Blue Sage (Anne Stuart's Greatest Hits Book 3)

by Anne Stuart

“See for yourself.”

  Ellie peered out the windshield at the crowded park. A stage had been set up behind the draped monument, and a row of chairs held the town dignitaries. Doc was sitting there, dressed up and uncomfortable looking. The town council was firmly in place, and her own seat was empty. Beside it sat Lonnie Olafson, a raincoat covering his army uniform, a small package on his lap.

  If people thought a man wearing a raincoat on a sunny warm day was slightly strange, they had other things occupying their minds. Ellie wanted to scream at them, but no sound came. “He doesn’t have the gun with him,” she said hoarsely. “Whatever it is he’s carrying, it’s too small to be a rifle.”

  “An Uzi would fit very nicely in that box,” Tanner said grimly.

  “An Uzi?”

  “A very small, very deadly machine gun. He’ll make my father look like a piker if he gets a chance to set off that thing in this crowd.”

  “Maybe it’s not...”

  “You want to take any chances?” he countered.

  “No,” said Ellie. “What are we going to do? There’s no way to sneak up behind them. If he sees you he’s bound to open fire.”

  “I know.” His voice was flat, hopeless.

  Ellie shivered in the hot air. “Then he’s going to have to be distracted.”

  “No, Ellie.”

  “Yes. He tried to shoot me before and he couldn’t. I don’t think he could now.”

  “I’m not willing to take that chance,” said Tanner.

  “If I draw his attention,” she continued, ignoring him, “you could sneak up on the other side.”

  “No, Ellie,” he said again, reaching for the ignition.

  It took just the time she needed. “Yes, Tanner.” And she was out of the car and heading for the park before he could grab her.

  She didn’t dare look behind her. If she did she might alert Lonnie that there were two of them. She crossed the street, ignoring the traffic, ignoring the squeal of tires and angry shouts of the tourists, and stepped into the crowded town park.

  At first no one noticed her. The coffee had dried on her pants, the fresh blood had caked on her sleeve. She knew she looked bruised, dirty and desperate, and she didn’t care. Fastening her gaze on Lonnie’s abstracted face, she headed for the stage.

  People began to move aside for her. She could hear the murmur of conversation, the rumble of curiosity and hostility as she made her way toward the monolith. Suddenly Lonnie looked up, straight into her eyes, and his face paled.

  His hands twitched, clutching the package, as he stared at her. His mouth was dry, and he licked his lips, watching, waiting, his hands reaching into the rumpled paper bag.

  Her knee was throbbing, her body covered in a cold sweat, and still she moved ahead. The crowds around her began to quiet as they sensed something was going on. Finally there was only a hum of conversation, a final, stray laugh, and then absolute silence as Ellie neared the crude wooden platform.

  As if in slow motion Lonnie rose. For a moment Ellie wondered whether Tanner had followed, or whether he’d started the car and driven away, leaving the town to their no doubt well-deserved fate. She watched Lonnie move toward her as if mesmerized, the raincoat falling open and revealing the old uniform, his hands deep inside the paperbag, pulling out something compact and metal and hideously deadly.

  Tanner exploded across the stage with the grace and power of a hawk diving for his prey. Lonnie went down beneath him, the wicked gun flew out of his hands and went skidding across the stage to land at Doc’s feet, and the crowd erupted in noise and confusion.

  She had expected more of a battle. Lonnie collapsed beneath Tanner’s body, weeping, kicking his feet like an angry child, sobbing and howling with frustrated rage. His screams of impotent fury were all too clear to the watching crowd, and as the reality of what they’d just been spared sank in, horror grew.

  When Dave Martin finally appeared with two state police Lonnie was no threat to anyone. Tanner rolled off him, twisting Lonnie’s arm up behind his back to keep him docile, but there was no fight left in him. All he could do was weep.

  Ellie stood at the edge of the stage, ignoring the noise and questions around her, ignoring the shivers that were still wracking her body, ignoring the hot, sweet dizziness of relief that threatened to collapse her legs beneath her. All she could see was Tanner.

  He stood there, watching, as Dave and his men led Lonnie away. Doc was with them, talking in a low, soothing voice, and after a moment Tanner turned back, his eyes searching for her.

  Pete Forrester was advancing on him, his burly arm outstretched in a welcoming handshake. Tanner didn’t even spare him a glance. He leaped off the stage, pulling Ellie into his arms, sheltering her trembling body against his, pushing her face into the protection of his shoulder, holding her. They stood like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the noise and crowds faded away, and there were only the two of them, healing each other.

  * * * * *

  “This town has a heap of healing to do,” said Maude. “Maybe now we can get on with it.”

  It was early evening. The shadows were beginning to lengthen on that endless Fourth of July, but the sun wouldn’t set until after ten o’clock, and Tanner and Ellie had plenty of time left. All the time in the world.

  They were sitting side by side on Maude’s porch swing, looking out over the landscape, the wide grasslands leading to the foothills, up into the jagged mountains where they’d first met.

  “You think they have a chance?” Ellie questioned.

  “I think so,” Maude said. “But then, I’m an optimist. I always think there’s hope. Even for poor Lonnie. The state hospital’s the best place for him. Someplace where he can’t hurt anybody.”

  “If Pete Forrester can thank Tanner,” Ellie murmured, “then anything can happen.”

  “Did he really?”

  “He did,” Tanner said. “He told me I was welcome in his place anytime. I told him the best thing Ellie and I could do for Morey’s Falls was to get the hell out and never come back.”

  “Never?” Maude’s voice quavered.

  “Never,” Ellie echoed. “You’ll have to stir yourself and come visit us, Maude. Your great-grandchildren are going to grow up in New Mexico.”

