Winsor, Linda (21 page)

Deanna's
tear-reddened eyes sharpened. "What do mean my
trouble?"

Shep
recovered quickly from his slip. "You know, your new job not quite what
you expected and then getting stranded out here. What else?"

"Isn't
that enough?" She opened the passenger door to get out. "I was so
sure that my life would work out here. I rented out my New York apartment, went
in debt to buy a car that's way out of my league, even at a bargain, and left a
job I'd worked
eight years
to get. I have nothing to go back to."

"Then
stay here." Shep's mind went blank with shock. Was that him speaking? No,
it was God. If he'd had any doubts about helping Deanna, the Sunday message
erased them. Yes, he was weak. He'd just put his own life back together again.
But Shep wouldn't save Deanna. God would—possibly through him. It didn't hinge
on Shep's ability, just his trust in God's Word.

The
Jeep door frozen in her hand, Deanna looked as if she were still caught in his
initial shock.

"You
kind of have a way of growing on a person," he added, stumbling over the
feelings that accounted for his offer as well. If he was going to trust God, he
might as well trust Him with his heart, too.

Deanna's
chin started to quiver again, her eyes filled once more. Then, with a wounded
cry, she slammed the door and ran into the house.

Shep
looked after her, speechless. Had he said something wrong? He replayed his
offer in his mind, searching for the reason behind her strange reaction.
Telling a gal she had grown on him might not be the smoothest compliment in the
world, but it was still flattering... wasn't it?

Bewildered,
he climbed out of the vehicle to follow her inside when Jay Voorhees hailed
him. Frustration hissing through his teeth, Shep leaned against the open door,
forcing the man to come to him. After all, he wouldn't have a bad knee if it
weren't for Voorhees.

"Having
a lovers' quarrel?"

"What
do you want, Voorhees?"

"Come
on." The DEA agent's smug derision was enough to make Shep wish the Bible
said
punch
the other cheek.
"Penance
Posies?"

Shep
felt the blood leave his face. How in the devil— "She must be one
hard-hearted Hannah to still be mad after that line."

The
answer to Shep's unspoken question slammed home. His pulse rebounded in an
angry rush, scorching everything in its path from neck to scalp. Voorhees
planted listening devices, violating their agreement not to use them, violating
Shep's closely guarded privacy. Every word said in the house last night—or for
who knew how long—had been listened to and recorded. It took all of his
religion and self-control not to throttle the government agent then and there.

"You
have until three to tell me what you want; otherwise, get out of my way, you
double-crossing, eavesdropping—"

"How
was I to know she didn't have you wrapped around her finger by now?"
Voorhees cut him off. "You know we couldn't take your word on it. You know
policy. You're out of the loop now."

His
past service counted for nothing? Even as Shep rebelled, he had to admit to the
validity of the man's statement. Still—

"I
was hoping she might have said something helpful while you were away," the
agent went on. "The money laundering connection of the embezzlement story
hit the news this morning, but we withheld your girlfriend's name. All the
public knows is that a junior marketing executive and the CEO of Amtron
Enterprises have been charged with embezzlement of company funds and laundering
drug money. No mention was made of Majors' surviving his fatal accident or the
Canadian syndicate connection. So as far as the bad guys know, no one's caught
their scent."

Shep
processed the new development, buying time to cool off. "We haven't had
the TV on, but then, you already know that."

Voorhees
was unruffled by the sarcasm. "The lab verified that Majors' prints were
on the car and the tracking device, so we're stalled until he comes out of the
woodwork."

"Or
the syndicate cleans up his mess." Shep nodded toward the travel trailer.
"Those guys would be better off as lookouts than eavesdroppers."

"They're
doing both, pal. No need to worry When Majors shows up, we'll be all over
him."

"A
two-bit white collar perp is the least of my worries. It's his friends that
bother me." Shep couldn't figure out how the mob would know, but
experience told him that they had ears and eyes in more places than the
authorities could even guess.

Voorhees
leaned against the doorjamb of the vehicle with one hand, taking a look inside.
"I tell you, we are on top of it. All you need to do, you lucky dog, is
stay on top of Miss Manetti."

