Shades of a Desperado

by Sharon Sala

  Rachel rubbed her face gingerly against his whisker-rough cheek, then leaned forward, tenderly kissing a small scar she felt on his chin.

  “What was that for?” Boone whispered.

  “The boo-boo I suspect no one kissed.”

  Remembering the knife and the man who’d put the scar there, he tried to grin, but it just wouldn’t come.

  “I wish to hell I’d met you years ago,” Boone growled.

  Oh, but, my darling, you did. Rachel traced the scar with the tip of her finger and smiled.

  “It’s never too late for love,” she said.

  “You’d better be right,” be said, as he rolled, pinning her beneath him on the floor.

  She grinned. “First thing you should learn about loving a woman. When it counts, we’re always right.”

  “Did you leave any bubble bath for me?” Boone asked.

  “You liked that? My, my, have I created a monster? I don’t believe I’ve ever known a lilac-scented, bubble-blowing monster before.”

  This time, Boone found his grin. It was right behind the tears in his eyes.

  “So sue me,” he said. “Thanks to you, I’m weak as a kitten and cold as a frog. Right now, I’ll take smelling like a lilac bush over these wet clothes any day.”

  Once again, they left a trail of clothing from the front door to the back of the house.

  It was getting to be a habit.

  The storm had passed. The air smelled fresh, and the bushes beneath the glow of the security light glistened as if they’d been dressed in white diamonds.

  Somewhere in another part of the house, her clothes dryer rumbled as Boone’s clothing tossed within the drum. Rachel stood at the window overlooking the back yard, listening to the runoff from the rain flowing downward toward the trees. Ultimately, she knew, it would wind up in the small creek far below her house. The one where she and Boone had first met.

  “Come to bed, Rachel. You’re going to freeze.”

  She turned. Boone lay sprawled upon her bed. Although there was a sheet covering the lower half of his body, the thin covering did little to hide the length of his legs or his underlying strength.

  She bit her lip, hesitant to speak of what she was thinking.

  “I love the way things look after a rain. Everything is fresh and clean and shining. It always makes me think of new beginnings.”

  She clasped her hands beneath her chin, then let them drop to her sides, and Boone could tell by the way she was standing that she hadn’t said what she wanted to say.

  “What are you thinking, honey?”

  Her voice was soft and full of hope. “Of new beginnings.”

  He stifled a groan. God help him, no one would like that more than he would.

  “Come here,” he said gruffly. Rachel came without hesitation.

  “Do you believe me when I say I love you more than my own life?” he asked.

  Rachel’s throat began to close. She couldn’t discuss this with him without feeling an odd sort of panic. She kept thinking of the old newspaper clipping she’d found in South Dakota. The one claiming a woman named Mercy Hollister had been responsible for an outlaw’s death.

  “Well, do you?” Boone asked.

  She nodded.

  “Okay, then listen, and try to read between the lines. I wish to God I could tell you what’s going on in my life, but I can’t...at least, not right now.”

  “That’s okay,” she said softly.

  “No, it’s not okay,” Boone retorted. “In fact, it’s a great big mess. But if I promise you it will get better, will you wait for me?”

  Her heart soared. It was the first hint of anything between them resembling a future.

  “I’ve been waiting forever,” she said. “A few more lifetimes won’t make that much difference.”

  He laughed softly and held her close. But Rachel couldn’t find much humor in what she’d said. What frightened her most was being pretty sure they’d already messed up once. She didn’t want to think about going through all this turmoil only to find they’d failed again to get it right.

  Just before daylight, she helped him dress. His clothes were still warm from the dryer.

  “I could get used to this,” Boone said, as Rachel handed him his shirt. He put it on, then absently tucked it into the waistband of his Levi’s before sitting down on the bed to pull on his boots.

  “So could I,” Rachel said, combing her fingers through his thick black hair.

  “So what are you going to do today?” Boone asked.

  Rachel plopped down on the bed. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about going back to work. I feel so useless just sitting up here waiting to run amok.”

  He frowned. “I know some people in Oklahoma City,” he said, and then added, before she could bring up the fact, “They aren’t anything like Snake and Tommy Joe, trust me.”

  She looked away, hating that he’d brought the reality of his life into their own little world.

  He was already saying more about himself than he should, but he couldn’t stop talking.

  “I could ask around. Find out if they know a good shrink.” It was obvious from the way she was behaving that she didn’t want to hear what he was saying. “Please, honey... there’s got to be a reason why this is happening to you. I just want you well. It scares the hell out of me when I think how close you’ve come to real danger.”

  “Do you think it doesn’t scare me, too?” she said, and tried to pull away.

  He pulled her onto his lap, kissing the side of her cheek and her chin until she was forced to look at him.

  “We’ve never talked about life before us, have we?” he asked.

  She shook her head. There wasn’t much to tell about hers, and she’d been afraid to ask about his.

  “Rachel...”

