Desperado

by Lisa Bingham

  “Okay, that should be my last trip for a while,” P.D. said, sinking onto the ground. “I figured it would be easier for you to suck on the ice than drink. She held an ice cube next to the injured woman’s lips and she greedily took it.

  Dipping the dishcloth into the water, P.D. began to dab at the woman’s face. She was covered in dust and smeared blood, and as P.D. wiped her clean, she could see her skin was red from sunburn. “I’m so sorry,” P.D. whispered. “I heard you earlier, but I thought the noise was something else. I should have thought to investigate the sound earlier.”

  “Others?” the woman whispered. “Where …”

  “Elam, my partner, has gone for help. He’s got a horse, thank goodness, so it shouldn’t be too long. The other couple …” P.D. searched the area, but couldn’t see them. “Long gone, I guess.”

  The cloth had grown warm so P.D. rang out the blood-tinged water.

  “Ready for more ice?”

  The woman nodded. She was growing more coherent, which P.D. took as a good sign.

  She slipped more ice into the woman’s mouth, then, after biting at the dishcloth to form a small tear, she ripped it in two. Then, she folded the two pieces and poured fresh water on each half.

  “What’s your name?” P.D. asked, laying one of the cloths on the woman’s forehead and the other on her nape.

  Come on, Elam. Hurry!

  “Jen … nifer,” the woman mumbled around the ice.

  “Hi, Jennifer. I always wanted to be named Jennifer. Really. I thought it was a beautiful, lyrical name.” She added wryly, “A normal name. And it has so many great nicknames: Jenny, Jen, Gwen.” She gave her another ice cube. “But my parents never did anything normal.”

  If only she had a watch so that she could check the time. It seemed like an eon since Elam had left, but it had probably only been a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes.

  P.D. leaned close to check the woman’s color. The alarming redness of her cheeks was ebbing and she blinked again, to show she was listening. All good signs.

  “My name’s P. D., short for Prairie Dawn.”

  This time the woman’s eyes opened wide.

  “I am not lying to you,” P.D. said ruefully. “I wish I were.”

  The woman swallowed and said, “Isn’t that … the name … of a …”

  “A Muppet.” P.D. grimaced. “Yes. But I didn’t know that until I was older. Honestly, I don’t know if my parents named me after the character on Sesame Street or some fanciful notion about the moment of my birth. I always hated the name. Kids could be especially cruel, and I’d deck anyone who dared to call me Prairie Dawn.”

  Inch by inch, shadows were creeping across the rock-and-weed-strewn ground, marking the slow passage of time. But the air grew even hotter, as if the earth was radiating the heat from its very core. P.D. looked up, scanning the distance, but she’d lost sight of Elam long ago, and she couldn’t see a sign of anyone coming to their aid.

  What if Elam can’t find a phone nearby? What if he has to ride nearly to town?

  Stop it! If there was anyone P.D. could trust to do the right thing, it was Elam.

  P.D. removed the cloths again, wrung them out, and re-wet them with cool water. This time, after replacing the one on Jennifer’s neck, she used the other to pat her face, her arms, her hands, rinsed it, then lay it over her temple and cheek. Now that Jennifer was out of the sun, her skin was beginning to take on an alarming pallor.

  Knowing that she needed to keep Jennifer distracted, P.D. continued to talk—saying anything that came to the top of her head.

  “Elam seems to like my name,” P.D. admitted. “Heaven only knows why. Every now and again, rather than calling me P.D., he’ll use my full name.” She leaned close to whisper confidentially, “When Elam says it”—her heart skipped a beat at the memory of him murmuring her name in the throes of lovemaking—“it makes me quiver inside, you know?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Have you got someone like that?”

  Jennifer dipped her head again, her eyes growing luminous. “B-Bill.”

  “We’ll tell the EMTs to give Bill a call. He can meet you at the hospital, okay?”

  “Thank … you.”

  P.D. squeezed Jennifer’s hand, realizing that she’d spoken more frankly with a stranger about her burgeoning emotions for Elam than she’d revealed to the man himself.