Names
unfit for any ear came to Shep's mind; names he'd stored while recovering from
the surgery and rehabilitation, when it was anyone's guess if he'd ever walk without
a cane or walker. They surfaced so fast and furious that they piled up, tying
up his tongue.

Shep
clenched the open Jeep door, blindsided by an urge to defend Deanna's honor and
the anger he'd struggled to put behind him in the months after the accident. He
thought he'd come to terms with the past, that he'd forgiven the man. Voorhees
didn't know what he did then any more than he knew what he was talking about
now.

But
reason wasn't cutting it this time. "I know my responsibility," Shep
said with a deceptive calm. "Just make certain you know yours."

He
gave the door a sling and pivoted before he saw Voorhees jump clear to keep
from having his hand caught in it. Shep couldn't help the satisfaction
twitching on his lips at Voorhees's startled oath. Like with most ill-gotten
things, the pleasure was short lived.

Once
inside the house, self-recrimination set in. Evidently, his spiritual growth
was valid only when it wasn't seriously tested. His isolation on the ranch,
among friends and neighbors, had given him a false sense of accomplishment.

I'm
sorry I let You down, Lord. I need Your help to deal with the likes of jay
Voorhees. How I
feel
like treating him and how I
know I should
treat him just don't agree.
But I will try to do as the Good Book says.

The
knotty pine planks of paneling Uncle Dan put up when Shep was six took on a
satiny glow in the light of the noonday shining through the sparkling clean
glass. The warmth and light offered a reassurance Shep didn't feel he deserved.

"What
was that all about?" Deanna emerged from the bedroom. She'd changed from
her dress into casual slacks and a flowery shirt.

Despite
her ill-fitting clothes, Deanna had a natural beauty most women had surgery to
acquire. High cheekbones, tall and not too thin like the women on the covers of
the magazines at the grocery store, Deanna was round in all the right places.
And those baby blues could make a man wrestle a grizzly bare-handed—or punch
out a certain government agent.

"He's
just being a pain. They want to poke around a bit longer than they'd told
me."

"They've
stayed pretty much out of the way, haven't they?"

"Skunks
stay pretty much out of the way, too, but I don't want 'em around."

Deanna
laughed. "I guess the city would drive you crazy."

"If
you have the right people around you, I guess it doesn't matter where you
live."

The
moment the words were out, Shep cringed inwardly. Now they were also on tape.

"Home
is where the heart is."

Shep
wanted to kiss the whimsical curl of Deanna's lips. He wanted to hold her and
comfort her, to take away the pain that had wrenched sobs from her... to
protect her. If only she'd tell him what really happened so he could help prove
her innocence.

"I
have an idea." He stepped up to her and slipped an arm about her waist.
"You've done nothing but work since you've been here. Instead of cooking
supper, why don't we make some sandwiches and have a picnic? I'll take you up
to the spot I've picked to build on one of these days."

The
way her face brightened, he wished he'd thought of it before now.

"What
a lovely idea. I'd love to, but..." Her face fell. "I was just going
to lie down for a while." She put her hand to her temples, shaking her
head in confusion. "I just... I don't know. All that boo-hooing must have
knocked the cheese from my ravioli, I guess. Do you mind too terribly?"

"Of
course not." How could anyone mind that little-girl-lost look? Shep wished
he could hold her while she slept. He wished he could take away all the worries
that exacted their toll on her face.
God, help me help her. Show me how.

He
took Deanna by the shoulders and turned her. "You march off to bed. I'll
take care of supper."

"No,
all I need is—"

"In
these parts, ma'am, when the weather clears, the men take over Sunday supper.
It's an unwritten law." He guided her through the bedroom door. "Just
a man, food, and fire—like in the Flintstones."

"There's
romaine, cucumber, radishes, and scallions in the fridge. I can make a salad
when I get up to go with the meat."

"That's
not people food," he grumbled good-naturedly "That's what the meat
eats."

"You
are hopeless," she declared, standing back as Shep turned down the bed.

The
flip of the sheet sent up a whiff of the scented lotion they'd purchased at the
Smart Mart. His bed had never smelled so good nor looked more inviting than
when Deanna sat on its edge. She stared up at him, back stiff, uncertainty in
her eyes.

