Winsor, Linda (14 page)

"Deanna,
what are you doing?" Shep demanded from the hall.

But
there was no escape. Not for her. Not this time. She dumped the ice onto a
kitchen towel, watching the brittle cubes fall, cracked and broken as the hope
she'd begun to find at Hopewell.

Tyler
McCain looked like death warmed over as he lay on Shep's bed, propped upright
on pillows. Shep had managed to get Buffalo Butte's own rodeo star cleaned,
bandaged, and in a fresh shirt. Now he tried to convince the sandy-haired
broncobuster to let them take him to the hospital. He didn't think Ty's nose
was broken, but Shep thought his lip needed stitches on the inside.

"I've
had worse than
thish,"
Ty declared, his voice distorted by the
swelling of a split lip.

"I
am
so
sorry, Mr. McCain." Deanna pressed the ice bag, which Shep
found when her makeshift one fell apart, to the young man's mouth. "I
honestly thought you were a burglar stealing Shep's guns. If you hadn't come
into the bathroom where I was hiding—"

Ty
moved the bag aside. "I told you, it's perfectly under
shtan
dable.
If I wash in your position, I'd have done the
shame
thing. Though I
don't rightly know if I'd have thought to flail the dick
ensh
out of
shomeone
with a toilet tank lid." The charismatic smile that Shep had seen make
seasoned cowgirls trip over their own ropes broke into a wince. "I'll
never live
thish
one down, buddy"

"You
shouldn't try to talk," Deanna chided, easing the cold pack back.
"Now you hold this, and I'll get another ice bag for your eye and nose.
That one is almost melted."

"It'ch
fine.
I gotta get back to my buddies at the hotel."

Shep
overrode him. "Go ahead and get another, Deanna. If you can't get him to
the doctor with a split lip and concussion, maybe frostbite will do it."

The
stricken look she gave Shep made him feel guilty for the acrid note in his
jibe, but she wasn't the only one with unsettling secrets. Besides, she'd
practically packed his friend in ice in her effort to make up for the damage
she'd done. And she had been trying to protect his guns.

When
Shep pulled up by the house and saw Smoky vault through the open bedroom
window, he'd felt an icy dagger of dread run through his chest, given what he
knew about the people after Deanna. Only years of experience made him stop long
enough to retrieve the long-handled flashlight/nightstick he kept beneath the
driver's seat.

On
hearing the sheer terror in Deanna's answer to his hail, he thought certain
he'd have to use it, but instead of finding her at the mercy of some drug thug,
he'd found an old friend in need of protection from her.

"I
don't think you ought to be driving," Shep spoke up. "Why don't you
let me take you back to your friends? Deanna can follow me in the Jeep."
He had to go back to town anyway. Maisy O'Donnall had hailed him over to the
diner as he left the sheriff's office to remind him of the church fund-raiser
meeting that evening. Shep would skip it, but he'd been elected the
chairperson.

"Nah,"
Ty declined. "Just radio Esther and have one of them come get me."

"I've
got to go back to town anyway," Shep informed him, ending the subject with
the finality of his tone. "But I will raise her and have her tell your
friends what's going on. They can kick around town and plan on heading out
tomorrow if you're up to it."

Tyler
and some of his rodeo cronies had taken a few days off to go hunting. Since Ty
and his father, who had one of the nicest spreads in Montana, had a falling out
over Ty's wanderlust in the rodeo circuit, he kept most of his belongings at
Hopewell. That was why he'd parked behind the livery stable to pick up his
camping gear. But Shep kept all the guns on Hopewell locked in his gun cabinet.
When Ty found the door locked, he'd just come in the same way he and Shep used
to when they were wayward teens not wanting to awaken Uncle Dan and Aunt Sue.
He knew Smoky from previous visits, although it took a few dog biscuits to
reacquaint himself with the ruffled dog.

"Couldn't
think of that pup's name for the life of me," he'd told Shep and Deanna as
they tried to clean him up, "But I
shaw
that tin of dog
bischkets
on the porch and remembered what a
shucker
he was for them."

