Authors: Along Came Jones
The
clown glanced over his shoulder in surprise, his red smile growing. "Well,
well," he exclaimed, taking in his entourage with an encompassing sweep of
his hand. "A round of sodas then."
"That'll
be four bucks," she told him as he handed three of the drinks to the
little ones.
"You
don't have change for a hundred, do you?"
Deanna
looked at the crisp bill he fished out of a deep pocket in his green overalls.
"Sorry, we need our change for the stand, and my purse is in the
car," she added in jest.
"Try
the Lions' raffle table," Maisy suggested from the back of the stand.
"They'll have it, with all those five dollar books of tickets. We'll trust
you to come back and pay us."
"My
lands, yes," Esther said, topping off the clown's drink after he'd taken a
long sip. "And that's on the house. You look like you're about to melt in
that getup."
"I'm
forever indebted, ma'am."
Deanna,
who'd started away, did a double take, her attention triggered by the familiar
quip—or was it the voice?
The
clown pulled the little hat up and let it go, the elastic snapping it back in
place and causing the daisy in the band to bob on its spring stem. "Good
day, ladies. I shall return."
She
was just being paranoid, she decided when he stopped on the way to the raffle
booth and made a balloon animal for a wide-eyed preschooler. A horn blew in one
of the dump trucks, signaling the end of the first contest. Judging from the
cheers on the cowboys' side of the roof, the ranchers were ahead. Leaving
Esther and Maisy to have lunch in the cool of the church hall, Deanna sought
out Shep in the bare-chested throng around the galvanized bucket of canned and
bottled drinks provided for the workers.
Hat
cocked back on his head, he rolled the ice cold soda can across his forehead
and over the back of his neck in an effort to offset the sun beating down on
the open area. "We won by one throw of shingles," he told her,
staring up at the exposed barren plywood sheathing. "Some of the boys from
Woolsy's Construction in Taylorville are going to patch a couple of soft spots
during lunch. Speaking of which, I'm famished."
Shirt
slung over one shoulder, he put a possessive hand at Deanna's back and ushered
her across the street in front of the church to the plaza. Never in her life,
had Deanna felt more secure than among God's people under the watchful eye of
her earthly Shepard.
After
purchasing two pulled pit beef barbecues with O'Donnells famous slaw, they
tried to find an empty picnic table to no avail. Instead, Shep staked out a
shade tree and spread his shirt on the grass for Deanna to sit on. Nearby, a
push merry-go-round spun delighted squeals from the children riding it. The
children, the watchful parents, and the antics of the clowns provided live
entertainment as they ate the delicious food prepared by J. B. McCain and the
Cattlemen's Club.
"This
is the biggest attendance Buffalo Butte has ever had for any civic or church
event," Shep said, resuming his seat at the foot of the tree after
disposing of their plates. "Seth has one of his clerks running folks back
and forth to cars parked on the outskirts of town on a tractor-pulled
wagon."
"I've
seen it circling the plaza and wondered where the people were coming
from," Deanna said. "I sold a tray of drinks to a family from Great
Falls. I guess that notice Esther put in the
Meridian
brought people in
from all over."
"No,
your idea of a competition is what sparked the interest."
The
admiration in his gaze caused a quickening in her stomach. It might have rolled
over in delight, if she hadn't eaten so much. Now she wanted to take a nap—in
Shep's arms. Deanna sighed dreamily, imagining his sun-bronzed warmth, the
interplay of the muscled pillow beneath her cheek. Altogether, the picturesque
small town, the cowboy, the shade tree, and a blanket of grass combined for an
old-time movie-perfect setting.
God,
I thank You for this moment and pray that it's a preview of our future
together, that someday, we'll be watching our children on the merry-go-round,
attending our church function...
Three
long beeps of the horn brought the lunch break and her secret prayer to an end.
Shep inhaled deeply, as though mustering enough energy to get up. Flexing his
arms and shoulders, he groaned. "I have a feeling this kind of work is
going to tell on us tonight."
