Winsor, Linda (15 page)

"Now,
Maisy, idle talk breeds mischief," Esther cautioned.

Unruffled,
Maisy laughed. "Shoot, Esther, that's all I ever do. I suppose that's why
I'm so ornery."

Deanna
suddenly had two mothers, one a prim lady, the other an outrageous flirt, and
both the answer to a prayer she hadn't even asked. Overwhelmed by the friendly
support, she glanced out the window at the little white-steepled church across
the parking lot. She knew now that she'd forgotten God's size, but He hadn't
forgotten hers. If only she knew what He had in mind for her. He knew she was
innocent.

"What
we need is exposure," the former schoolmistress declared, drawing Deanna
back to the conversation at hand. "Maybe we could pack up and head over to
the big Smart Mart in Taylorville and have a sale there."

"The
problem is, even if they'll let us set up at the store, we don't have enough
people with enough time to staff a bake sale or craft table for as long at it
would take to raise the money," Reverend John Lawrence said.

The
reverend sat next to Shep, who'd been chosen as the chairman of the maintenance
committee. Maybe this time, she
had
found someone she could trust. Maybe
their chance meeting wasn't chance after all. If God knew her dress size, He
surely knew what she needed in a man. Of course, she'd thought C. R. heavensent
at first.

Lord,
I'm so confused.

"What
if we did the job ourselves?" Shep asked during the lull of prospective
ideas. He looked around the table. "Most of us have to be a bit handy with
tools on our farms and ranches, and the labor is the costliest part of the
bid."

"If
we don't have time to staff bake tables, where'll we get time to put on a new
roof?" one of the younger men at the table challenged. He was the one who
helped Shep load supplies at the Farm and Ranch General Deanna's first day in
Buffalo Butte.

"If
folks used to raise a barn in a day, Seth, I imagine a group of us could slap
on a new roof in one. Maybe your dad could get the building materials at cost
for the church?"

"I
imagine we could work something out."

"Some
of my boys would be willing to put in a Saturday," a gentleman with thick
straw-colored hair ventured. "I imagine we ranchers could show you farmers
how it's done."

Even
if he and Deanna hadn't been introduced, she'd have recognized J. B. McCain,
Ty's father. They had the same chiseled features and coloring, except that the
senior McCain's hair was heavily peppered with white.

"That
so?" A tall red-cheeked man about the same age remarked from the opposite
side of the table. Like most of the men here, he had a white line along the top
of his brow engraved by the constant presence of a baseball cap. "I reckon
my crew knows a thing or two your cow chasers haven't even thought of."

"So
why not have a contest?"

It
wasn't until all heads swung toward Deanna that she realized she'd voiced her
question aloud. While a burglar might intimidate her, a conference table of
entrepreneurs didn't faze her at all, unless she counted Shep. He looked as
though she'd just started the range wars all over.

Deanna
threw up her hands. "It would be a
good-natured
challenge. It would
garner more interest, get more people to come see your wares and watch the
competition."

"I
know all the cowboys in the area would come, just to see us show the farmers
how it's done," J. B. snorted.

"So'd
the farmhands," his adversary at the opposite end chimed in. "Just
for the fun of watching you eat crow, J. B." He glanced at the minister.
"What do you think, Reverend?"

Reverend
Lawrence smiled, accentuating lines carved by time and an enduring sense of
humor. Pale blue eyes twinkling, he nodded at Deanna. "I think this young
lady might have found a good way to get some of these fellas to finally come to
church."

Sanctuary.
Although
Deanna hadn't exactly been to the church proper, which sat across a parking lot
from the community hall, she felt the sanctuary offered by its congregation and
readily accepted the minister's invitation to attend the Sunday worship. What
was it Gram had said when as a child Deanna had asked if God lived in their
church?
"No, child, God lives in the people. Special as it is, the
church is just a building. It's the people who bring God in."

She
wasn't sure if she'd stumbled across Hopewell and Buffalo Butte, or if God had
recognized her voice after such a long silence, but she longed to believe the
latter. No, she did believe it. The line from a hymn drifted through her mind
in confirmation.
All things were possible.

Deanna
looked through the windshield of Shep's Jeep at the long narrow strip of road
ahead of her. A few days ago it was the road to nowhere. Now it felt like the
road home... at least for a while. She shoved the temporal aspect of her
circumstance to the back of her mind with a wistful smile.

For
every person she'd met to date, Deanna knew or had known someone just like them
back home in her childhood Brooklyn neighborhood, good down-to-earth folks who
lived their best and cared for others. They made her feel like one of them.
Maisy and Esther had outfitted her in clothes. Esther even offered to take her
to Taylorville to find new curtains for the kitchen after hearing about that
fiasco, but Shep insisted on taking Deanna himself.

"I
thought that was the way of it, Shepard," Esther had said with a
schoolmarm's smugness.

Deanna
cringed inwardly for her host. She knew their relationship was as platonic as
platonic could get. Until her car was fixed and she was on her way, it was
simply an economic necessity for them both. If anything sprang from that, it
would be worthless, founded on a lie. She squirmed beneath the guilt that
suddenly clouded her sense of security.

