Winsor, Linda (27 page)

"What
I'd like to know," C. R. spoke up, his speech a little slurred by his
swelling lip, "is how you feds caught up with us so fast."

Deanna
bristled. "Don't you say us, you creep."

"So
how
did
you find me?" C.R. repeated as Voorhees finished patting
down his back. "Did you follow her and wait?"

"That's
about the size..."

"Marshal
Jones tipped us off," the agent said.

"Marshal?"
A shower of icy pinpricks lifted the gooseflesh on Deanna's skin from head to
toe. Her mind staggered over the ragtag timeline of events. No one could have
followed her. She was lost... desperate and lost when she ran off the road on
Shep's ranch. Then two days later, the geologists appeared. Except they weren't
geologists like Shep said... lied.

"Marshal?"
Deanna
repeated, not wanting to believe her shepherd had betrayed her. But Shep was a
rancher. No way could he fake Hopewell and set up Buffalo Butte just to trap a
fugitive. That had to be real. "Like in a
police
kind of
marshal?" she asked Agent Voorhees.

"Ex-marshal,
Deanna," Shep clarified... like that somehow made his calling the federal
agents on her all right. He turned her so that she had to look him in the eye.
"I knew you were in some kind of trouble, and I wanted to help."

"When
did you call them?" She felt sick to her stomach, or maybe she was going
to pass out again.

"I
called in the first day we came to town, but that has nothing to do with—"

"No,
don't." Deanna backed away from Shep, wishing she would pass out. And when
she woke up again, none of this would have happened. "Not another word. I
wouldn't believe anything you said anyway."

Things
like
I love you. I want to share my dream with you. Would you consider
giving the West another chance?
She bit her lip as hard as she could, but
nothing she did or willed stopped the glassy hurt gathering in her eyes.
I
ran away to the hills, too; God healed me. God is enough.
What kind of a
man would use God to further his lies?

Voorhees
came to Shep's defense. "He was just doing his duty, Miss Manetti. If he
hadn't tried to win your trust and get you to talk, he'd have been guilty of
aiding and abetting a criminal."

"If
you're trying to help me, Voorhees, I'd appreciate it if you stop now."

Invisible
fingers of conviction constricted around Deanna's throat, forcing her to
swallow the cold, harsh lump of reality As its poison digested and spread, she
stared in anguish at her fallen knight—her fallen shepherd. "You knew all
along."

"Deanna,
I was professionally obligated to cooperate—"

"So
that's what you call it." Her nostrils flared with the distress of her
breath. What a pathetic sap she'd been, so desperate for love that she'd taken
the fall, not once, but twice. "Well, you did it real good, mister."

Shep
reached for her. "Deanna—"

"Don't
you come near me, Shepard Jones, or so help me, I'll... I'll..."

What
could she do, take Shep and an armed federal agent on? Looking about like a
trapped animal for any means of escape, Deanna spied the open closet door.

"I'll
be in here until our ride comes."

She
spoke to Agent Voorhees, not Shep. He wasn't going to exist in her world. Yet
halfway inside, raw emotion overrode her will. Deanna peered around the door at
the handsome Judas. "You knew that C. R. was alive, didn't you?"

His
silence shouted admission from the thinned line of his mouth. Deanna felt she
needed to run, to retreat before she made a total fool of herself, but she had
one last round of condemnation to fire, its fuse burning, painful, within the
innermost chamber of her being.

"You
know, lying and leading me to think that I was safe and... and even loved was
low enough, Shepard Jones, but..."

Her
voice broke, choked off by a sob Deanna was determined to suppress. Its
razor-sharp barbs cut all the way down. "But that guy..." She jabbed
a finger at C. R. "...was a prince, compared to what you did." Tears
trickled down her cheeks with a will of their own. "He used love to fool
me, but
you used God."

Deanna
drew in a ragged breath, glowering at Shep's tall blurred figure through
emotion-razed eyes. "He broke my heart, but you—" Bitterness seeped
into her mouth, saturating her voice. "You... broke... my... spirit."