"Want
me to rub you down in that horse liniment you used on the mare?" Having
abandoned his shirt, she reached out from her standing position to offer him a
boost up.
He
rose, a perfectly wicked grin flashing white across his face. Playful, he
pulled her against him and lowered his forehead to hers. "Better
not," he cautioned, the words rumbling from deep in his throat.
"Might make me too frisky for my own good." He kissed the tip of her
nose and backed away reluctantly. "At least the idea'll give me one up on
the rest of the fellas this afternoon."
While
the roof of the church grew before the eyes of the cheering crowd, Maisy,
Esther, and Deanna filled in as gofers for the various church booths. As far as
she could see, the ranchers and farmers were matching shingle for shingle to
the point that the contest might well be a draw. Naturally, she gave an
enthusiastic whistle each time she passed the Stetson-dominated side.
Behind
the church and community hall on the public ball field, Tyler McCain and some
other young men were taking names for a barrel race and relay competition to be
held that evening during the private steak cookout his father sponsored for the
volunteers and their families. He'd even talked his father into posting a
hundred-dollar purse to be split between the winners.
"That
boy'd bust his tail for a hundred-dollar prize but won't work up a sweat for
real money," J. B. McCain derided when Deanna delivered a tray of large
sodas to the men assembling a big barbecue pit behind the community hall.
"You wouldn't have any banner ideas that would lure that show-off back to
Buffalo Butte and the Double M, would you, gal?"
"Sure."
She followed up her flippant answer. "Turn Hopewell into a working Western
town resort and put Tyler in charge of a rodeo show for the tourists. He'd have
work and play, plus he'd be close to the Double M."
To
her astonishment, J. B. appeared to be taking her seriously.
"Hey,
I'm just kidding," she said hastily "It just popped into my head, you
know."
J.
B. motioned Deanna away from the confusion of the grill. "Anything else
popped into that pretty little head of yours?"
Embarrassed
that she'd put her mouth in motion before engaging her brain, Deanna shared her
thoughts regarding Hopewell—fixing up the buildings as lodgings for tourists,
gearing the shows toward family entertainment, providing some dude ranch type
experience in riding and running a ranch.
"Of
course, I'd have to do the demographics to see what the competition is and if
there's enough interest to keep it going, sufficient investors willing to take
the risk, et cetera. I haven't really thought it through."
"What
does Shep say about all this? Last I heard, he was set on breeding a hardy
mustang line and training workhorses."
"He
listened." Why did she have to say a word? Shep was intrigued but not
sold.
"He
always was the cautious type."
"Sometimes
that's a good thing." Heaven knew she could have been more cautious with
C. R. Majors.
"And
sometimes it can mean the difference between making a fortune and making a
living."
And
that was a key factor in her reckless decision, moving to the top in a
male-dominated world. Recalling Esther's observation of J. B. McCain, how he
thought money was the key to everything, Deanna couldn't help but relate to the
man. "Guess it depends on a person's priorities."
J.
B. pulled her aside as a pair of boys just missed running into her. Absorbed in
their chase, both risked losing the shaved ice from their snowcones.
"I
haven't had a snowcone in ages," she said, ending the uncomfortable
conversation. "I'm going to find out where they're making those."
"I
think they're shaving ice in front of the hardware store so they can share the
electric hookup with the Chuck Wagon," J. B. called after her.
Shep
was on the ground crew handing up supplies as Deanna passed through the parking
lot between the church and community hall. Hard as it was to believe, the roof
was already half done, at least on his side. Slipping up behind him, she tugged
on the key chain hooked to his belt. "Can I have the keys to the Jeep? I
need to get my purse."
Due
to the nature of their duties, Shep had locked both her purse and his wallet in
the vehicle so they wouldn't have to worry about keeping track of them while
they worked.
"Go
ahead, but take one of the ladies to go with you," he advised over his
shoulder, never missing a beat in the rhythm of the human chain passing bundles
of the new shingles along to those on the roof.