Ty
had no idea when he decided to wash some of the gun cleaning oil off his hands
that a frightened female armed with a toilet tank lid was waiting for him. If
she'd hit him head on, Shep wasn't so certain a hospital could have helped him.

"Besides—"
Shep gingerly lifted away the expired ice pack from over his friend's
eye—"you've lost most of today anyway. And it's gonna be wet tonight
according to the weather band."

"You're
the boss man," Ty conceded. "If things were different here, we'd love
to have you come along. Might spot that red you've been after."

"Nearly
had the rascal the other day," Shep said. "No, I have to shore up
some things around here before I can bring him in."

"You
just
shay
the word, and me and the boys'll come up and help. I'd love a
chance at bustin' that one."

"Appreciate
the offer, partner." Shep turned toward the door, calling over his
shoulder, "Now stay put till we're ready to leave."

Deanna
passed him in the central hallway on her way back with another ice pack.
Avoiding Shep's gaze, she hurried into the bedroom. Once again, he heard her
apologize. Right now Shep had to build up a trust of another kind, and it
wasn't going to be easy, knowing what he knew now. He took up the radio mike.
Trust was hard to build on a false foundation.

It
took a while before Esther responded and promised to give the traveling circuit
riders the message.

"And
keep an eye on him, Esther. He took a hard knock," Shep advised.

"I
will, but you haven't forgotten our meeting tonight, have you?"

"No,
Maisy reminded me this afternoon." With all that was going on, it had
slipped Shep's mind until then. The church needed a new roof, and the citizens
of Buffalo Butte weren't exactly rolling in dough enough to do it out of
pocket. "I'll see you later."

As
he signed off, Shep glanced out the kitchen sink window at the stable, thinking
about bringing Ty's truck around when it dawned on him that there were no
curtains on the rusty white rod over it. In fact, there were no curtains at
any
of the kitchen windows. He'd been so absorbed with taking care of his
friend, he hadn't noticed.

"I've
never seen a rodeo," Deanna was saying in the other room. "I mean, I
saw one on television, but.

She
had that same note of awe as the wide-eyed teenaged girls who stood in line to
get autographs from the circuit riders. It used to amuse Shep, but for some
reason, it annoyed him at the moment. With a disdainful set of his mouth, Shep
interrupted Ty's open invitation to come as his guest anytime.

"Deanna,
where are my kitchen curtains?" He hadn't technically bought them, but he
had
inherited them. Thus justified, Shep crossed his arms and stared out the
sink window at the barn where Patch helped herself to a drink at the watering
trough. When the mare finished and meandered away and he'd still heard no
answer, he turned to ask again but stopped short at the sight of the distraught
young woman standing in the hall.

"I
washed them," she answered in a small voice.

Instinct
bade Shep hold his tongue, but it didn't stop a finger of anxiety from skimming
the back of his neck. If her manner was any indication, she'd done something
terrible.

"And
they fell apart." Her chin quivered, but she mastered it. "They were
yellow with age and I bleached them... apparently too much. I know I sound like
a broken record," she said, haplessly tossing up her hands, "but I'm
sorry"

Trust,
an
inner voice reminded him. He was supposed to win her trust and biting off her
head was not the way to do it. Besides, it was hard to tell how old the
curtains were. More than likely his Aunt Sue had been the last one to wash
them. Disaster seemed waiting around every corner for this woman to waltz
blithely through it.

"Guess
they needed replacing anyway." Terse as his admission was, Deanna seized
on it.

"You
can see through the glass in the windows now." The spark of hope lighting
in the desolation that possessed her face disbursed the remainder of Shep's
irritation, even though he didn't recall
not
being able to see out of
them.

"Oh
yeah. They look good." Actually he'd thought they looked good before, too,
but why hurt her feelings? It was bad enough that he was going to spy on her
and win her trust. The whole ride back from town, he'd argued with himself and
God about his obligation to allow Deanna Manetti, a wanted woman, to stay at
Hopewell. He owed the DEA nothing, especially not Jay Voorhees. He owed her
nothing, save a car repair, which he could honor while she was under someone
else's watch.

