Shades of a Desperado

by Sharon Sala

  Rachel stopped, her heart pounding as she drew harsh, aching breaths through burning lungs. She peered back through the trees, unable to see anything beyond the branches in front of her face, and exhaled slowly.

  Safe. Now they were safe. She turned. Even in the darkness, the expression on Boone’s face was too plain to conceal. Fear for what he’d seen...for what he’d so terribly misunderstood washed over her.

  “Boone...darling, you’ve got to understand. I didn’t know....”

  He swayed, and she caught him. A new fear surfaced as she steadied him where he stood. His breath came in short, aching grunts. His shirt was wet with sweat. And then a terrible thought dawned. Despite their frantic race to safety, it was too cold for him to be sweating to this degree. She looked at her hand. Even in the darkness, the bloodstain was impossible to miss.

  “Dear God! Boone, why didn’t you tell me?”

  He went down on his knees to keep from falling.

  Instead of an answer, he threw a question back in her face.

  “Why did you change your mind?” he muttered, and dropped his head between his knees, trying desperately to keep from passing out.

  Rachel groaned. With all the medical skill in her head, she had none of it at her fingertips.

  “About what?” she asked as she undid his shirt, searching by feel, rather than sight, to test for damage.

  “About your boyfriend. You already had me cold. What made you change your mind?”

  She attributed his rambling questions to shock as she felt along his back for an entrance wound. And then she found it and breathed a small sigh of relief. It seemed to be safely away from his heart and spinal column, although she had no way of knowing what the angle of the trajectory had been. She closed her eyes, picturing in her mind the internal workings of the human body and what damage the bullet could have done. There were too many variables to assume anything.

  “Oh, God, what I wouldn’t give for Charlie Dutton now,” she muttered.

  “He’s in love with you,” Boone said, and then slumped forward.

  Determined to keep panic out of her voice, she eased Boone down on his side. “And I’m in love with you,” she said. “That would make for quite an odd group, don’t you think?”

  Shoving back the front of his shirt, she moved her examination to the front of his chest, searching for a point of exit, and then groaned. There was none. She checked his back again and stifled new panic. Blood was no longer seeping. It was starting to flow.

  Pressure. She needed packing and pressure. Without hesitation, she yanked off her shirt and began folding it up.

  “Rachel, I...”

  “Hush,” she whispered. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

  She stuffed the thick pad she’d made beneath his shirt, centering it on the hole in his back.

  “Easy, sweetheart,” she said as she eased him onto his back, using his own body weight for pressure on her makeshift bandage. For now, it was all she could do.

  Boone looked up. Rachel’s face was wavering in and out of focus, as if she were a dark angel hovering above him. Consciousness was slipping fast. He didn’t know whether he was just passing out or about to die, but there was something she needed to know. He grabbed her hand with surprising force.

  “In my boot...there’s a gun.”

  She gasped. “I don’t know how to shoot.”

  “Get it,” he said, and then groaned. “All you have to do is aim and fire. The bullet will do the rest.”

  “Oh, my God,” she muttered, and pulled the thing out with trembling hands.

  “Rachel.”

  She leaned down, her breath just a whisper above his face. “Yes, darling.”

  “I’m not who you think I am.”

  Tears blurred her vision of his face as she rested her forehead against his chest.

  “You’re going to get well,” she said, focusing her energy on this man who’d stolen her heart. “I’ll go anywhere with you. Live anywhere you say. I don’t care who you are or what you do, just don’t leave me, Boone. Dear God, don’t leave me again.”

  He frowned. She wasn’t making sense. He’d never left her before, so how could he leave her again? But one thing she’d said soaked into his fuzzy brain. She still believed he was an outlaw, and was willing to run with him if that was what it took for them to be together.

  He went weak, and he didn’t know if it was from lack of blood or the wash of emotion flooding him. He’d waited all his life for a woman like her, and now it might be too late.

  “You don’t understand,” he kept saying. “I’m not the bad guy, Griffin Ross is the bad guy.”

  Though she still misunderstood what he was trying to say, she would have agreed with him about anything.