Unable
to resist, Deanna planted a surreptitious kiss between his shoulder blades and
hurried off before she got the blame for Shep's dropping his pass of the
building materials.
While
Shep's caution was sweet, the place was crawling with townspeople, including
the parking lot. Besides, the church women were busy as bees as it was. Keys in
hand, Deanna made her way around the opposite side of the church past its
tree-lined cemetery to a back lot, where Shep had finally found a place to
park.
The
back lot was packed with assorted trucks, SUVs, and the trailers that had
transported the ponies. The maze was perfect for a group of kids who were
playing hide-and-seek in and around the vehicles. Between two large elms
outside the chain-link graveyard fence, a dozen or so horses were tethered, the
transport of choice for many of the volunteers from close by.
Two
teenaged boys, who had been assigned to keep the animals watered, led the
horses two at a time to a big trough by an old-fashioned pitcher pump for a
midafternoon drink. Montana's answer to a bicycle rack, Deanna wisecracked to
herself as she searched for the row of vehicles they'd parked in. The lot
hadn't been filled then, so it looked different now. She thought it was in the
first two or three rows.
As
she meandered down the second row, she spied the front of Shep's trusty dusty
steed on wheels, but upon reaching it, she stopped short. A clown, the same one
who'd asked her for a light earlier, was climbing out of the back window.
Certain that Shep had locked up, it could only mean one thing. Fire flew into Deanna.
"Hey,
Bozo, what do you think you're doing?" she demanded in a loud voice,
hoping to draw attention from those nearby.
Half
in and half out the rear window, the clown peered over the roof of the Jeep,
bemused at first, until he spied Deanna's indignant approach. Leaping to the
ground, he stumbled over his oversized shoes. Something went flying from his
hand, landing in the dirt ahead of him.
Recognizing
her purse before the clown grabbed it up and scrambled to his feet, Deanna
broke into a run. "Thief!" she shouted, running out of her heeled
designer slippers in determination. There wasn't any money in the bargain
basement bag, save a five-dollar bill that Shep insisted she take, but it was a
matter of principle. Besides, she'd seen a purse just like it in Saks for over
a hundred dollars.
"Stop
that clown," she hollered at the boys watering the horses. "He's got
my purse!"
Instead
of helping, the two boys stood agape at the sight of a barefoot woman, full
skirts hiked above her knees, chasing a clown around the back corner of the
cemetery. Hot on his heels, Deanna could only hope the cowboys setting up the
parameters of the competition would recover faster.
"Thief,"
she screamed with what little breath she could afford. Bozo started for the
thick crowd watching the roofing contest between the church and community hall
and then changed his mind, striking out across the barrel-studded ball field,
headed for the high grass and brush beyond.
The
moment's hesitation and his oversized shoes gave Deanna the advantage. Her
heart beat with each step she took across the hard-packed field, thundering in
her ears as if she had four feet instead of two. Her burning lungs were
assailed with as much dust as oxygen, but the thief was almost within her
reach. Just another inch and she'd have him.
***
Impatient,
Shep stood with an armful of the warm, rough shingles, looking up at the team
on the roof, which for some reason had stopped working. "What's the
holdup?" he shouted, his thoughts mingling with those of the other outspoken
members of his team.
"Blow
the horn," Reverend Lawrence ordered from his supervisory perch on the
roof's peak. He repeated himself twice before someone had the presence of mind
to obey him. The one long beep was the signal for all hands to stop where they
were.
"They
can't be finished," one of Shep's teammates exclaimed from the ladder.
The
ranchers had at least three more rows to the crown. Shep made a megaphone with
his cupped hands. "What's the problem?"
The
team leader on the ridge near the back of the church climbed to his feet,
straining to look at something behind the church. "Looks like Ty McCain's
roped himself some clown and a woman in a blue dress in the back lot by the
ball field."
Blue
dress?
Shep
stiffened. Deanna's had matched her eyes. Surely—
"Shep!"
"Shepard!"
