Winsor, Linda (22 page)

He
finally laughed. Some women might have been insulted, but she was realistic
when it came to homemaking. It wasn't her thing. She admitted—

"I
want more than a maid, Deanna." Shep stopped her thoughts dead in their
tracks. He turned, taking in her blank expression. "I've been thinking
about your idea of turning Hopewell into a resort of sorts."

So
he wanted a marketing consultant. Deanna checked her disappointment. Guys like
Shepard Jones didn't propose to people who'd lied to and used them.

"And
I think it's a good one—if I had the right partner." Shep placed his hands
on her shoulders, searching her gaze with an intensity that reached for her
soul. "I need someone I can trust with my dream, not someone who'll run
off and leave me holding the empty bag."

Like
C. R. had done her. Strange, but the cut to her pride was no longer as deep and
raw as it had been. Shep could make her forget C. R. ever existed. The thought
of walks like this—of watching the sun slip behind the mountains each evening,
pulling the blanket of night over it—was like a balm to her wounds.
God,
is
this it? We're to
be partners?

"And
who knows where we can go from there."

She
tilted her head back as Shep stepped closer.

"Great
things can be built with trust, Deanna,
if
we lay it on a foundation of
faith." His hands were warm where they touched her back. "I would ask
you only to be honest with me, nothing more, nothing less. No more
blindsides."

What
was he getting at? A change of mind like his ex, or did he suspect Deanna of
being dishonest?

"If
you don't think you could stand life around here, tell me now. Our Montana
winters are long, cold, and often lonely" Shep hesitated, almost swaying
in his boots, as though he stood on a precipice trying to decide whether to
leap or leave. Suddenly he leaned toward her, pressing his forehead to hers—eye-to-eye,
nose-to-nose. "I'd do my utmost to keep you warm and happy... as... as
your husband, of course."

Husband?
Half
her mind simply refused to accept the mind-boggling idea that he even wanted
her out here, much less that he'd consider marriage.

Yes,
he said husband,
the
other half confirmed. If Shep leapt, it would be by the book.

But
it's impossible under the circumstances.

All
things are possible through Jesus, if you believe... if you trust in God's
promises. Remember?

Burying
their differences, the two opposing voices finally merged. Shep did say
husband. He wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it. And he wouldn't have her any
other way. And neither would she.

The
news traveled through her veins, spread by the jungle drum of her pulse, while
Deanna's heart played leapfrog with her tongue. It was her turn to leap—no, to
trust.
If she was going to trust in God, she'd have to trust in His Shepard as
well. Yet the words piled up in the back of her mouth, wedged by excitement.
There was little choice but to answer with her lips.

Deanna
slowly spelled out her answer to Shep with a kiss that left no room for
interpretation.
Yes, yes, yes!
The fingers she ran through his thick
hair added to the chorus, singing in a language all their own. He was exactly
what she'd left the city for—a good, honest, hardworking cowboy. God had turned
the cloud of C. R. into a silver lining—Shep. And here and now, in his arms,
was a moment to die for...

Not
lie for.
Three
short little words, yet their impact was that of a wrecking ball, taking down
the hope she'd built upon the sand of deception. The roof of euphoria crashed
to ground zero, leaving nothing but the dust of what might have been.

Or
was this a chance to make a clean start? Would she build something so precious
as this on sinking sands of deceit, or would she do what she knew was right?
The choice was hers.

"What's
wrong?" Shep's voice was husky with desire as he nuzzled her ear. Deanna
heard him inhale the scent of her shampoo and test the softness of her skin
with his lips. The hot rush of his breath burned upon her neck.

God,
what do I do? Tell him and trust that he'll stick with me?

Backing
away, Shep caught her chin in the crook of his finger, raising her face until
the waning sun glistened a blinding brightness in her eyes. "What is it,
Deanna? Tell me."

She
couldn't see the concern on his face, but she felt it. Like one of his horses,
she found herself wanting to succumb to his will, to confess. But what if she
lost him? What if he turned her in? After all, he still had the tags with the
warning that it was unlawful to remove them on his pillows. He stopped
completely at stop signs in the middle of nowhere, with no vehicle in sight for
miles.

"It
can't be all that bad, Slick."