Ducking
into the stuffy darkness of the small enclosure, Deanna shut the door behind
her. There without prying eyes and false wagging tongues, she could cry. There
she could wear her bruised and battered heart on her sleeve. There she could
plead for God to remove her broken spirit from its bleeding, beating ruin,
never again to be healed. She couldn't—wouldn't—bear its breaking again. God
had to understand. It hurt too much.

"Deanna!"
Shep stuck his head in the door of the sedan, cutting Jay Voorhees off from
getting into the drivers seat. Deanna had refused to come out of the closet or
accept the agent's offer to allow her to ride back to Hopewell with Shep. Eyes
swollen and nose red, she looked away from him, staring out the tinted window
in the backseat. Agent Kessler separated her from the cuffed C. R. Majors. Much
as Shep hated an audience, he had no choice but to say what he had to.

"All
I ask is one thing." When she refused to look at him, Shep forged on.
"Don't do the same thing to me that the authorities did to you. Don't
judge me guilty until you hear me out."

"Isn't
that sweet—" Majors grunted, slammed by the backhand of Deanna's purse
before Kessler could even react. Her aim was incredible, considering she'd not
even moved her unseeing eyes from the dark window.

Majors
swore through the fingers he pressed to his fresh bleeding lip. "She did
it again! You keep her away from me or I won't tell you anything."

"Just
shut up or I'll move up front and let her at you," Kessler warned in
disgust at the whining perp.

"Just
think about it, Deanna," Shep pleaded. "That's all I'm asking."
Having been in the center ring of this circus long enough, he backed away to
let Voorhees take the wheel. Aside from thumping Majors, Deanna had been in a
zombielike state since she emerged from the pantry

"See
you back at the ranch, buddy," Voorhees called through the open window of
the car as he shoved it into reverse.

I'm
not your
buddy.

Shep
checked the annoyed retort. It was as pointless as his plea to Deanna. Even if
he could convince her that he'd acted in her best interest, there was her
tirade about being stranded on the backside of the world, cleaning stables, and
wearing hand-me-downs when she was accustomed to the Manhattan rush hour,
diesel fumes, and Fifth Avenue fashions. Had he misread her as badly as he'd
done Ellen, thinking that Deanna was actually warming to his lifestyle?

Behind
Shep, a horn blew loudly, startling him from his dirge of introspection. The
crowd erupted into a rousing cheer for the winners of the roofing contest, the
purse-snatching incident already forgotten. The world went on, he thought, too
dour to bother with looking back to see who won. He was better company for the
folks in the cemetery on the other side of the chain-link fence.

"Hey
handsome, you look like you just lost your best friend."

Just
ahead, Maisy winked at him from the remuda of horses tethered next to the
graveyard. With her were Esther, Ruth Lawrence, and Ty McCain.

"Is
Deanna in trouble?" Esther promptly covered her mouth, as if she had no
right to ask. "You don't have to tell us anything secret," she added
hastily. "We're just concerned."

"Yeah,
she looked like she'd been dragged behind a horse when those fellas put her in
the car," Ty observed. "Kinda like somebody else I know."

Shep
felt
as if he'd been dragged behind a horse and kicked to boot. "I
think it will all straighten itself out in time," he said uncertainly At
least Deanna would be cleared of criminal charges. Then she'd be free to go
back to New York.

"You're
not going to let her go, are you?" Maisy exclaimed. "Honey, she put
more twinkle in your eye than a night full of stars in July."

Not
to mention fireworks. Deanna made him feel like a new man... when she didn't
have him twisted in knots. Or squirming in misery in front of his friends. He
forced brightness into his voice. "What brings you four hanging out here
anyway, when the celebration's back there?"

"Because
we're all of
the same loaf,
Shepard," Esther told him. "That's
what the Holy Book says."

"And
you look like you're about to crumble." Maisy gave Shep a big hug.

"Besides,
what's to celebrate?" Ty grumbled. "The farm boys beat us by no more
than a shingle's worth of time."

"You'll
take them on the riding relays," Shep assured his friend.