From
somewhere in the crowd, two women were shouting his name. He peered over the
sea of bobbing, turning heads when Reverend Lawrence called out to him in an
incredulous tone from his lofty station near the steeple.
"My
heavenly days, Shep, it looks like
your Deanna."
"Shep!"
Reaching through the crowd, Maisy O'Donnall brushed Shep's arm as he shoved
through the bystanders between him and the ball field behind the cemetery.
"Wait!"
Esther
Lawson inserted herself into his path. "Shepard—"
"Not
now, Esther."
He
practically lifted the retired schoolteacher out of his way rather than run her
over, then plowed ahead. A clown... what had Deanna said about a clown smoking
in front of some kids? And where the devil were Voorhees and Kestler? They'd
certainly been gawking at him and Deanna during lunch. Shep had wanted to kiss
the mischief off Deanna's lips more than he wanted the food, but not with those
two as witnesses.
At
the thinned edge of the crowd, he broke into a dead run toward the group of
cowboys gathered around Ty McCain and the dark bay quarter horse that Shep had
trained for his friend. The pressure of the hunting knife Shep had tucked in
his boot reassured him he'd have a weapon if he needed it.
What
in the world were Deanna and a clown—?
He
slowed to an approaching lope. "What's going on here, Ty?
Deanna?"
At
the sound of a plaintive "Shep!" he elbowed a slow-moving cowpoke out
of his way in a protective surge to get to her, rescue her, soothe the tremble
in her voice.
There,
in the middle of the crowd, purse held over her head as she tried to tear her
way out of the rope tangle with the other hand, was the lady in the blue dress
and a clown. The latter struggled with frenzied hands to pull up his large
baggy pants from around his ankles, while a furious Deanna kicked at him.
Suddenly, she brought her knee up under his chin and, taking advantage of the
daze suspending his reaction for a split second, batted him with her purse.
"Take
that, you nose-honking, purse-snatching bozo!"
It
struck Shep that the clown needed more help than Deanna. He sprawled backward,
still tangled in the rope, almost taking her with him. Grabbing the sputtering,
kicking fury by the waist, Shep yanked her free of Ty's lasso and held her
tight as her angry assault dissolved into tears.
"It's
okay, darlin'," Shep cooed against the top of her head as she buried her
face in his shoulder. Beyond them, the clown tried to staunch the blood
trickling from his lower lip.
"He
b-broke into the Jeep an... and took my purse!" she sniffed, pointing
behind her without looking at the downed perpetrator.
"I
tell you, Shep, you got yourself a regular wildcat there," Ty McCain
called out from his saddle. "I rode out to help her, but by the time I let
go of my rope, she had the varmint by the suspenders, slinging him out of his
drawers."
Two
of Ty's friends pulled the groggy comic figure to his feet. "I think you
need to meet our town sheriff," one said, pulling a large silk
handkerchief out of the perp's baggy trousers and handing it to the bleeding
man.
"This
is a hundred-dollar bag here," Deanna raved, as if trying to justify her
uncharacteristic aggression. "I only p...paid twenty for it," she
admitted to Shep, "but that's not the point."
She
was terrified of horses but thought nothing of running down a thief and
recovering her property bare-handed. What a character. "Well, you have it
back and everything is okay, right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"He..."
Stopping
her quivering complaint long enough to pluck the wet towel tucked in the back
of Shep's jeans, she pulled away on her own and loudly blew her nose. Before
Shep and everyone else, her adrenaline-fueled hysteria swung from helpless and
vulnerable back to aggressive and furious again.
"That
coward wouldn't dare." Deanna glared at the thief. "You coulda just
dropped it, you know."
"You
could
have just let him have it," Shep chided, the rashness of Deanna's pursuit
swinging his initial alarm toward annoyance.
"Maybe
that's how you operate out here," she averred, "but in my old
neighborhood, you learned to stand your ground against punks like this or be
stepped on." Wiping her hands on her hips, she marched over to where the
clown stood mute, holding the bloodied wad of silk to his mouth.