When
his effort to tease a smile back to her clenched lips failed, Shep drew her
gently against him, sharing his strength and assurance. His shirt caught the
tears that streaked down her face.

"God
will never leave you nor forsake you, Deanna," he whispered against the
top of her head. "Nor will I. Tell me what just threw up that wall. Maybe
together, we can take it down."

But
what could he do? Shep was too good and noble to be involved in this. He'd
taken her in with complete trust. An invisible fist squeezed her chest as
though to dislodge her confession.

God,
I confessed to You. Isn't that enough?

"I
can't help you if you won't tell me."

What?
Do you want your life to become a rerun of the
television
fugitive story
and risk throwing away your every chance at happiness?

It
was the first time Deanna ever realized that God was speaking to her
directly—and He had a Brooklyn accent. He was also right. She gave herself a
mental smack. Of course He was right. He was God. Whether now or later, Shep
was going to find out. It was better now, before she loved him even more.

Better
confess now, because whether Shep kept his word or not, God would keep His and
stand by her. Deanna just had to step out onto the thrashing water of her
emotions and ignore the storm. Battered by fear, weary of the guilt that pulled
her under, she had to reach through clouds of doubt, to where she could not
see—to climb upon the waiting Rock. All other ground was sinking sand.

Sinking
sand or the Rock?

"Maybe
we should go back to the house, because at least one of us is going to have to
sit down."

From
the little he knew of Deanna's trouble, Shep had to admire her resilient humor.
It was her life ring when she was in over her head. But returning to the house
with its electronic ears was out of the question. He wanted—no, needed—to hear
what Deanna had to say without others listening in.

He
pointed to the cottonwood grove in the middle of the sweeping pasture. "If
you don't want to miss this sunset, there's a couple of rocks over there."

Deanna
hesitated. "What about the horses? I mean, you think they'd try to run us
off or something?"

"Not
a chance." As if to prove there was nothing to fear, he climbed over the
rails first and extended his hand. "Because they know who we are, they
might mosey over to see what we're doing, but they won't bother us."

Was
the panic lighting Deanna's face as he helped her over the fence due to horses
or their subject? He promised he'd never leave nor forsake her, but what if she
admitted she'd been Majors' partner as well as romantically involved with the
man? What would he do then?

"Ohhh,
here they come."

Taking
the small hand reaching for his, Shep gave her a reassuring squeeze. Exactly as
he expected, Molly and Patch came within fifty yards of the grove and watched
curiously as he and Deanna made a seat of a suitcase-sized rock overlooking the
rushing stream.

"There
are two kinds of creatures in this world—predators and prey. Like I told you
before, horses fall into the latter category, which makes them cautious, not to
mention skittish."

"But
what preys on a horse?"

"Man,
big cats, wolves—"

She
held up her hand. "Okay, that's enough. All I need is something else to
worry about."

"It
doesn't even have to be a real threat. A horse will spook over anything it
perceives as out of the ordinary. A thoroughbred threw me once because it spied
a tractor sitting at the edge of a field. The thing wasn't even moving."

Deanna
looked past Shep, downstream where Molly and Patch had meandered. Only Molly
still acted interested in them. The mule stretched out her neck, nostrils
flared and twitching.

"Is
she mad or what?" Deanna asked warily.

"Horses
smell trouble. They can't really see who we are, but they can certainly smell
us. That's what Molly is doing, taking a second look... or sniff."

"I
should be so lucky," she snorted daintily "If I could have smelled
trouble..." The despair filling her eyes twisted Shep's heart with unseen
hands. Her shoulders sagged under its weight. "I don't know where to
start."

"How
about with the jerk who abused you?" Shep already knew about her New York
job and that Majors had hired her away from it.

"C.
R." Deanna kicked at a small stone, sending it splashing into the
streambed. "He didn't physically abuse me, like I let you think. He
emotionally betrayed me, letting me think he wanted me to be more than the new
marketing manager. And... I don't know. I'll be thirty soon. Maybe my
biological clock scrambled my brain, but I fell for his claims that Montana
would not only provide job advancement, but that it was a great place to raise
a family."

So
she wasn't one of those professional women who had no time or room in her
career for kids. At least that made Shep breathe a little easier.