  She wouldn’t answer. He sighed. This was getting them nowhere, and it was almost daylight. Although her house was far enough from the road to hide his car, he didn’t want to push his luck. He had to be out of here before sunrise:

  “Never mind,” he said softly. “Just remember, anything broken can always be fixed.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and then clung to him in fear. “No, Boone, you’re wrong. Remember what I do for a living?”

  He knew what was coming.

  “I’ve seen too many broken bodies and too many broken homes. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.”

  He held her tight and closed his eyes. If he didn’t think about losing her, then maybe it wouldn’t happen. Moments later, he looked up and out the window. The thick brew of night was swiftly diluting.

  “Rachel, sweetheart, I’ve got to go.”

  “I know,” she said, and lifted her lips for one last kiss.

  It came, and with it all the reluctance Boone was feeling. He tore himself away with a groan, then headed for the door. Yet in spite of the urgency, something kept pulling at him, warning him.... If you leave, you may never come back. He turned, wanting to remember her all soft from sleep, wearing a well-loved smile and little else.

  He got what he wanted.

  “If you love me... trust me,” he said.

  Rachel never saw him go. The last thing she heard was his plea, and then the air began to thicken and the light began to shift, breaking into refractions and angles that didn’t make sense. She groaned and clutched the bed for support as Dakota turned and looked at Mercy from the doorway of a dusty cabin.

  He tossed a rifle toward her as she sat on the bed. “If you love me like you say you do... then don’t let me hang.”

  Mercy caught the gun in midair, then screamed out his name. It was too late. He was already gone.

  Rachel came too with a groan, then looked around for Boone. He was nowhere in sight.

  “Dear God, dear God,” she muttered, and jumped to her feet.

  The coincidence between Boone’s parting and what she’d just seen was too much to bear. She ran through the house, calling his name. When he didn’t answer, she ran out of th
e house, onto the porch. The taillights of his pickup truck were just disappearing around the bend in the drive.

  She dashed into the yard, waving frantically at him. “Boone! Wait! Comeback! Come back!”

  It was too late. He was already gone.

  Water dripped from the leaves and down onto the man’s hooded coat. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and took a step backward, although he was well hidden behind the trees in which he stood. His purpose: watching the driveway leading to Rachel Brant’s home.

  Driven by a jealousy he could no longer contain, he’d followed Boone MacDonald out of town, then all the way up the mountain, taking care to stay at least a quarter of a mile behind him. But when the taillights of Boone’s pickup suddenly disappeared, it meant either the driver had parked to wait out the storm, or he was taking shelter elsewhere in a lying woman’s arms. To his dismay, when he topped the hill where he’d last seen the truck, it was nowhere in sight.

  Now, as he shifted from one leg to the other, tired of the cold and of the hatred eating at him from inside, he waited to see if he’d been right all along.

  The sun was minutes from the horizon when a dark blue pickup suddenly appeared at the end of the drive, the driver momentarily pausing to check the main road. Even from where he was standing, he could see the driver’s face. Rage rattled the edge in his voice as he watched Boone MacDonald turn up the mountain and drive out of sight.

  “I’ll kill them both,” he muttered. “So help me God, I will kill them both.”

  Boone paced the trailer with nervous intent. He’d been in this business too long not to trust his own instincts, and they were warning him that something was going to happen. He could feel it. But he was ready. He wanted this job to be over. What worried him was Rachel. If Denver’s boys found out about her, he shuddered to think what they might do, especially after he’d called Snake down for making a pass at her. The little weasel was still holding a grudge. And because he knew better than to ignore his own intuition, he picked up the phone. It was time to confess—at least up to a point—about what he had done.

  “This is Waco. Is this you?”

  “It’s me, Captain. I don’t have much time.”

  Susan Cross shoved aside the file on which she’d been working, giving Boone her full attention. “What’s up?”

  “I need you to do something for me,” he said quickly.

  “Name it.”

  “There’s a woman. Her name is Rachel Brant.”

  A soft curse slipped into the one-sided conversation, settling on Boone’s nerves like a slap.

  “Just listen,” he muttered. “You can give me hell later.”

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  “If anything should happen to me, I want your promise that you’ll make sure she’s protected in any way necessary.”

  “Boone, what the hell have you done?”

  “Fallen in love.”

  “Dear God,” Susan said, and rubbed at a pain shooting up the back of her neck. “Does she know anything?”

  “No, she loves Boone. She doesn’t know I exist.”

  “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Boone said sharply. “Why the hell do you think I called you?”

  Susan sighed. “To fix another one of your messes, I assume.”

  “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” he said softly.

  “Oh shut up,” Susan said. “I’m immune to your charm.”

  “You love me and you know it,” Boone said.

  “I want your ass back here at headquarters in the morning, or I’ll know the reason why,” she ordered.

  He sighed. It was to be expected. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

  “No! You do what I said,” Susan said.

  The click at the other end of the line did not make her happy. She swiveled around in her chair and picked up her other phone.

  “Bennet, get Wayland in here on the double, and tell him to pack a bag. He might be staying a while.”