Amid
the trust and confusion awash there, Shep sensed a kindred longing that could
easily have been tapped if he were the man he'd been before his accident. What
felt right often trumped what he knew to be right when it came to women. In the
end, he lost the girl and the game.

Shep
nixed the kiss he'd intended to plant on her nose, instead managing a husky,
"Sleep tight, Slick."

"Thanks,
Shep." The contented purr of her voice and the soft rustle of the bed
beneath her weight licked his retreating heels like a fire to dry brush. Like a
spooked calf trying to outrun it, his mind darted in one direction and then the
other.

Supper.
He needed to get out the chicken and marinate it. Jerking open the refrigerator
door, Shep basked in the cool blast of air, looking inside without really
seeing the groceries Deanna had organized as she unpacked them the evening
before.

He
needed a clear head to help her, to coax the little Irish-Italian charmer into
telling him her side of the story so that he could help her, not seduce her so
that she'd resent him later.

This
game was for keeps. While Shep hated games, especially where the heart was
involved, circumstance and conscience forced him to play What if God had turned
him away when he sought the sanctuary and healing of Montana's hills? He had to
ignore the panic of getting burned again by going back into service and the
risk of falling for someone so different that a future together was as likely
as pigs flying.

This
was no longer a matter of the heart and soul—it was one of life or death. This
leap of faith was going to require him to put all on the line.

Aloud
clanging brought Deanna up with a start from a dreamless sleep. For a split
second she wasn't certain where she was or if a train was about to run her
over. Then the present came flooding back to her—the interrogation, running off
the road, the cowboy carrying her off to a ghost town, her emotional display at
church, Shep tucking her in. The tall, lean cowboy was in every flashback with
a lazy grin, a devilish smile, a passionate kiss...

Choosing
to dwell upon the latter, Deanna pulled the spare pillow to her chest with a
sigh just as the clanging sounded again. Whatever kind of bell it was, it was
loud enough to wake up the ghosts all over Hopewell.

"Dinner's
ready, come and get it!"

And
the man cooked as well. Shep was too good to be true.
Lord, I know in my
heart that You've brought us together for a reason. I just have to be patient
for the answer to my prayer for love like Mama and Pop had. But I'm hoping it
will be with Shepard Jones.

"Food's
getting cold. Move it, sleepyhead." Shep stood in the open doorway, apron
splashed with barbecue sauce.

"What
time is it?" Deanna mumbled through a yawn.

"Four
o'clock and ticking like the devil for five."

"Give
me five minutes," she said, tossing back the covers.

After
washing her face, straightening her sleep-rumpled clothes, and brushing her
hair, Deanna made her way to the kitchen. The first thing that struck her was
that the windows were no longer barren. The off-white curtains with their
gingham check trim were perfect... almost. The ties had been wrapped tight as a
rodeo calf's feet around the tiers, so that light came in on both sides of each
panel. Over the sink window, one tier hung halfway down from the valance rod,
leaving the rest of the window bare.

"I
ran them through the dryer with a wet towel, just like you said," her host
beamed proudly.

Maybe
she'd forgotten to pick up a valance. "They certainly brighten the room,
don't you think?"

"If
I'd known what to do, I'd have replaced them a long time ago," Shep
observed. "But if you take a notion to fiddle with them some—Aunt Sue was
always pulling up those ruffles on the top— it won't hurt my feelings. I wasn't
sure what to do with the belts."

Deanna
wanted to run to the grinning galoot and give him the hug of his life, but she
didn't want to scare him off or do anything that might spoil the moment.
"I'll be glad to fiddle with the belts," she assured him as he pulled
out her chair for her with a flourish.

"Now
you just sit right here, ma'am, and I'll get the food from the grill."

She
just loved the way he said
ma'am.
"Wow, talk about above and
beyond! You're going to spoil—" she broke off abruptly, suspended halfway
to her chair seat. Eyes wide in disbelief at the sight of the bull moose over
the mantel with a gingham check blindfold, or rather, valance, she collapsed
the rest of the way down in laughter. "You're..." She searched for
the right word. Crazy? Wonderful? Surprising?
"Unbelievable."

"I
didn't want old Bull to ruin your meal." Pure mischief danced in his
lingering look as he backed out the back door.