"Well,
I swallowed it all—hook, line, and sinker."

Her
voice breaking at times and hard as cold steel at others, Deanna told her
story.

"Two
weeks, he sent flowers, took me to nice places. We had lunch together every day
when he was in Great Falls. Afterward, I usually stopped by the bank for him to
make a deposit, since he always had one o'clocks with the board three days a
week and it was on my way back to the building."

Shep
wanted to ask how far Majors went to convince Deanna of his affection but held
his tongue. Never rush a confession that's moving along on its own. More often
than not, a talkative perp would volunteer answers to questions that hadn't
even been thought of. Someone who was inherently honest, as he believed Deanna
to be, wouldn't know how to cover up a partially exposed truth. Nor would she
think of trying.

"We
even went to Toronto for a weekend—strictly business, mind you," she
stipulated, a flash of color rising to her cheeks. "He wanted me to do a
presentation for this major account he'd been trying to get. We spent the
nights tweaking and working in the changes they asked for. I was so flattered
by his compliments on a job well done that I didn't really wonder why he made
no move toward romance beyond a good-night kiss."

Deanna
glanced from the submerged stone to Shep. "After working till 4 a.m. and
having to present the work at nine, a kiss was an accomplishment."

"What,
was he nuts or somethin'?" Shep's imitation of Deanna made her grin.

Focused
on the stone, she continued. "The week before I wound up here was crazy.
C. R. was back and forth from Toronto, so that Friday was the only day we
actually made a lunch date. Even then, it was rushed. So I made his deposit as
usual and took the rest of the afternoon off to shop for a coworkers wedding
gift. We'd taken up a collection.

"After
the Saturday wedding, everyone danced till late at the reception. It was so
much fun. I really liked the people I worked with. And C. R. even talked about
how we'd do this or that differently. . .when we decided to take the
plunge," she explained. "The other marketing personnel even saw something
between us, the way they kept teasing us." Deanna swallowed hard, as if
the emotion in her voice had thickened to the point where she couldn't speak.
"I mean, I wasn't the only one fooled."

Shep
put his arm around her shoulders with a squeeze. "Hearts can make a fool
of anyone, Slick. I'd even put my money where my mouth was and bought the ring.
When Ellen accepted it, I was certain it was a done deal."

Her
brow shot up. "The ditz didn't keep it, did she?"

Ditz.
Shep
had never thought of Ellen like that. If one of them had been a ditz, it was
him for thinking he could transplant his hybrid flower into the wilds with
nothing more than love. "She gave it back and I returned it."

"You
ever notice, of all the great poets and scholars, not one ever answered
Shakespeare's question about whether it's better to have loved and lost than
never to have loved at all? I mean, the last one can hurt, but the first one
feels fatal."

"Yet,
here we are."

Deanna
searched his gaze, starved for a morsel of reassurance. "Yeah, well that's
all well and good, but don't take off your running shoes. The story's not over
yet.

"Early
the next morning after the wedding, C. R. left for a Monday business meeting in
Canada—or so I thought." Her face mirrored her reaction to what
followed—astonishment when the police took her downtown and interrogated her
about C. R.'s whereabouts and the contents of the bank deposit box, then horror
compounded by hurt as it sunk in that, not only had she been betrayed, but
she'd been framed as well.

Shep's
spirit soared in triumph. He knew it. Deanna was the dupe, an innocent victim.

"C.R.
embezzled more than 3 million dollars from the company, and he'd used me to
make the deposits." She shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't even look
in the bag. Yeah, it was big and heavy, but it was from our biggest account.
Dumb as turkey, I just handed it to the clerk at the counter and carried the
slips back to him."

Deanna
ventured an uncertain look in Shep's direction, as if expecting him to react in
some dreadful way. Features schooled to show attention without judgment, or the
relief he felt at her professed innocence, Shep waited for her to proceed.

"The
police had pictures from the bank camera of me making the deposits. The clerk
identified me as Mrs. Majors. I didn't see any harm, so I didn't bother
correcting her. I thought it was kind of nice. That's how stupid I was."

"Stupid
and vulnerable are not the same thing," Shep offered in her defense.