  “I know that,” she said softly, smoothing the hair away from his face, then clenched her teeth to keep from raging with helplessness. His skin was cold and clammy. Symptoms of shock.

  She thrust her hand beneath his back to make sure the bandage was still in place, and then stifled a scream. It was already soaked.

  “Rachel, I want you to leave me here. If you head toward the road, you can go for help.”

  She leaned forward until he could feel her breath on his face. “Just shut up and rest,” she said. “We’re in this together, and we’re going to come out of it the same way.”

  He swallowed a groan. It was too damned ironic to believe. He’d thought for sure when he walked into her house that his cover had been blown. Rachel had gone to South Dakota. She’d told him so without blinking an eye. He’d been born in South Dakota. Rachel had dumped her boyfriend, then fallen for him. Then the boyfriend had turned out to be the man behind Denver Cherry’s operation. Finally Rachel had turned up in the boyfriend’s arms. It had all been so neat. And he’d been so very wrong.

  He clutched at Rachel’s hand, but she kept slipping away. Panic began to spread. This wasn’t fair. He couldn’t die. Not when he’d just found her.

  “Denver Cherry wasn’t the real boss. I never knew who my boss was,” he muttered. “They were taking me to meet the boss.”

  Rachel groaned. She’d suspected that Boone was mixed up with drugs, but refused to consider the possibility. Hearing Denver Cherry’s name confirmed her worst suspicions. His reputation had long preceded him, although the authorities had yet to prove a thing that could put him in prison. Now Boone was admitting what she’d refused to believe.

  “Rachel...damn it, are you listening?” Boone said, and then broke out in a wave of cold sweat. “Hell,” he muttered weakly.

  Rachel pressed her hand above his heart; the beat was faint, almost too faint to be felt. Frantic, she thrust her fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse. It was there. Thready...but there.

  His eyelids fell shut, and his head rolled sideways. In that moment, Rachel knew true terror. Clutching the front of his shirt with both hands, she gave him a vicious jerk.

  “Boone! Damn you, don’t die on me, do you understand?”

  His eyes came open. “What’s it take to get a little sleep around here?” he muttered.

  “You talk to me,” she said.

  “Where’s the gun?”

  She glanced around. It was by her knee, where she’d dropped it.

  “Here,” she said.

  “Don’t put it down again,” he said, and for some reason the quiet authority in his voice moved past her panic to a reality she suddenly understood.

  “I won’t,” she said, and set it in her lap, one hand on it at all times.

  He started to talk, and at first Rachel thought he was rambling. But the longer she listened, the clearer it finally became.

  “They were taking me to meet the boss. Denver wasn’t the boss. They were taking me to meet the boss.”

  “Oh...my...God!” She leaned forward, cupping Boone’s cheek until he finally focused again on her face.

  “Rachel... I love you. Did I tell you I loved you?”

  “Yes, darling, and you told me s
o much more, didn’t you? You were trying to tell me Griff is the real boss, weren’t you?”

  A smile broke through the pain. He relaxed. She finally understood.

  “I’m just going to rest now,” he said. “Be right back, okay?”

  But before Rachel could answer, sounds outside the trees in which they were hiding brought her to a new level of fear. Before she could react, the branches of the evergreens parted and Griffin Ross came staggering through, cursing as the thick branches slapped and stung at his face. She swallowed a moan. They’d been found!

  If you love me, don’t let me hang.

  For Rachel, the message was loud and clear. She grabbed the gun from her lap and then stood with one foot on either side of Boone’s prone body. Griff was going to have to come through her to get to Boone.

  Griffin’s gun was dangling from his hand as he shoved the last branch aside. When he saw Boone sprawled out on the ground, seemingly lifeless—just the way he wanted him—a smile of pure evil spread across his face. The fact that Rachel was only half dressed made it all the better.

  There was still a cold smile on his face as he kicked at the toe of Boone’s boot.

  “Did I interrupt your little tryst?” Griff sneered.

  Rachel’s head started to throb.

  “Get away from him!” she muttered.

