Winsor, Linda (24 page)

Drug
money! Were drug lords the ones who'd ransacked her apartment? The very idea
seemed to draw the strength from her knees, forcing Deanna to the sofa before
they gave way completely She knew when her apartment had been trashed that
things were bad, but this was worse than she'd thought. Far worse.

Deanna
wiped at the tears forming in her eyes as if to make the situation go away.
There was nothing she could do to undo what was already done. Tears wouldn't
help, nor would panic. She had to think rationally.

Anthony
Manetti hadn't raised his little girl to be a wimp. The veteran New York taxi
driver prided himself over Deanna's spunk and aggressiveness, while he credited
her endurance and tenacity to his wife, who started in the garment industry as
a cutter and moved up to manager and stockholder in a male-dominated business
world. Deanna was the "cream of both crops," as her dad would say.

Maybe
curdled cream. She blew her nose on a tissue from a box on the end table. Thank
God they weren't here to see her now. And thank God Shep didn't watch
television and that her name wasn't mentioned.

But
why? Deanna frowned, puzzling over the omission. If this was drug related,
maybe the authorities wanted to find her first, like as a witness, except that
she knew no more about who C. R. was involved with than she did before. Why
turn herself in when the police wouldn't believe that she knew nothing about
the embezzlement? They wouldn't believe that she didn't know about the drug
ring either.

Shoulder's
drooping beneath the overwhelming burden, Deanna fell against the sofa back.
The fact was, her goose was cooked no matter which way she turned. The
proverbial fat would hit the fire sooner or later. All she could do was enjoy
the time she had now. It wasn't her thing to put off meeting a challenge head
on, but until she could figure out something else to do, it was her only
option.

In
the week that followed, she almost enjoyed the routine at the ranch, despite
wondering when her name would be released or when she'd be found. With a fervor
she didn't think possible, Deanna mucked the stables in true cowboy fashion,
even braving to give the horses treats from the garden while Shep worked on
repairing the corral behind the livery. Together, they groomed the animals,
Shep building her trust in them and vice versa.

Each
night after the dishes, Deanna found a simple recipe from a cookbook in a box
marked
Books
that Shep hadn't bothered to unpack and prepared the
cuisine the next day. She offered to unpack the moving boxes stacked along the
wall, but he was adamant that she leave them be,

"Most
of it goes into storage anyway I've unpacked all I need."

Was
this increasing distance due to the strain of having taken on her burden,
worrying about his friend's progress in clearing her? Just the mention of it
wound him up tight as a spring. That Deanna understood all too well.
Regardless, she counted her blessings each night, and the cowboy was number one
on her list.

Toward
week's end, Ticker Deerfield returned from roundup and heralded them with tales
of rebellious cows and greenhorn shenanigans over a crescent roll and crusted
Beef Wellington Deanna had made from a recipe on the canned rolls. The more she
laughed, the more the old-timer would embellish until tears ran down her face.

"You'd
be a perfect storyteller around a campfire." She could just picture Ticker
in buckskins, keeping city slickers like herself spellbound or in stitches.

"Shoot,
ma'am, I was born spinnin' yarns, so my mama said."

It
was hard to believe how badly mistaken she'd been about Ticker, Shep, Hopewell,
and Buffalo Butte. The people and town were just friends and a home she hadn't
discovered yet. And she'd have never discovered them, if not for her trouble.
God had made them the silver lining of her cloud, even though she hadn't seen or
felt His presence at the time.

"More
yarn than substance," Shep teased, more relaxed in Tickers presence than
he'd been all week.

Ticker
also brought the news that Charlie Long had found the parts he needed for
Deanna's car in a junk auto lot in Wyoming. It would save Shep five hundred
dollars over the new. They were being shipped via truck and should be in the
beginning of next week.

With
Charlie's news that she'd be on the road again in another week also came his
advice. "Sell that foreign bucket of bolts while she's ahead and get a
good used American made vehicle." The man also sent her portfolio with
Ticker.