  From far in the distance, P.D. heard a low blaring horn begin to wind up, growing louder and louder until the noise spread through the whole valley.

  “Can you hear that?” P.D. asked excitedly. “That’s the alarm at the firehouse. Elam must have finally found a phone to use. Help is on its way.”

  EIGHTEEN

  A TEAR gathered at the corner of Jennifer’s eye and P.D. dabbed it away. Sure enough, the sound of the alarm was quickly followed by that of the firehouse in Belleville, then Abbington. True to form, the volunteer emergency crews weren’t about to lose out on a chance at excitement, and they were summoning all the help they could muster.

  “The cavalry is on its way,” P.D. murmured, rubbing Jennifer’s back.

  As the distant sirens joined those of the wailing alarms, P.D. could feel some of the tension seep from Jennifer’s muscles.

  “Are you married, Jennifer?”

  The woman’s lips lifted in a semblance of a smile. “Fifteen … years.”

  “Kids?”

  “F-five.”

  “Five! Holy moley! You must be a saint!”

  A soft laugh pushed from Jennifer’s lips.

  “This is what you need to do,” P.D. said conspiratorially, her gaze sweeping the horizon for emergency vehicles. “You might need some stitches—not many, mind you. But once they have you all fixed up and you’re ready to go home, I want you to milk this injury for all it’s worth, you hear. Honestly, you shouldn’t be cooking—or cleaning—for at least … a month? Maybe two?”

  The woman laughed again.

  “I’d say any kind of vacuuming is a definite no-no, and heck, you probably should keep your feet up and do nothing but read novels until … August?”

  Jennifer nodded. “I … think you’re right.”

  The sirens were growing louder now. Within a few minutes, P.D. could see the plumes of dust. She stood, waving to the line of vehicles bouncing and jouncing down the access road until they veered into the scrub and headed straight toward her.

  Within minutes, the scene resembled an anthill, with firemen and EMTs scurrying toward Jennifer. With each person that arrived, P.D. was pushed farther and farther away from Jennifer’s side until she stood on the fringes of the crowd.

  “Hey, P.D., nice getup!”

  Looking down, she realized that, from the waist down, she wore nothing but her pantalets. Snatching her skirts from the ground where they’d been tossed to one side, she quickly redressed. Then, remembering the food in the oven, she rushed to pull out the bread in the nick of time and added more wood to finish the chicken. Clearly in the way, she grabbed a water bottle from its sea of melted ice and greedily drained it.

  Before she knew it, Jennifer had been loaded into an ambulance and whisked away.

  P.D. watched with a twinge of sadness, wishing she’d had a chance to say good-bye. She didn’t want the woman to think she’d abandoned her.

  A bowlegged gentleman dressed in a pair of ornate chaps with a waxed mustache that stretched past his ears strode toward her, spurs jingling.

  “You the one who helped Jennifer?”

  P.D. shook her head. “I just sat with her. My partner was the one who rode for help.”

  The man held out his hand. “I want to thank you for staying with her. I heard one of the other pairs of contestants just ran off.”

  “They … uh … they were worried about their times.” Since she didn’t want to be guilty of speaking ill of another group, she added, “There wasn’t much they could have done anyway.”

  The man grunted, obviously not feeling so charitable.


  “We’ll have another volunteer here as soon as we can. Meanwhile, I can pass off your objectives.”

  P.D. shrugged. “I suppose.” It took her a moment to reconnect to the original purpose of her being in this spot. “I think Elam finished the field, I’m not sure. The chicken’s on the stove. Might be a little overdone. The bread has cooled and is ready to slice. I … uh …” She scrambled to think straight while her eyes kept scanning the road for Elam. “Oh, yeah, the cow is back with the others we were supposed to separate from the group. The butter might have melted …”

  The man waved a dismissing hand and handed her a familiar yellow envelope.

  “Hell, I don’t care. You’ve gone above and beyond the challenge. I’ll be sure to let the committee know. Jennifer is my daughter-in-law, y’know.”

  “No. I didn’t know.”

  The man held out a hand. “Will Tompkins.”

  P.D. recognized the name as one of the committee chairmen and major donors of the prize money.