Yet,
for every argument Shep came up with against sheltering her, he kept thinking
of the Scripture about as one does to the least of others, so one does to
Christ. What if God had turned him away when he'd been on the run? True, it
hadn't been from the law, but it had been from life. In the wilderness of the high
country, Shep had slowly healed, both physically and emotionally. He
reestablished the relationship with God that had faded.

Maybe
he could help her by this charade. The idea certainly took some of the
bitterness out of working with Voorhees again and made Shep feel a little less
guilty to boot.

"I
saw Patch out there looking at the house. Guess she's hungry." Shep
glanced out the window to see if the horse was still in the corral. She was.
"If you can keep Ty down till I get my chores done, we'll take him to town
and grab some dinner. I have to go to a church meeting after that, but it won't
be long."

Deanna
glanced down at her rumpled clothing. "I'm afraid I'm not decent enough to
go anywhere. Not even a dryer sheet will help now."

The
knees of her slacks were soiled where she'd evidently been scrubbing the floor.
It had never occurred to Shep to try to find clothes for his charge.

"We'll
pick up some clothes, too. For now, just rummage through my things and see what
you can make do with."

Shep
wished his enthusiasm was a bit more genuine, but most of his assets were on
paper. He was cash poor. Slapping on the Stetson and picking up the flashlight
he'd left on the kitchen table earlier, he started outside. "Keep him
down, now," he called back as the screen door slammed behind him.

"I
will... thanks."

"No
problem." Shep suppressed the nagging anxiety in his voice, but it
wouldn't leave his mind. Not only was his pocket-book at risk, but his sanity
as well. He felt like the rope in a tug-o'-war of conflicting emotions.

He
knew full well what he needed to do—what God expected him to do.
But, God, I
didn't destroy Your sanctuary the way Deanna Manetti is destroying mine.

***

The
church community hall was warm and inviting with its knotty pine paneled walls
and Currier and Ives print curtains. The committee members gathered around a
row of folding tables to discuss how to raise money for the church's
maintenance fund. A cross breeze from the open windows carried the scent of
freshly brewed coffee and the lilacs that had grown into a fragrant hedge on
the side of the building. Dressed in a borrowed T-shirt and pair of jeans
cinched at her waist with the belt from her linen-silk blend trousers, Deanna
listened as ways to meet the need for the new roof were debated.

"Even
our biggest bazaar or church dinner won't raise the money we need," Maisy
O'Donnall pointed out. "We still have a room full of crafts from the last
one."

The
friendly waitress from the diner walked over with Shep and Deanna after they'd
finished their meal—a pot roast special. Esther Lawson caught up with them
before they reached the church at the end of Main Street. She'd left her
sixteen-year-old granddaughter with Tyler, who complained about staying behind
while his friends drove over to Taylorville, Buffalo Butte's larger, more urban
neighbor.

"I
told young Tyler that if he didn't stay put, he wouldn't be going anywhere in
the morning," Esther sniffed primly.

It
came as no surprise to Deanna that the lady was a former schoolteacher and had
taught most of the townspeople under forty, including Shep while his dad was
stationed overseas. Esther had a sweet, kindly face—definitely a looker in her
day—but her ramrod straight posture hinted of a backbone of steel. Deanna had
no doubt that Tyler was following her orders to the letter.

When
Shep had asked Maisy and Esther where the best place to buy ladies' clothing
was, the two began clucking like mother hens over her. There was no need for
Shep to take Deanna to Taylorville; plenty of nice things were in the church
rummage sale boxes that would fill the order. Before the meeting started, Shep
carried out a box of clothing just Deanna's size, some of the pieces with tags
still on them.

"Honey,
the Lord knows what size we all wear," Maisy said, when Deanna marveled at
her good fortune. "And Juanita Everett is always buying things a size too
small, if you get my drift. Fills the church box and empties her husband's
pocketbook, not that it's any of my business."