"Said
he don't want to be responsible for anything in the car," Ticker explained
as Deanna cleared the leftovers from the table. "Charlie's a queer old
dog."

This,
from a man who was taking Molly up to a hunting cabin the next day because the
town
was too crowded for him, Deanna mused later. Shep and Ticker had gone on
the nightly rounds, leaving her to amuse herself.

While
she boiled potato cubes for salad for tomorrow's Buffalo Butte roof raising and
barbeque, Deanna opened her portfolio and took out a sketchpad. The pencil she
began to doodle with felt foreign to her work-calloused fingers, as if it had
come from another world.

Still,
by the time the potato salad from
Betty Crocker's Best Recipes
was
sealed in a large Tupperware container, Deanna's doodling had come together. It
was a sketch of the hotel lobby, not as it was, but as it could be. Skylights
replaced some of the tin panels in the vaulted ceiling, flooding the open area
of the first floor as well as its perimeter second floor balcony with a natural
light to supplement the electrified replica chandeliers. Instead of piles of
junk and boxes, Victorian settees, chairs, and even gaming tables were arranged
in groups around the lobby. Elegant feathery plantings flanked the great
archway into the round tower of the dining area. Across the middle of the
richly carved walnut desk, a smear of mustard provided the only color.

Now
she remembered why she didn't cook and work at the same time, Deanna thought,
studying the rough sketch as though looking into the future. But with planning
and care, the two worlds of marketing and homemaking could be combined, just
like the Old West atmosphere with the twenty-first century amenities. Sure,
there'd have to be concessions from each to make it work, but the end result
would be worth—

Outside
the porch door, Smoky barked, startling Deanna from her introspection. She
thought the dog had gone off with Shep and Ticker.

"Just
wait till I catch you half asleep sometime, pooch," she threatened as she
went to the door to let him in. "Payback is..."

Just
as she reached for the door handle, Smoky vaulted off the porch and raced
around to the side of the house, his barking becoming fiercer.

"Shep?"
The dusk-to-dawn light on the gable of the livery stable illuminated the street
in front of the house, but the far side and back were in the shadows.
"Smoky, what is it, boy? Is that barn kitty trespassing again?"

The
dog had grown very territorial after Deanna discovered the yellow tomcat in the
livery. Now the shepherd mix mongrel stood at the back corner of the house, the
hair around his neck raised stiff as an Elizabethan collar.

"What's
with the dog?" Shep emerged from the barn in a trot, Ticker not far
behind.

Deanna
heaved an exaggerated shrug. "Probably the barn cat is out there. Why
don't you go around the garden side and call him?" She dropped down to her
knees. "Come on, Smoky."

"Deanna,
get in the house and stay there."

Startled
by the sharp edge of Shep's voice, she rose, but he ducked around the side of
the house, a long flashlight brandished in hand, without seeing the blank look
she gave him. Gradually, her shock gave way to alarm. Did Shep know something
he wasn't telling her?

"Best
do as he says, missy," Ticker told her. "Could be that dog's cornered
a porkypine or worse, a stinkin' skunk. He won't chase nothin'
worthwhile."

Recalling
Ticker's earlier tale of how Smoky wound up at the veterinary hospital having
needles plucked from his hide, she let out a breath of relief and headed for
the safety of the house. Skunks, porcupines, wolves, big cats—welcome to the
Wild West, city gal.

Behind
her, Ticker threatened, "Dog, if you get sprayed, I'm gonna shave you nekkid
as a newborn!"

The
mental picture of the
nekkid
dog was too horrid, not to mention funny,
to dwell on. With a giggle, she walked to the rear window where the long beam
of Shep's light flashed among the small grove of volunteer trees that shaded
the backyard. Emboldened by his presence, Smoky rushed to join him with Ticker
not far behind, still grumbling.

"See
anything?" she called out through the open window.

"Not
yet."

