the bathtub."
Shep scowled. "They look obscene to me."
"They're used in large arrangements," Esther informed them, dubious as she fingered the large waxy petal that made up the flower. "But I've never seen them in blue."
Maisy snorted. "Anything that's stood still long enough for Juanita to fetch her can of paint is blue. She ain't been right since she got back from those islands."
"What are we going to do?" Ruth asked.
"Thoughtfulness is thoughtfulness, no matter how you dress it up or down," Deanna paraphrased Maisy "I'm going to carry the bouquet down the aisle." She looked at her husband-to-be. "Unless you object."
"That's one of the reasons I love you, Deanna Rose Manetti." Shep leaned through the barrier of ladies and kissed Deanna on the cheek.
One more blast of that love light and she'd be too weak to carry it.
"Oh my goodness, look at the time," Ruth Lawrence exclaimed. "I have to start playing the organ." She brushed past Shep in a rush.
Esther and Maisy gave the hall one last perusal and then turned to Deanna.
"You're pretty as a picture," Esther said, bussing Deanna on the cheek. "I'm going to miss my favorite boarder."
Maisy stepped up and gave Deanna a bear hug. "Just strut right up that aisle with that hunk of man on your arm and remind us all what love is."
Deanna groaned as a tear slipped out the corner of her eye. "Aw, sheesh, there go the waterworks again."
With the flourish of a magician, Shep produced a handkerchief. "Not waterworks," he corrected. "Joy leaks."
Maisy and Esther exchanged smiles and slipped out of the hall as he dabbed Deanna's cheek with a tender touch.
"Everybody has been so nice. I m—mean, I have as much family here as I had in Brooklyn with Pop's Italians and Mama's clan." She sniffed. "I'm drowning in love here. My m-makeup's gonna run, and it'll look like you're marrying a raccoon."
"I love raccoons with those little black rings around their eyes."
"Well, that really makes me feel better," Deanna wisecracked. "Now I gotta worry about being stuffed and put on the mantel next to Old Bull."
Shep laughed so hard that Deanna had to wipe the joy leaks from the corners of his eyes. Reverend Lawrence poked his head in to see the two of them sharing tears, laughs, and a wet handkerchief.
"Are you two ready? Mr. Deerfield said, and I quote, 'I'm sweatin' buckets in this here monkey suit.'"
"Ready, able, and willing." Grinning, Shep folded the handkerchief in his left pocket so that Deanna could reach it. "Do you think you can get through this without cracking me up?" He folded her hand over his arm.
Her knight in denim. Her best friend. Her hero. Her love light. When all was lost, he found her. When she was sinking, he lifted her up so that she could see.
"Only if the reverend adds 'excluding taxidermy' after the 'for better or worse' part."
"Never mind," Shep said, at Reverend Lawrence's bewildered look. "We'll just take our chances and jump in feet first."
As Shep escorted Deanna across the small parking lot, the steeple of the church gleamed white, a beacon of unity in one God afloat in an endless stretch of Montana sky. It drew her back into the church family and to the man with whom she would soon be one, in faith, hope, and love. Spirit dancing to the time-tried herald of the organ, she stepped over the threshold of her future with the Shepard God had sent her.
Walking with her husband-to-be down the aisle through a sea of familiar, loving faces, Deanna's heart sang what her emotion-choked voice could not. Look at me, God. I'm stepping out on the water.
LINDA WINDSOR is the award-winning author of nineteen historical and five contemporary novels. She lives on the Eastern Shores of Maryland in a Waltons-like
home brimming with the love, laughter, and occasional heartache that she brings to life so wonderfully in her romantic comedies. Linda finds that laughter is God's prescription for the tears of life—the icing on the cake of faith.
Dear Reader,
Along Came Jones reaches beyond the heart and funny bone, not just to entertain, but also to illustrate how God's Word speaks to every person's doubts and struggles. In my years of affliction with chemical/biological depression, I have personally faced both Deanna's and Shep's dilemmas—feeling abandoned by God and reluctant to offer help to another depressed soul in need when I was barely recovered myself. Through these experiences, I've learned that things of this world—depression and dire circumstances—are temporal, while those of God—like His love and grace—are everlasting.
By that grace, I found the hope, the direction, and the strength to meet these challenges head on in God's Word, just as my characters did within these pages. With that hope in mind for others in similar situations, I've prepared a few questions, to be used for either personal reflection or group discussion, in the hope that you will be uplifted and reassured by the power of everlasting love and grace in God's Word.
Blessings always,
Questions for Reflection or Discussion
1. Have you ever felt like Deanna—desperate with no one to turn to, abandoned even by God? Describe how you felt then. Read Job 7:1-11 and Psalm 22:1-2. How was your sense of despair like that of Job and David?
2. Has stress or depression in a moment of desperation made you feel at odds with what you knew to be true, just as it did for Deanna? Consider David's cry in Psalm 22:3-11. Read Matthew 5:38-45 and think about how our feelings and natural impulses often conflict with God's way of doing things.
3. What roadblocks sustained Deanna's sense of hopelessness and caused her to maintain her distance from Shep—and from God and His love? Think of a time when you created obstacles that kept you from becoming close with someone you cared for. Read Psalm 127:1-2, Proverbs 3:7 and 28:26. What does the Bible say about trusting in our own wisdom?
Winsor, Linda Page 29