Nonetheless,
the more Deanna told him, the grimmer it looked for her. The pictures of her
and C. R. implicated a relationship and partnership. C. R. had disappeared,
leaving her holding an empty bag. Anger flushed through Shep's veins. Deanna
was a savvy young woman, but the generosity and eagerness to please that Shep
found so disarming had left her prey to a calculating coward.

"Then—"
Holding Deanna in his arms now, Shep felt the sob that wrenched from her chest.
"Then they showed me C. R.'s car, all burned up. And... and that mean
detective says I double-crossed C. R. and t-took the money and... and k-killed
him with a car bomb."

She
pulled away and blew her nose on the second fresh handkerchief Shep had handed
her that day. Told in spurts of emotion, her situation took a turn from bad to
worse. She was not only accused of murder and embezzlement, but the police
accused her of ransacking her own apartment to throw suspicion away from her.

"Sure
as the Pope prays, I didn't embezzle any money or plant a car bomb. I never so
much as lit a firecracker in my life. And I know butkus about who could have
wrecked my apartment. All I know is that I was scared and nobody would believe
me."

Her
last words tipped her over her emotional edge, driving her back into Shep's
waiting arms. No wonder she'd run. She thought C. R. Majors was dead and whoever
killed him was after her as well, thinking she had the money. Shep held her
tight, kissing the top of her head and whispering reassurances that, even as he
made them, gave him pause for concern. He believed Deanna, but how could he
prove her innocence?

"What
am I going to do, S-Shep?" Deanna leaned against him as if her fight had
drained along with her tears. "I...I turned it over to God this morning,
but I'm still scared. I can't see a future for us past the end of my nose, much
less what you said you wanted."

"You
are not going to do anything... yet," Shep decided. "There's clearly
more to this than what you know."

"No
one believes me anyw-way"

"I
do."

She
lifted her tear-razed face from the cradle of his shoulder, looking as though
she wanted to believe but was afraid.

"And
I have some old friends—" How much should he tell her? She was already
frightened out of her wits. "Friends from the service," he said
carefully, "who can help get to the bottom of this. The Great Falls police
sound like they are over their heads." And Jay Voorhees was too gung ho to
worry with the little details that might prove Deanna innocent. Even Majors was
small change for him. All Voorhees wanted was the big fish, the man behind
Majors.

Professionally,
Shep understood. But he also understood the danger to the parties being used as
bait for the prize catch. "Is that how you hurt your knee, in the
service?"

Shep
couldn't believe that in the midst of her own quandary, Deanna could even think
about his knee. "Yes." It wasn't a lie. It simply wasn't the entire
story. "And the guys I served with owe me. If anyone can help you, it's
them."

Wonder
surfaced on the troubled blue of her eyes. She took his face between her hands.
Her lower lip trembled.

"I
thank God for you, Shepard Jones. I know He sent me to you." The corners
of her mouth quivered into a smile. "You are my earthly shepherd. I don't
deserve you, but I am so thankful God doesn't give us what we deserve. Like,
instead of a saint, I'd have that mean-spirited detective on my side."

Shep
tightened the circle of his arms, drawing Deanna to her feet, so that he knew
the feminine length of her, soft and inviting against him. "You give me
too much credit," he said, his voice suddenly gruff with awareness.
"Holding you like this, looking into your eyes, watching your little chin
tremble..." He leaned down and brushed the tip of her nose with his lips.
"Believe me, I'm feeling
anything
but saintly, Deanna."

The
kiss he gave her proved it.

***

"We
got a solid line on Majors." There was no hello or introduction in the
voice coming over the cell phone.

Victor
Dusault pressed it to his ear, no longer interested in what caused the traffic
jam in which his limo was caught. His initial indifference upon answering the
call vanished at the mention of the man who'd double-crossed him. "What do
you have?"

"A
Visa charge in the town down the highway from Buffalo Butte. Majors was
sporting a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, but he was so nervous while
he waited at the ATM that he looked right up at the hidden camera."

Cornered,
scared—exactly how Victor wanted his victims to feel in their last hours. And
C. R. Majors was living his last hours, whether he knew it or not.

"...doubts
about the woman," the caller said, drawing him back to the conversation.