Shep's
terse reply gave Deanna pause for concern once again, until reason prevailed.
If she were stalking a skunk or porcupine, she imagined she'd be a bit uptight,
too. Returning to the table and her sketch, she began to put her drawing
materials away. She didn't like tipping her hand on an idea before it was ready
for presentation, even if it was a far-fetched
what
if.

But
then, until last Sunday, her entire future was a far-fetched what if. With God
and the shepherd He sent her, impossible was no longer a valid word in Deanna's
vocabulary. As long as she believed, all things were possible.

"I'm
going to be up on the roof of the church most of the day, so you two had best
be on your toes," Shep instructed Jay Voorhees and his men. The older
technical agent would remain behind with Ticker in case Majors showed up at the
ranch, while Voorhees and Agent Jon Kestler kept an eye on Deanna.
"There's over two hundred and fifty people expected in the plaza today
It's the perfect place for Majors to make contact with Deanna."

"You
really think he was at the house last night?" the senior agent queried,
brow arched in skepticism.

Shep
answered with steel-jawed impatience.
"Someone
left footprints at
the back bedroom window. If the three of you had stayed away from the house
like I told you, I'd know for sure."

By
the time Shep and Ticker had looked among the trees and returned to the house,
Voorhees and Kestler had tracked up the area when they joined the pursuit.
There had also been evidence that someone had tried to pry open the back
screen, which had been painted shut for years. Chipped paint was scattered like
snowflakes around the window and on the sill. Confound it, they knew better.

"Maybe
you can get a partial footprint," Shep said, voice ripe with accusation.
"That is, after you eliminate yours. The window is a long shot with the
paint peeled off like this, unless the perp touched the glass." Unless one
or more of them contaminated the scene on purpose.

"We
couldn't have known where the guy had or hadn't been," Kestler objected.
"We heard the commotion and ran out to help."

"Help?"
Shep exclaimed. "Like you kept me informed that Majors got a cash advance
in Taylorville?"

The
disconcerted exchange of glances between the two men convicted them.
"Seems you still have friends in high places, Jones." Jay Voorhees's
dry remark did little to improve Shep's humor.

"Seems
you still like to keep your own people out of the loop." Was Voorhees the
mole?

"You're
not our people, Jones," the agent reminded him. "Your cooperation
warrants you information on a need-to-know basis. Your personal involvement
with Miss Manetti gave my chief second thoughts regarding that much. We've been
after Victor Dusault for the last five years. The man runs everything from
drugs to firearms and launders his money through operations like Amtron
Enterprises. He finances nonexistent product development and marketing through
someone in house like Majors, who transfers the money back through a Swiss
account for a percentage."

"Until
he got greedy and brought in a naive girl from New York to sucker into making
the deposits in his private account instead." No, Jay was too ambitious
for his own good, but Shep didn't think he was criminal. "It's her face on
the camera; naturally everyone thinks she's in it with him."

"Now
you're catching on."

"But
it wasn't Deanna who withdrew the money The female had her coloring, but not
her build or features. I know that, too." Kestler had been nosying around,
but then a stakeout could be boring. As for the other guy, who knew? The tech
wiz hardly ever left the trailer.

"She's
our only solid connection to Majors," Voorhees explained. "Turns out
we were right. That tracking device we found in her car shows someone else
thinks she's involved."

It
didn't make sense. Unless Majors picked up the money in drag and had it, but
why follow Deanna? If he gave it to her with the intention of meeting later...
nobody would be that stupid. She was the most viable suspect, captured on
video. That left Deanna as the patsy with Majors and possibly a female
accomplice setting her up. But again, why follow her?

At
the short blast of the Jeep's horn, Deanna's signal that she was ready to
leave, Shep pointed a warning finger at Voorhees.

"Look,
we never have cared much for the way the other works, but we got the job done.
Don't let her out of your sight."

"You
know, Jones, I hope for your sake Manetti is innocent."

Not
trusting his ears, Shep spun on his heel.

"I
mean it. I can't see it, but I do mean it."