"And
you'll get Deanna out of this mess and into that church," Maisy finished
with a the-deal-is-sealed nod.

"Dragging
feet win no race, Shepard," Esther reminded him, every bit the schoolmarm
challenging her student. "And I fully anticipate this cowboy will win this
one. So off with you."

Ty
extended his hand. "Give 'em thunder."

"Thunder
my foot," Maisy derided. "Give 'em—"

"Come
along, Maisy," Esther cut in, herding the outspoken waitress like one of
her prodigal students back toward the church. "Our prayers are with you,
Shepard," she called over her shoulder.

"Me
and the boys are coming out this fall to get that stallion. Mark it down,"
Tyler promised before heading back to the relay field.

Of
the same loaf.
Warmed
by the support of his friends, Shep picked up his pace, thanking God for every
slice and crumb.

The
Jeep was intact, save a sprung handle on the back window where Majors had
broken in. Shep slipped into the driver's seat with renewed determination. How
could he fail, when he had the loaf and the Baker behind him? As he inserted
the key Deanna left on the table in the community hall, an electronic beep
sounded from under his seat. Raising a puzzled brow, Shep reached for the cell
phone he kept there.

The
message-waiting feature blinked on its face. Shep activated the caller ID,
tensing as he recognized the number of Will Addison's private line in D.C.

Of
the same loaf.
Esther's
gentle reminder served as a balm. After initializing the hands free option, he
pushed recall. Electronic fingers amplified by the Jeep speakers dialed a
snappy, if unmelodic, tune above the roar of the vehicle's reversing engine.

Lord,
he
prayed when the line started ringing, I'm
counting on this being the icing
on the loaf.

The
call was answered on the second ring. "Addison here."

"Shep
back at you, Will," he replied crisply, bracing himself. "What have
you got for me?

***

Deanna
brooded in silence on the ride back to Hopewell, while Jon Kessler grilled C.
R. on the extent of her involvement. C. R. was doing the right thing, but for
the wrong reason. The more he cooperated with the authorities, the more
consideration he'd receive when charged. Singing like a songbird was how the
crime shows characterized his confession, but it was hardly music to her ears.
The more he said, the angrier she became—angry at herself for being so
gullible, angry at C. R. for his total lack of contrition, and angry at Shep
because... just because. She needed time to sort out the information being
revealed bit by bit.

"You
have to admit, Deanna, you were the perfect choice." C. R. announced,
adding insult to injury. "Ambitious, which meant you'd grab at the chance
to manage your own team, with a nonexistent social life, which made you
susceptible to charm from unexpected quarters, like the boardroom. New to the
job, which made you the perfect patsy. People in-house would have questioned
the deposits. Of course the fact that you're a looker made it more pleasant for
me."

Jon
looked at the man in disbelief. "I don't think there's enough room in here
for your stupidity, much less your ego, Majors."

"He's
right though." Deanna's flat-line admission capped a tumult of emotions,
gnawing at her insides and clawing to be released. "I was an easy
mark."

"But
it was fun while it lasted, doll. That's why I'm clearing you."

"Ignore
the jerk." Jon placed a restraining grip on her arm. "You can get
even on the witness stand."

"That's
all well and good, Majors," Agent Voorhees spoke up from the driver's
seat, "but if she's so innocent, why did you tail her? She hide the money
or what?"

"You
figure it out, Mr. DEA man... or wait till my attorney cuts a deal with the
prosecution."

How
could she have ever fallen for such a slimeball? Uncertain if she was going to
blow up with rage or implode with anguish, Deanna rested her head against the
window as the car turned into the long dirt lane leading up to Hopewell.
Hopewell.
Two ramshackle rows of buildings of what used to be... or what could have
been.

Either
way they were in ruins.

As
they pulled up at the shiny travel trailer, the third geologist, or rather
agent, met them. "I've called for a chopper to transport the suspects to
Great Falls. Should be here in an hour or so."

"What's
wrong with the car?" Voorhees asked.