Deanna
took the time alone to inspect the room. He had certainly been a busy bee while
she napped. The curtains up, the scrumptious looking spread on the table, the
delicious smelling chicken on the grill—she glanced up—and the ridiculous
looking moose. She giggled. Nothing could ruin this, even if old Bull ran through
the kitchen right now, valance flying in the wind from his giant antlers.

"How
about a walk?" Shep suggested later after helping with the dishes. He'd
insisted, despite Deanna's objection that the cook shouldn't have to clean up.

"As
much as I ate, that's a great idea," she replied. "Although I'll
probably waddle more than I'll walk."

Whether
a tribute to the chef or to the fact that she'd skipped lunch, she'd had
seconds of everything—not counting the chicken wing she scarfed up while
clearing the table. She never ate
three
pieces of chicken, no matter how
small they were.

"Teasing
aside, I like a woman with a healthy appetite... especially when it all goes to
the right places." Gallantry personified, Shep opened the door and with a
sweeping gesture of his arm, prompted her to go first. It was just as well her
back was to him. Hot as her face grew, she was blushing like an addlepated
schoolgirl.

Smoky
met them on the porch and happily preceded them to the barn. Patch whinnied
expectantly from the corral.

"Aw,
look," Deanna said with satisfaction. "She sees the carrots I grabbed
on the way out."

"She
might smell them," Shep corrected, "but my bet is, every time I walk
toward the barn, she's hoping it's mealtime."

"I'll
bet she smells them." Deanna shook the carrots in front of her just to
make certain.

Whether
Patch really did smell them or not, the mare obliged her with another nicker of
anticipation.

"See,"
she declared in triumph.

"You're
slick, Slick." Shep's wry grin belied his suggestion that she might be
right.

Still,
combined with the electricity of his gaze, it caused her to tingle all the way
down to her toes with something more than satisfaction. At the steady of Shep's
hand, the awareness intensified. The horse eagerly grabbed the vegetable stick
with teeth that looked like a row of yellowed piano keys. Shep or no Shep, she
pulled her hand away. Patch bit through the carrot, losing half, so Deanna
picked it up and tried again.

"Come
on," Shep cajoled in a voice that made wild horses his pawns. "I
won't let you get hurt."

Like
a warm, breathing shadow fitted to her back, Shep placed one arm about her
waist, the other bolstering hers. At that moment, Patch's piano teeth could
have taken off her arm at the elbow and Deanna wouldn't have noticed.

"That's
another thing about horses. They're a jealous lot." Shep nodded to where
Molly edged up for her share.

Deanna
fed the last carrot to the mule and even mustered the courage to scratch the
dry bristle of its forehead. One wary as the other, the mule and Deanna pulled
away from each other at the same time.

"Don't
move," Shep counseled her, his breath upon the back of her ear. "Just
hold your hand up and wait."

Sure
enough, the mule swung its head back so that Deanna could scratch it again.
When she rubbed Molly around her ears and beneath her halter, the animal heaved
a wet sigh of bliss.

"You've
cowboyed up right fast, Slick."

Deanna
looked at him askew. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It
means you're getting the hang of ranch life pretty quick. When you aren't
running from them, you have a way with animals. Smoky trails you like a
shadow."

"Well,
I've always loved pets," she admitted, "but I think the way to their
hearts is food. When I was little, I wanted a career at the Bronx zoo, so I could
feed all the animals. That was before size became so intimidating."

"I'd
say it's a sign of your generous and trusting nature. Animals can sense
it."

It
could also be a handicap. So should she throw the proverbial baby out with the
bath water and never trust again, or had Shep saved the trait before it was too
late?

"So
what kind of pets did you have?"

"A
cat, which had to be kept outside, a guinea pig, a turtle, goldfish, and—"
she belted out in frivolous song—
"a parakeet
in
a pear
tree."

"Did
you have to get rid of any pets before you came west?"

Deanna
picked up a stick and toyed with it. "I haven't been home long enough to
have a pet since high school, although I condo-sat with a few for traveling
friends."

"Anyone
special... aside from the jerk you're running from?"

C.
R. was a black cloud that refused to go away, even during sunny moments like
this. She shook her head. "Not really. I didn't have time... building a
career, you know?" Deanna snapped the stick in two and tossed the pieces
over the fence, the way she'd tossed away all her effort and sacrifice.
"And when I do take the time, I wind up with nothing... except God,"
she hastened to add.