  Susan Cross’s angry voice was still ringing in Boone’s ear as he walked into Jimmy’s Place. The place was crawling with customers. It seemed as if every other citizen of Razor Bend had come to town all at once, and half of them were gathering here.

  “What’s going on?” Boone asked, as a man hurried by.

  “Jimmy’s having a drawing. Every hour, on the hour. You have to be present to win.”

  Boone looked around the room, absently fiddling with his key ring as he realized the impact of what was taking place. Jimmy was a smart man. If people had to wait to win a prize, they spent money while they waited. Candy and chirps were flying off the shelves, and the door to the cooler was banging on a regular basis as customers reached for cans and bottles of pop to wash it all down. The air was thick with smoke from burgers cooking on the grill, and people were laughing and talking among themselves as they waited for the hour to come around.

  Boone frowned. From the looks of things, it was going to take longer than he’d expected to buy a couple of quarts of motor oil, but it didn’t really matter. His days were all the same. He felt as if he were caught in the middle of a long, dark tunnel and all he could do was wait for a light to appear and show him the way out.

  He took a step back and knew it was a mistake by the body-to-body impact he made with the man behind him. The ring of keys slipped out of his hands, hitting the floor with a loud, distinct clink.

  Boone reached down at the same time as the man he had bumped.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Charlie Dutton said, as he picked up the keys. “It’s pretty crowded in...”

  The keys were splayed, and one in particular stood out from the rest. It was shiny and new and marked with the letter B in red fingernail polish. The implication of that key on this ring stunned him, and the urge to put his fist in the big man’s face was overwhelming.

  I only gave him a ride, not the key to my house.

  Rachel’s words rang in Charlie’s ears like a death knell. My God, girl, what have you done?

  Boone straightened, his fists doubled, readying himself for the blow he sensed was coming. Instead, Charlie took a deep breath, then dropped the keys in Boone’s hand.

  Time seemed to stop. Eye-to-eye, they stood without moving, gauging each other’s intent. Charlie was the first to speak. He pointed to the keys he’d just handed Boone.

  “A man needs to be real careful about his keys.”

  Boone looked down at the ring in the palm of his hand. There, shining out from the others, was a small gold key with a bright red B. His heart stopped.

  Rachel.

  He looked at Charlie again. An intense stare passed between them again, and this time it was Boone who broke the silence.

  “You don’t need to worry,” he said quietly. “I’m real careful about all my things.”

  Charlie wanted to hate him, but there was something about the look in Boone MacDonald’s eyes that led him down another emotional path. “You take care now,” Charlie said, and moved away through the crowd.

  When the man was gone, Boone started to shake. He didn’t have to wonder what that was all about. It had been obvious from the start. Rachel had worked with that man. He knew her habits, and he’d obviously seen her mark keys like this before. And with that knowledge came another thought, even worse than what had just occurred. Charlie Dutton wasn’t the only one who might have noticed the marked key. Without giving it a second thought, he’d handed his keys over to Snake Martin as if he were handing him a match.

  What in hell have I done?

  A middle-aged couple barreled past him, laughing and waving to a man on the other side of the room. Boone stepped aside to let them pass, and as he did, he felt a touch on the back of his hand. It was little more than a brush of flesh against flesh, but it was enough to get his attention. He looked down. His heartbeat jerked, then kicked back in at an irregular pace. He knew that face, those curls, those beseeching blue eyes.

  He squatted down un
til he was level with her gaze.

  “Well, hello, Punkin,” he said softly and held out one hand.

  She ducked her head, then looked back again, this time wearing a smile.

  “Already learning to flirt, are you?” he asked.

  Although his meaning was lost on her, she giggled, pleased to have been noticed. remember him, and

  Boone wondered if she could possibly remember him, and then decided she couldn’t. All that smoke and steam, and then hanging upside down, it was a wonder she’d remembered her own name. He searched her face for remnants of the wreck. The bruises were gone, as were the scratches and cuts. The only visible sign of what she’d endured was a small red mark near her temple. The scar would fade with time, as would her loss.

  He winked and started to tousle her curls. But Punkin had other ideas. She grabbed his finger, just as she had the day of the wreck. Her grip was firm, her jaw determined.

  “Boo,” she said clearly.

  “So, pretty baby, you do remember me.”

  “Melissa Ann, you leave that man alone!”

  Boone jerked as if he’d been slapped as the little girl was suddenly yanked away. The middle-aged woman staring down at him wore a fearful expression on her face. He couldn’t blame her. Boone MacDonald wasn’t the kind of man to trust with any woman, no matter their age. He stood.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t...” he began, but Charlie Dutton suddenly appeared once again at his side.

  “Hey, Esther, how are things going? I see you and Boone are finally getting to meet.”

  Esther Worlie looked puzzled. Losing her son-in-law had been shock enough, and her daughter was just now able to move about on her own. When she turned around in the crowd and realized the baby was nowhere in sight, her heart had stopped. Seeing Melissa with this man had set off a new kind of panic.

  When Boone would have walked off into the crowd without explaining himself, Charlie halted his exit with an unexpected introduction.