  “And what if I don’t want to?” Griff asked, and started toward her.

  Pain shafted from the back of her head and then spiraled down her neck. Her heart was racing, her hands were shaking, but there was a newfound resolve that she didn’t understand. She didn’t even know how to hold a gun, and yet she found it light, even comfortable in the palm of her hand.

  “I know that you can shoot...so if you love me...don’t let me hang.”

  Understanding dawned. That was it! She couldn’t shoot, but Mercy could. Okay, girl, you’ve been haunting my sleep, so help me now, or forever hold your peace.

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to make you,” Rachel said, and lifted her arm. Steadying the gun with both hands, she aimed at the biggest target she could see, which was the dead center of Griffin Ross’s chest.

  He stopped in midstep as shock spread across his face. He hadn’t expected the gun. When it bloomed at the barrel, he wasn’t prepared for the jolt of bullet to flesh, or for the numbness to spread so fast.

  “You bitch!” he gasped, and tried to aim his own gun. But something was the matter with his arm. He stared down at his hand, watching in disbelief as the gun fell to the ground at his feet.

  The ground was coming at him in waves. He looked up. “No fair,” he mumbled.

  “You already told me life wasn’t fair, Griff. Don’t you remember?”

  He hated her for throwing his own words back in his face.

  “I’ll kill you,” he said, and reached toward her.

  The second shot knocked him flat on his back. “No, you won’t,” she said in a quiet, shaky voice. “Because you’re already dead.”

  It might have been seconds. It might have been minutes. But a short time later, Rachel heard someone shouting as he ran through the trees. She didn’t recognize the voice, but what he said sent her out to meet him.

  “MacDonald! Where the hell are you, buddy? It’s me. B.J.! Come on, man, answer me.”

  B. J. Wayland wasn’t prepared for the woman who burst out of the trees. The gun she was waving made him nervous, but he took one look at her face, then registered the fact that she was minus a shirt, and decided to trust her.

  “In here!” Rachel screamed, waving him to come inside. “He’s been shot. We need an ambulance!”

  B.J. blanched. Following her guidance, he pushed his way past the trees and stumbled on Griffin Ross’s prone body as he entered the clearing.

  “What the—?”

  “He’s dead,” she said, and then her voice changed pitch as she let go of the panic she’d been holding in place. “Please! Oh, God, help me! Boone needs help!”

  B.J. whipped out his cell phone and called for an ambulance while Rachel sank to her knees, back at Boone’s side. Moments later, he knelt beside her, doing his own test run on Boone’s injuries and vitals. The weak pulse scared him.

  “It won’t take them long to get here,” he promised. “The ambulance and local authorities were already at the house.”

  “But... how?”

  “I called them to come pick up those two losers in your flower bed. I hope you don’t mind. The fat one’s in the yellow mums, and there’s a skinny one who’s taking himself a last swing.”

  Rachel shuddered. The image of what had taken place at her home was horrible. She’d believed it to be her haven, and instead it had become a place of death.

  “But who are you?” she asked. “And how do you know Boone?”

  B.J. shrugged. “Men like us stick together.”

  She didn’t understand and, at this point, she didn’t really care. All she wanted was for Boone to wake up. She leaned down, patting his cheek in a gentle, constant motion.

  “Boone, can you hear me? It’s over. All you have to do is wake up and get well.” Her voice broke. “Please, Boone, don’t leave me.”

  B.J. couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Even in the darkness, even with her hair disheveled and tiny scratches all over her face and nearly bare upper body, the woman was stunning. He took off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. She hardly acknowledged the act.

  “Are you Rachel?”

  She nodded.

  He looked down at Boone, remembering what the captain had told him about the situation. An odd grin broke the somberness of his face.

  “He won’t die, honey,” he said softly. “He’s too damned hardheaded to leave you behind for someone else.”

  Chapter 15

  Rachel was hanging on to sanity by a thin, fragile thread. The halls of Comanche County Memorial in Lawton, Oklahoma, were well-lit and busy, but she couldn’t see them for the darkness within her heart.