  “P.D. Raines,” she said as she shook his hand.

  “The lady that owns Vern’s?”

  She nodded.

  “Mind if I have a taste of your food?”

  “No, I … I think someone was supposed to judge it.”

  The man rubbed his hands together. “Then, I guess that would be me.”

  P.D. found that she didn’t even have the energy to “put on a good show.” Instead, she watched the flotilla of emergency vehicles and pickup trucks disappear in the direction of the hospital. Then her gaze returned to search the horizon for Elam.

  It was nearly twenty minutes later when she saw him walking down the access road, leading the horse behind him. She stood, shading her eyes, watching until he was a few hundred feet away, then moving to meet him halfway.

  “What happened?” she asked, gesturing to the horse.

  “Horse threw a shoe right after I managed to find a phone. I had to walk back.”

  “There’s food waiting.” She looked behind her to where Will Tompkins had pulled up a camp chair and was eating. “I think.”

  “What’s next?” Elam said wearily, gesturing to the yellow envelope she still held.

  “I—I don’t know. I didn’t open it.” She slipped a thumb beneath the flap, then pulled out the letter inside. “Wildfire. We need to travel to the safety of Little Dodge.” She squinted at the map. “Little Dodge seems to be the fairgrounds on the outskirts of town.”

  Elam offered a muttered oath, and P.D. suddenly understood the cause. Since their horse had thrown a shoe, the journey would have to be made on foot. It was at least ten miles to town.

  “We might as well eat first,” P.D. said, squinting at the growing shadows. “It’ll be cooler then.”

  Elam nodded. “That sounds like the best idea we’ve had all day.” He tied the horse to a tree and began to remove its tack. “See if you can’t find something we can use to water him.”

  P.D. returned to the supply tent, and seeing nothing else, she grabbed the pail of milk from the cooler and dumped it into the weeds. Then she filled the bucket with water from one of the melted tubs and brought it to Elam.

  Elam had just finished rubbing the horse down. He lengthened the rope so the animal could reach a patch of grass and set the bucket down, holding it steady until the gelding had drunk its fill.

  Then, standing, he slipped an arm around P.D.’s waist.

  “Hello, Will,” he said as the other gentleman wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and stood.

  “Elam Taggart! I don’t think I’ve seen you in a coon’s age.”

  “More’n likely.” Elam sank into one of the remaining camp chairs.

  P.D. quickly loaded a paper plate with chicken and roasted vegetables, then cut a slice of bread from the loaf.

  “Didn’t know you were paired up with the owner of Vern’s,” Tompkins said as he settled back with a contented smile. He patted his belly and tipped his hat to shade his eyes from the dipping sun. “She’s a mighty fine lady.”

  P.D. expected Elam to explain he was a last-minute substitution, but Elam said instead, “Yeah, P.D. and I have been seeing quite a lot of each other lately, and I’m not dumb enough to stop.”

  Tompkins chortled in delight, removing his phone from his breast pocket. “Can’t say I blame you. Especially with the way she cooks. I don’t doubt she’s made the best meal yet at this particular challenge. I’ve been hearing from Jennifer that she’s been growing a little weary of undercooked bacon, overdone eggs, and the worst bread it has ever been her misfortune to eat.”

  He was talking and texting at the same time and P.D.’s fingers twitched in her sudden wish for modern conveniences—phones, gas ranges, and jetted tubs.

  “How is Jennifer? Any word?”

  “Just got a text a few minutes ago. My son’s with her now. She’s going to need about a dozen stitches and they’re going to watch her for a while, in case she has a concussion. They’re pushing the fluids, too. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate the two of you helping her the way you did.”

  “Did she say anything about what happened?”

  Will frowned. “Yep.”

  Now that her adrenaline was wearing off, P.D. was nearly overcome with weariness, but she made a plate of food for herself as well. But even once she’d taken a seat next to Elam, she could do little more than pick at the chicken.

  “Did you see anyone around camp when you rolled in?” Will asked, obviously choosing his words.

  Elam met Will’s gaze with a piercing look of his own, then shook his head. “No, why?”