"The
wind too much for you?" Shep asked, startling her from the dark turn of
her reverie.

"No,
it feels super." She chuckled. "In New York, you put down a window
and get an unfiltered dose of diesel and gasoline fumes. Although I admit, I
always found the smell of city traffic to be invigorating... you know, like
there was enough fuel in it to give me extra miles to the breath. Hey,"
Deanna defended herself at the skeptical brow Shep cocked at her. "It was
what I grew up with. It made me tick."

"And
what makes you tick now?"

The
question came out of nowhere, nailing Deanna to a proverbial threshold, one she
wasn't sure she wanted—no, dared—to cross.

Shep
put on his blinker and turned at the weathered sign marking the long entrance
to Hopewell. A turn signal in the middle of nowhere with no other vehicle in
sight. This guy was so by-the-book it was incredible.

"I
think I've lost my ticker," she answered after a thoughtful silence.
"Like I'm in some kind of rootin', tootin' Oz and I can't find my ruby
slippers to get back home."

A
sting annoyed her eyes. She looked away pretending fascination with a grove of
trees in the far pasture until she mastered the well of emotion that was more
like an unruly sea lately—rising, sinking, churning, drowning.
Lord, I am so
pathetic. I don't
even know myself. I only know I'm in over my head...

"What
in the world?"

Shep's
exclamation struck her like a cold splash, clearing away one wave of emotion
for another. At the approach of the main street toward Shep's house, a shiny
new motor home stood in the headlights of a beat-up pickup. Some men stood
against the door of the RV, held at bay by someone or something. Surely not
Smoky, she thought, her veins suddenly shot with an icy dread. That canine's
incessant barking had no more than a dog biscuit's worth of backbone behind it.

The
three men by the motor home squinted as Shep's Jeep lights compounded the glare
in their eyes. Deanna had never seen them before. The tallest had an athletic
build with longish fair hair wrapped behind his ears. Another looked as though
he'd been plucked from a computer keyboard—close-cropped hair, wire-rim
glasses, rumpled cotton dress shirt loosely tucked into pleated trousers. It
was the third man who seemed in charge. Clad in a well-fitted suit of
nondistinct color, he ventured one step forward, hand raised in a cautious wave
as Shep brought the Jeep to a halt in front of them.

"Mr.
Jones, are we glad to see you. I'm Jay Voorhees from the government geological
survey team. We spoke the other day about our running some tests on the mineral
contents of your property?"

"I
never heard of 'em," an obstinate voice declared from the blind side of
the pickup. "Caught 'em snoopin' all around the place."

Deanna
listened, groping for a reason to assuage the heightened alarm gripping her
chest. All she could think of were the men who were looking for her... or the
police. Will I
ever have another moment's peace?

"I
was just telling this gentleman we were looking for an electric hookup when he
surprised us."

"I
reckon he did." Shep chuckled as he climbed out of the Jeep and started
toward the disconcerted group. "Mr. Voorhees, this is my outfitting
partner, Ticker Deerfield." Raising his voice, he called out to the man
hidden by the pickup. "It's all right, Tick."

Shep's
simple assurance was enough to loosen the breath stuck in Deanna's chest. Her
pulse even registered as he continued to explain. "I spoke to these folks
a while back about the mineral rights Uncle Dan sold to the government. Knew
they were coming, just didn't know when. Sorry I forgot to say anything about
it."

Deanna
stayed put in the Jeep, no longer frozen with fear, but from the toll it had
taken on her strength. Her legs felt as stable as the melted ice pack that had
given way when Shep knelt on it and it had sent him sprawling across the bed
during her first morning at Hopewell.

"What
brings you here anyway?" Shep asked his partner. "The roundup isn't
over, is it?"

"Naw,"
Tick answered sheepishly as he stepped into view from his hiding place. "I
couldn't get no sleep with some of them young fellers yappin' and lollygaggin'.
Figgered I'd catch a couple good hours of shut-eye and then roll 'em out before
sunup to see the error of their ways."

There
was something about Tick's half-bearded grin in the headlights that further
comforted Deanna. Funny how a few days ago, she'd been certain he was, at the
least, an ax murderer. Now he looked like a guardian angel packing iron. Rifle
lowered in one hand, Tick extended the other to Mr. Voorhees.

"Sorry
I gave you such a scare. 'Course you're wastin' your time, if you're lookin'
for gold. This ain't no ghost town for nothin'."

"There
are
other
minerals aside from gold, Mr. Deerfield. That's what we're
here to survey," Voorhees replied.

Deanna
leaned against the headrest of her seat and closed her eyes in thanksgiving for
Shep, for Tick, even for Buffalo Butte. She didn't know how her problems would
be resolved, but at least she was no longer alone. It was going to be all
right.

All
things were
possible.

For
the first time in a very long time—maybe back as far as when she'd stopped
going to church to finish an urgent project or sleep in from working late the
night before—she actually relaxed.