  She looked up as Charlie Dutton slid into the seat beside her.

  “Joanie sends her love. She says not to worry about a thing at your house. She’ll get it all cleaned up before you get home.”

  Rachel blanched. Cleaned up? She’d forgotten the mayhem that had been done after she and Boone made a break for the door.

  “Tell her thank-you,” Rachel muttered, and couldn’t bring herself to care if all four walls had fallen in. There was only one thing that mattered, and that was keeping Boone alive.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is he going to die?”

  Charlie winced. Rachel looked so lost, so unsure, so unlike the Rachel he knew. She was wearing the blue longsleeved shirt he’d had on under his uniform when they took Boone out of the woods. In a dark, selfish part of his soul, Charlie had already let himself consider what might happen if Boone did die. Rachel would be free. But the thought hadn’t been there long. When you cared for someone, you put her happiness ahead of your own all the way. He took her hand, squeezing it between his palms in a gesture of comfort.

  “I don’t know, honey. They’re working on him now.”

  She shuddered, then swayed in the chair. Charlie slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

  “Lean on me, Rachel.”

  She accepted the offer. Silence stretched into endless minutes.

  “Charlie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her hair tickled the edge of his chin. Her shoulders were trembling. But what hurt most was the finality of it all. He couldn’t kid himself any longer about her ever changing her mind. For better or worse, she was in love with another man. It was the tears on her face that broke his heart.

  “I know, honey. So am I.” Oh, God...so am I.

  An hour passed, and then another. The sound of footsteps made Rachel look up each time someone passed, always hoping it was the doctor...and at the same time, afraid for him to come.

  This time it
wasn’t the doctor. This time it was B. J. Wayland, and a middle-aged woman Rachel didn’t know. Rachel straightened, slipping out from under the shelter of Charlie’s arms as the woman stopped abruptly in front of where she was sitting.

  “Rachel Brant?”

  There was something in the woman’s voice that demanded attention. Without asking herself why, Rachel stood.

  “Yes, I’m Rachel Brant.”

  The woman held out her hand. “Captain Cross, DEA.” She glanced at B.J., then back at Rachel. Arching an eyebrow, she told Rachel, “You can call me Susan.”

  DEA?

  Rachel wasn’t the only one who was impressed. Charlie got to his feet and extended his hand.

  “Charlie Dutton, paramedic out of Razor Bend,” and then added, “Rachel is my partner.”

  Susan nodded. She understood about partners.

  Rachel was afraid. If Denver Cherry had been running drugs and Boone had been working for Denver, then that meant these people were going to arrest Boone. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and stared Susan Cross straight in the eyes.

  “I don’t know what Boone’s done,” she said quietly. “But I want you to know I plan to testify on his behalf as to the admirable qualities I had occasion to witness. Since I’ve known him, he’s helped save a woman’s and a child’s lives, and he saved my life at the risk of his own.”

  Susan’s eyebrow arched even farther.

  “Told you, Captain,” B.J. muttered. “She’s the real thing. Blaine’s a lucky SOB and that’s a natural fact.”

  Susan Cross glared at B.J.’s slip of the lip and then gave Rachel a thoughtful look, although it seemed as if Rachel had missed the connection between Boone and Blaine. It was obvious to Susan that Rachel Brant was in severe distress about Boone MacDonald’s health. It wasn’t fair to let her think that if he lived, he would be imprisoned, as well.

  “Come with me, Miss Brant. We need to talk.”

  Rachel hesitated.

  “We won’t go far,” Susan said. “Just over there, by the windows. We can still see the doctor if he comes.”

  Rachel did as she asked. At this point, she would have done anything Susan Cross suggested.

  But when they got there, instead of talking, Susan turned and stared out the windows overlooking the city of Lawton. She hadn’t reached the age of fifty-five without facing some truths of her own. She was short, she was dumpy, and her hair was gunmetal gray. The only things she had going for her were her years on the force, her brains and her voice. That commanded authority. She demanded respect. For the most part, she got it. Her men trusted her, because she backed them one hundred percent.