Seventy
times seven.
The
reminder stopped Shep's stinging reply. Who knew, maybe there was hope for Jay
Voorhees as a humanitarian yet.

Lord,
I know it's not up to me to judge the man, much less exact the pound of flesh
he owes me. I have to forgive him. I really thought I had. But this time, it's
not about me. It's about Deanna. Help me keep her safe. Send angels. However
You want to handle it. Just protect her.

***

There
was no parking space anywhere on the plaza in the center of Buffalo Butte. Cars
and trucks closed ranks along the side streets as well as behind the businesses
lining the large shaded square. People kept arriving with lawn chairs and
blankets to watch the competition. Two giant dump trucks waited on either side
of the pristine white A-framed church to receive the debris from the old roof.
Two flatbeds, courtesy of Seth Farley's Farm and Ranch General and the lumber
supply in Taylorville, were loaded with the new materials.

In
the tree-shaded plaza in front of the church, a carnival atmosphere pervaded.
Tents set up by local vendors and civic groups sold crafts, baked goods, and
food and refreshments to the gathering crowd. A troupe of church clowns from
Taylorville came to entertain the children with pony rides, face painting, and zany
shenanigans. What had started off as a volunteer labor project had grown into a
fund-raiser that possibly would pay for the materials as well.

Deanna
stood, head bowed, next to the Whet Your Whistle tent with ladies of the
congregation and listened as Reverend Lawrence launched the event with a prayer
of thanksgiving and blessings for those who'd made the affair possible.
Gathered around him were the volunteer cowboys and farmhands, divided earlier
into two tag teams.

Afterward,
when the Reverend gave Deanna credit for the competition idea, which kindled
the wildfire growth of the event, she grew warm from head to toe. She wasn't
embarrassed. This was the kind of thing she did every day for a living. The
warmth came from being included as one of their little congregation-Buffalo
Butte's own, he'd called her. Next to her, Esther Lawson squeezed her hand as
if to second the minister's words. Deanna's Amen was wrung straight from a
heart overwhelmed with thanksgiving of her own.

After
the blessing was over, the minister and ex-construction boss, wearing jeans and
a T-shirt that said I
work for a Jewish carpenter,
slapped on a baseball
cap from Farley's Farm and General and walked over to one of the trucks, where
he honked the horn long and loud, signaling the work to begin. The gathering
scattered like spooked sheep, but each had a mission.

Deanna
remained long enough to watch the strapping young men climb up the ladders like
monkeys and nail braces in place until they knelt against the peak of the roof.
Armed with flat bars and belts hung with assorted tools slung low on their
hips, they began a coordinated attack on the buckled and faded shingles from
both sides.

After
moving a safe distance to the Whet Your Whistle refreshment booth to help
Esther Lawson and Maisy O'Donnell sell sodas, it was hard for Deanna to tell
which of the sweat-glistening, tanned specimens in beat-up black Stetsons on
the roof was her Shep... until she spied a green checked dish towel hanging out
of his back pocket.

"Aha,
I told you so, Esther." Smug, Maisy added, "Those two have it
bad."

Both
women grinned at Deanna.

"Honey,
the leaves above us just waved with that dreamy sigh of yours," the
diner's part owner teased. "Have you set a date?"

"Maisy,
you're embarrassing Deanna. What's she going to think of us?" Esther
chided, invoking her schoolmarm authority.

"That
we're nosy, meddling old women... at least I am. So...?" Maisy's raised
brow turned the curve of the penciled-on arches over her eyes into pointed
chevrons.

"No,
we haven't even talked about a date," Deanna admitted, reluctant to count
chicks before they were hatched. Her situation was still as tenuous as walking
on eggs. "We're taking it slowly. After all, we've only known each other a
couple of weeks."

"My
Chuck and I knew we were meant for each other the first time we met,"
Maisy told them. "He told me on our first date that he was going to marry
me."

"What
did you do?" Deanna asked.