***

Shep
wondered if there would be anyone in Buffalo Butte who was not "in"
on Deanna Manetti's case by the time it was resolved. He'd felt obliged to
explain to Tick, who echoed Shep's instinctive reaction—she had to be a victim
of circumstances and bad judgment.

"Well,
she come to the right place. You 'n' me both know what it is to be run hard by
life and put up wet. Man nor beast don't git no closer to their Maker than up
here in these parts. Reckon that's why the good Lord made these mountains and
sent the little filly our way."

Ticker
didn't go to church proper unless he was roped into it, and he never talked
much about faith. But he kept a worn Bible in his pack and studied it beneath a
cathedral ceiling of sky, surrounded by untarnished creation. When Shep's
partner did talk about his faith, the words stuck in Shep's mind, same as they
did when the experienced older man spoke of his instincts.

"If
it was me," Tick went on, "I'd be leery 'o' that Voorhees fella.
Wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't crooked as a dog's leg."

While
Shep didn't think Jay was crooked in a legal sense, he agreed the man's motives
were skewed by his ambition. Had God sent Deanna to Hopewell, expecting Shep to
offer her refuge and help?

"Inasmuch
as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me."

The
words from the book of Matthew and Tick haunted him later as he lay cramped and
bound in more ways than one on the sofa. The workout shorts he'd donned for
decency's sake twisted about his waist, tightening like a noose each time he
turned over. The sofa itself just wasn't long enough to accommodate his frame.
With little alternative, he stuck his feet out the side past the wooden
armrests, hoping to avoid getting a crick in his neck.

In
the central hall Deanna stood by the washer digging through the boxes the
church ladies had given her like a kid digging through cereal boxes for a
hidden prize. She had an uncanny ability to roll with the punches she'd been
dealt, but the bottom line was that Tick was right. She needed help and
protection, the same as God had offered them in their time of need.

That
and what he now knew made it impossible for Shep to harbor a grudge for too
long over her deceit. But merciful days, she was just too cute for his comfort
in his oversized jeans and shirt.

His
ex-fiancé wouldn't be caught dead in that getup. Nor would Ellen have fit in so
well at the community hall meeting, much less paid enough attention to
contribute anything. Deanna's idea had lit a fire under the committee to accept
his. The last time Shep had mentioned doing a project themselves, the idea was
shelved without much interest.

Something
as simple as adding some friendly competition between the farmers and ranchers
kindled its appeal. But then, selling ideas was her game, he realized,
diverting his gaze to the ceiling as though watching his engaging guest might
become addictive.

"Oh!"

Deanna's
breathless exclamation drew Shep's half-lidded attention to a purple silky
something she held up in the overhead light. Separating it into two pieces, she
held the shorter against her chest as though measuring for size. Shep had no
doubt the nightgown that came just above the knees would fit. And the color
would shade those voluminous blue eyes of hers toward violet.

"Think
you'll be much longer?" he asked, turning away from the light with an
impatient jerk as though it bothered him. Shorts akimbo, he raised his hips and
wrangled them aright with an indignant snatch, but staring at the sofa back
didn't help erase the provocative image conjured in his mind. He could already
picture her in the figure-skimming silk.

"I'm
sorry," she exclaimed, her delight with her new things infecting her
voice. "I was so involved with these things—they are just lovely—"

"Well,
some of us have to work tomorrow."

"Now
wait one minute, buster. Like I didn't work today? Like—" Deanna broke off
as though she'd been whipped into silence by guilt. "Sorry."

He
was being a jerk, but he couldn't help it. Something had put a burr under his
saddle—or some such place. The light went out with the click of the switch. The
soft padding of her bare feet faded as she retreated toward the bedroom.

"I'm
just going to take a quick shower," she called back to him. "Maisy
said she'd washed all these things before boxing them for the church sale, so I
don't see any need to wash them again, do you?"

"Not
if you intend to wear them."

"Okay,
wise guy," Deanna shot back readily at his reference to the late kitchen
curtains. "I'm a few hours older and a wash load wiser now... and at least
your clothes didn't fall apart. They are clean, folded, and in the basket by
the dryer, thank you very much."

"Thank
you very much, Miss Manetti. Now I have to get some shut-eye so I'll have the
energy to wear them. Good night."

"Good
night,
Mr.
Jones," she mimicked, the proximity of her voice taking
Shep by surprise.

He
glanced over his shoulder in time to see her ponytailed profile flit into the
bathroom, the silky ensemble tossed over her arm.

"Sleep
tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite." She closed the door behind her. A few
seconds later the shower came on.

Oh
yeah, he was going to sleep
tight.
.. like an overwound watch. There were
federal agents in his yard and a charming criminal in his shower. Piece of
cake.

***

In
the semidarkness of dawn, a piercing whinny sliced through the white noise of
the radio, jolting Deanna upright from a dreamless sleep. Never had she heard
such a noise—like someone was chopping wood with a hammer. Rolling out of bed,
she peered out the window at the silhouette of the ramshackle buildings,
expecting to see them flying apart, board by board.