"It's
all over the news that Majors' body was not found in the car, so headquarters
didn't want to take any chances. Dusault will have his men all over this."

"Blasted
reporters!" Voorhees swore under his breath. "Okay Let's pack up this
show." He turned to Jon as he shifted into gear again. "We'll take
the suspects to the house. More room to wait there."

"Who
is Dusault?" Deanna asked Jon. She hadn't heard that name before.

"He's
the kingpin of the syndicate Majors double-crossed."

"You
two help us nail him, and we'll go easy on you."

At
least the younger agent acknowledged she could be innocent. In Voorhees's eyes,
she was guilty until proven innocent.

"Don't
judge me guilty until you hear me out."
But how could she believe what
Shep had to say? Granted, she'd told a few lies herself, but—

"Of
course we'll have to keep you in protective custody until the trial,"
Voorhees explained. "Witnesses against people like Dusault have a way of
disappearing or coming to a suspicious end before they make it to the
court."

Protective
custody?
The
words banished one quandary for another. "Do you mean jail?"

"I
hope not," C. R. declared. "That's a death sentence, doll."

She
pulled her arm from Jon's restraining hand and raised her purse in threat.
"Call me doll one more time and it'll take more than this agent to keep me
from busting your upper lip."

"Okay,
I get it." C. R. threw up his cuffed hands in front of his face. "I
never saw this side of you. Must be PMS or something."

Exactly
what happened next was unclear. Someone who looked and sounded like her leaped
across the car and Agent Kessler, digging for blood, a pound of flesh, a
handful of hair, it didn't matter, just so it came from C. R. Majors. Like a
cat gone wild, her evil twin called C. R. words that brought the taste of Ivory
soap to her mouth. Then the white-hot fury of arms and feet dissolved into the
bright light of the western sun as Deanna was hauled outside. The thunder in
her ears gave way to heavy breathing and a fierce barking.

"What
in tarnation is goin' on?" Ticker Deerfield scrambled over the corral
fence and ran after Smoky toward the car Deanna was pinned to, her cheek
crushed on the warm hood.

Before
she could even guess, the man holding her down cried out in pain and started to
thrash about in a bizarre dance. "Call off the dog or I'll shoot
him," Voorhees shouted, digging in his coat for his gun and hopping about
on one leg while trying to shake Smoky's snarling grip off his ankle.

Ticker
had to pry the dog's mouth apart with his fingers before Smoky would give up
the agent's leg. Voorhees pulled down his sock to examine the damage. "I
ought to—"

Seeing
the man reach inside his jacket, Deanna stepped in front of the still growling
mongrel. "It's my fault, not his. Smoky thought you were hurting me. It's
only a scratch—"

The
agent produced a handkerchief and smirked. "Do you mind?"

"Does
Shep know about all this?" Ticker asked, sparing her from blabbering some
sort of reply.

"The
marshal's cooperated all along," Voorhees said, pulling his sock up over
the makeshift pad, "in detaining and apprehending the suspects. He should
be right behind us."

"Ex-marshal,
you mean," Ticker corrected. "You of all folks ought to know Shep
ain't been in the service since you caused him to take a hit in the knee."

"Comes
with the job, Pop." Voorhees flexed his foot. Determining it was okay, he
stood up.

Shep's
old war wound, Deanna realized. It also explained his buddies in the service.
It wasn't the armed services, as she'd assumed; it was law enforcement. Of all
the ranches in Montana, she'd picked a ghost town owned by an ex-U.S. Marshal.
It was almost laughable... almost.

"I'll
take the suspects into the house," Jon spoke up from the other side of the
car. To Deanna's horror, a trickle of blood ran down from C. R.'s nose.
Heavenly Father, had
she
done that?

"I'm
so sorry," she gasped. "I...I don't know what happened, I
just..."

"Looks
to me like you went Western on 'em and gave 'em what for." The admiration
in Ticker's observation did little to assuage Deanna's horror. Despite college
and the finishing school she'd attended at nights, she behaved like Tony
Triglia, the neighborhood bad boy