"I
told Mama to start making my wedding dress," she declared with a wicked
giggle. "I wasn't going to be one of those silly young women the minister
always preached about who got caught without my lamp filled with oil and ready
for the groom."

"Does
your family know about our Shep?"

"I'd
like three sodas and one kiss from the little lady in the blue dress,"
someone drawled behind Deanna, sparing her from Esther's probing question.

Realizing
that Esther and Maisy were both staring at her blue shirt-waisted
I Love
Lucy
style dress, her face grew warm. Tyler McCain stood on the other
side, flashing a dazzling smile at Deanna when she turned. The black-and-blue
swelling around his nose and eyes had diminished, leaving just a faint yellow
trace of her attack.

"Hey,
it's the least you owe me after knocking me off my feet," he reminded her,
pure devilment dancing in the pale green of his gold-fringed eyes.

"I'll
get the drinks for you, honey," Maisy offered, while Deanna's wits
assembled like an army of stooges.

"I-I
thought you and your friends had gone back to the rodeo circuit," she
stammered, still looking for a ready reply

Ty
leaned against the counter, enjoying her fluster too much for her liking.
"When we heard about the shindig down here, we decided to come back and
support our local community. We're setting up for some barrel racing and relays
this afternoon in back of the community hall."

"Here
you go, Tyler
McOnery."
Maisy set three Styrofoam cups brimming with
soda on the counter.

Deanna
extended her hand. "That'll be three dollars."

"What
about my kiss?" the sandy-haired rogue exclaimed as he placed the bills in
Deanna's hand.

"This
is the soda booth," she answered, pointing across the way at the bake table
where Juanita Everett, Ruth Lawrence, and two other ladies seemed to be doing a
brisk business.

"Kisses
are sold over there—dark
and
white chocolate," Deanna rallied,
recalling the gorgeous candy kisses cake she'd seen on display earlier.
"But it's going to cost more than that silver tongue of yours can conjure
up. Like twelve bucks."

Ty
lifted Deanna's money hand, which was still folded between his, up to his lips.
"Touche,
ma cherie."
With a wink and a parting tip of his hat,
he gathered the three sodas in his hands and walked over to a picnic table
where two other cowboys watched from a distance. At his exaggerated shrug, his
friends laughed at him.

"Is
he as big a ladies' man as he
thinks
he is?"

"Bigger
when you count all his money," Maisy informed Deanna. "Just like his
daddy before him, which is why the two of them constantly butt heads like
addled bucks. Too much alike," she explained. "Proud, stubborn,
good-lookin', and rich."

"But
money isn't love. His daddy learned that too late, bless his heart,"
Esther observed, stepping up to help another customer.

And
so the morning passed. Her companions learned about Deanna's life in New York
and a sketchy account of her disastrous move to Great Falls, while Deanna
learned who was who in Buffalo Butte, complete with back stories, between
customers.

After
his wife had been admitted to a nursing home with a debilitating stroke, J. B.
McCain left Ty's mother for a woman half his age. Ty never forgave his father,
despite the top-notch care and daily visits J. B. continued until his first
wife's death. Nor had the young man accepted his new stepmother of seven years.

Juanita
Everett was as flamboyant as she was generous, the opposite of her husband.
"The man's honest," Esther was quick to point out, "just
frugal."

"He
has to be," Maisy exclaimed. "Juanita's weight fluctuates so much,
she needs a complete wardrobe in three sizes."

At
noon, another shift of volunteers came on to relieve the Whet Your Whistle
crew. As Deanna handed over her money apron, someone hailed her from behind. It
was one of the bulbous-nosed clowns there to entertain the children. His iodine
red hair stood up everywhere except from the rubber balding from his painted
forehead to his crown. There, a bright yellow hat that would have fit a doll was
held in place by a thin black elastic chinstrap.

"Got
a light?" he asked, an unlit cigarette hanging from his fire engine red
lips.

"Sorry,
I don't smoke," Deanna told him. "And maybe you ought to think twice
about it, given your present company." She nodded to the three painted
cherubs behind him.