  Will’s brow creased in anger and frustration. “Jennifer thought she heard someone in the camp before you came. She went out toward the bluff to investigate, and next thing she knew, some rocks broke free and tumbled down the hill. One of them hit her in the head before she could get to safety.”

  P.D.’s gaze shot to collide with Elam’s, but Will continued, “A few of the first responders had a look at that bluff and the spot where Jennifer was injured. Said there were boot prints up on top. We’ve had some problems with a few of the competitors sabotaging other groups. We’ve had two groups disqualified already. I’d sure like to know if someone did this on purpose.”

  “I don’t think there was anyone else here when we arrived,” P.D. said. “The other group didn’t show up until at least an hour later.”

  Tompkins’s lips thinned and his brows creased in a frown. “Don’t s’pose you’d like to tell me who that second group might be, would you? I’d like to know why they left without botherin’ to help with the situation.”

  Elam and P.D. exchanged glances.

  “Does it matter?” Elam asked.

  “Not in the grand scheme of things, but I wouldn’t mind knowing for my own personal satisfaction.”

  P.D. imperceptibly shook her head. Somehow, “snitching” on the father and son duo felt a little too unsportsmanlike for her.

  “Let’s just leave things the way they are,” Elam murmured, seeming to tacitly agree with her view on the situation.

  Tompkins nodded. “Fair enough. But I have taken it upon myself to confer with the other committee members and we’re all in agreement. Due to the fact that Jennifer was incapacitated before she could mark down your arrival and check off your progress, I’ve been given the go-ahead to tell you both that, as per the written rules of the game, we’re giving you a time equal to the fastest one recorded for this particular challenge to date. And in light of Jennifer’s reports on the god-awful food she’s already eaten, I am hereby declaring your meal the best—which comes with a bonus prize.”

  P.D. knew she should be celebrating, but the thought of walking to “Little Dodge” dampened her enthusiasm.

  “I don’t suppose it would be a new pickup,” Elam said wryly. “P.D. could use one of those.”

  She met Elam’s grin and somehow managed an answering smile.

  “No, but you might find it just as nice.”

  Tompkins l
ifted a hand to point down the road and P.D. twisted to see what had caught his attention. When she focused on an ornate stagecoach barreling toward them, her mouth dropped.

  “I sent a text to ol’ Elijah Walker, the curator of Buggy Town Museum. Told him we’d be needing his services today rather than tomorrow.” Tompkins stood and grabbed for a bottle of water. “He’s been giving rides at the Fair Grounds all week and he’s ready for a break. The coach is a little slower than your horse would have been, but I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Thank heavens,” Elam said as the conveyance rolled toward them, drawn by a double team of shiny black Clydesdales with silky tufted hooves.

  “Hey there, Elam!” the driver called out.

  “Elijah! Good to see you.”

  Elijah cackled in open delight and pulled on the reins, bringing the vehicle to a stop right in front of them. “I bet it is! I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be hoofin’ it back to Bliss. Climb aboard and you can ride in style.”

  When Elam looked toward the trees, Tompkins said, “Don’t worry about your mount. I’ll have a trailer brought out and return him to his owner. Meanwhile, enjoy your evening. I’m much obliged to you.”

  P.D. scurried to collect their saddlebags while Elam gathered their weapons and bedrolls. Then, they clambered into the swaying stagecoach.

  As soon as they were settled, Elijah shouted, “Hiyah!” and they were underway.

  Elam groaned, leaning back and stretching his legs out so that his feet rested on the opposite bench. “I have never been so glad of a ride in my entire life.”

  “Me, too.” P.D. sighed.

  There was a beat of silence where they both wearily enjoyed the rocking of the coach and the breeze passing through the windows. Then Elam said, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to make love in a stagecoach, but darlin’, I’m just too damned tired to find out.”

  P.D. smiled, realizing that it was their lovemaking all night long that was the primary source of his weariness. She leaned into him, and Elam immediately wrapped his arm around her, drawing her onto his chest.

  “You’re still the best cook around,” he murmured.

  “And you’re an incredible rider.”