"God
is enough."

Shep's
conviction stopped Deanna in her tracks. She waited expectantly for him to
elaborate. Instead, he kept on walking, forcing her to keep up with him. What
was it the minister said about knowing and feeling? She knew God
was
enough.
She
felt
like she needed more.

"I
found that out after I busted my knee," Shep finally volunteered, adding
dourly, "which resulted in my relationship with someone—who I thought had
hung the moon—going sour."

"What,
was she nuts or something?" Deanna bit her lip, but it was too late. She'd
already incriminated herself.

"No."
Shep let her ready quip slide like a gentleman. "Ellen was a diehard city
girl who didn't know the meaning of the word
compromise,
especially if
it meant leaving the glitter and bright lights. All elegance, no
substance."

The
bitter edge of Shep's voice struck a kindred chord in Deanna, even though his
ex wasn't a crook. C. R.'s betrayal had hurt as much as it frightened her. It
was the hurt that made her empathize.

"I
imagine you know exactly how she felt."

Nailed
by Shep's direct gaze, Deanna hesitated. Was it accusation or curiosity behind
its frosty wall? "I know how
you
felt," she declared. "I
left the city behind, remember? And I'd hardly call this outfit
elegant."

Instead
of sharing her wry humor, Shep drew further into a contemplative shell. Leaning
on the fence rail, he lost himself in the flamingo pink of the western horizon.
There was little else to do but join him—and savor the moment.

This
was the kind of Montana she'd sought, taking in the panoramic postcard beauty
before her. White-tipped mountains above the dark green tree line drew the
lazy, sun-soaked clouds about them like a cloak. The evergreen skirts were
studded with blue-gray rock and garlanded by strips cleared for roads here and
there.

Spilling
near the foot of the hills was a glistening ribbon of water Deanna hadn't noticed
before. It lazily wound through the large pasture, where wildflowers presented
their colors in homage to the majesty of the sun.

"You'll
never see a skyline like that in the city."

Shep
spoke to no one in particular, but Deanna answered anyway.

"It
is beautiful." She rested, chin propped on folded arms on the rail next to
Shep.

Some
kind of birds sang for all they were worth from the cluster of shade trees
along the bank. Hidden by shiny leaves, they made the gray-barked grove their
stage for Mother Nature's enjoyment. Annoyed by Patch's close proximity, Molly
kicked up her heels and bolted across the waving meadow grass, ears laid back.
Her dark brown coat glistening and black tail swishing, she was sort of pretty,
for a mule.

Molly
lacked the grace of the horse that started after her... and the speed. As if in
a race, Patch swept past the mule, splashing through the shallow stream first.
Then, as though having second thoughts, the spotted cow pony pivoted abruptly
and walked back to have a drink.

"So
what caused your relationship with the man of your dreams to go sour?"
Shep asked after a long spell of silence. "Did you see it coming or were
you blindsided like me?"

"Blindsided,
definitely." Like now by that question. Why wouldn't he leave her past alone
and enjoy the moment?

"So
it's definitely over then."

"Over,
finished,
dead."
Deanna cringed inside at the mental image of C.
R.'s charred car. "Look, I'd just as soon not talk about him, okay?"

"No
problem. I understand."

She
doubted that but appreciated Shep's consideration anyway.

"Just
one more question." Deanna stiffened, waiting.

"You
said you left the city behind. What are the chances of your giving the West
another chance?"

If
she hadn't been leaning on the rail of the fence, Deanna would have collapsed
in shock. Was Shepard Jones saying what she
thought
he was saying? Her
mind did a two-step—two cheers forward, one doubt back.

"I..."
What if she were reading more into his words than was really there? "I
guess it depends on my motivation to stay. I have to work—"

"What
if you had a job here?"

Was
the man joking? She couldn't read his face, turned toward the sunset as he was.
All she saw was his profile—the weathered ridge of his cheek, the pronounced
square of his jaw, clenched in... what? Apprehension?

"What,
you want to hire me as your maid? After ruining the curtains and burning your
meals?" she exclaimed with exaggerated incredulity. "Bill Gates
wouldn't take a risk like that."