  “So is that devil horse of yours,” she snorted, looking pleased at the thought of progeny. “You sure you don’t want to wait and take him yourself?”

  “Rafael Maderos will do a fine job bringing the horses down to us,” Tanner said. “I practically grew up with him, and I’d trust him with my life. More important, I’d trust him with my horses. Besides, he’ll be the one to drive you down to visit too; you might as well get used to him. And admit it, you’re going to miss Shaitan.”

  “I’m going to miss you and Ellie, period,” she said flatly. “Poor Lonnie,” she added, for what was probably the twentieth time. “I’ll go bring us some more coffee.” The screen door bounced shut behind her spry figure.

  “Poor Lonnie,” Ellie agreed. “I guess he just wanted someone to pay attention to him.”

  “He’s got that all right,” Tanner said. “He’ll get all the attention and help he needs—the kind my father could have used.” There was no bitterness in his voice, only acceptance. Ellie looked over at him and smiled. The past had finally begun to release its stranglehold, on him, on her.

  “You sure you’re not marrying me for my horses?” she asked lightly.

  “Who said anything about marriage, woman?” he mocked.

  “My children are going to be named Tanner,” she said firmly. “And the next time you get the urge to go walking, I’m going with you.”

  “What about your leg?”

  She grimaced. “You know as well as I do that once I’m away from Morey’s Falls I’ll hardly notice it. Don’t worry, I’ll be able to keep up with you.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’m going to need to be doing too much walking in the future,” he murmured, taking her hand and caress
ing the rope burns that still lingered on her narrow wrist. “Not if you’re certain you know what you’re doing.” The levity was gone from his voice, and his eyes were no longer icy as the north wind, they were the soft gray-blue of the fragrant sage around them.

  “I’m certain,” she said. And she moved into his arms with the grace and sureness of the sun moving across the wide blue Montana sky, knowing she was home at last.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-two

  * * *

  Spring came early to the Sangre de Cristo mountains. The sky, surely as big and as blue as Montana’s fabled sky, was cloudless, bright and sunny, and the acres and acres of land surrounding the Walking Horse Ranch blossomed with the promise of the new season.

  Ellie leaned back in the wicker rocker and propped her bare feet on the porch railing. Wiggling her toes in the early-morning sunlight, she contemplated the last ten months. Instead of the adobe house she’d expected, she’d discovered a Texas-style ranch house. Instead of a frail, dying old man she’d found Alfred, still full of vinegar, determined to fight his way back from the last debilitating stroke and welcome Tanner’s new wife properly. He’d done it, and they’d had a good, happy six months as a family before he’d died, peacefully enough in his sleep on New Year’s Day.

  Tanner had had no need to marry her for Shaitan. His breeding stock was fully Shaitan’s equal, and if neither of Tanner’s stallions had a glorious black coat or quite the imposing height of Ellie’s horse, their temperaments were a decided improvement.

  She wished she could say the same thing for Tanner. She’d seen it coming for the past two months, the faraway look in his eyes, the abstraction, the distance she couldn’t seem to bridge. Something was calling him, something she couldn’t fight, and she was trying her hardest to resign herself to his going.

  The ranch would be fine. Even without Alfred, the place was so well-organized that it ran like clockwork. Rafael knew as much about horses as Tanner did, and the others were equally adept. It hadn’t taken Ellie long to take over the book work, and she knew she was more than capable of making any executive decisions that needed to be made while Tanner walked.

  He hadn’t said a word to her yet, but then, he didn’t need to. She knew him well, knew the worst thing she could do was try to hold him back. If she fought it, if she tried to tie him to her, someday he’d walk away and never come back. If she let him go with loving hands, he’d always return to her.

  The last thing he needed to hear at that moment was that she was going to have a baby. It would be one more thing pulling on him, one more thing holding him back. He wasn’t ready for fatherhood, he’d told her at Christmas when she’d asked if they could try to have a child. He wasn’t ready to face Charles Tanner’s grandchild, not quite yet. Maybe never.

  Would he blame her when he found out? It hadn’t been her fault. They’d been in the barn, alone one evening, when he’d picked her up and tossed her into the hayloft, falling after her, dismissing her word of caution. If nothing had happened in Montana, surely they’d be safe this one last time.

  They weren’t. And her fault or not, she couldn’t tell him. She could only touch her still-flat stomach and try to contain the strange mixture of fear and elation that swept over her at the very thought.

  The coffee beside her had grown cool and oily. Apparently everyone at the ranch liked coffee that resembled paint thinner, and Ellie had learned to tolerate it. But with her stomach just the tiniest bit hesitant, she couldn’t drink much anymore.

  The sun was climbing higher in the sky. Rafael’s portly wife would be dishing up breakfast before long, and it was time for Ellie to stir her indolent body. She should be in giving Melora a hand, but couldn’t resist stealing the last few moments of peace in her busy day. She cherished the early morning, with the men busy down at the barn, the smells of breakfast from the big ranch kitchen, the slowly brightening sky.

  Tanner was walking up alone from the barn. She watched him approach, and once more felt the familiar clutching deep inside her, a bittersweet feeling of longing and resignation.

  His hat was down low as he crossed the flat stretch of ground, but he knew she was there, watching him. There was something different about that rangy walk of his, a new ease and determination. And Ellie steeled herself for the worst.

  The old porch creaked as he climbed the front steps. He usually went in the kitchen door with the other men, to wash up in the big sink out back, but today was different. He wasn’t wearing his barn boots either. He was wearing hiking shoes.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. If she did she’d cry. She looked out over the peaceful setting, the early-morning sky, and waited.

  He put his hand on her shoulder, the weight of it heavy and solid, and she leaned her cheek against his hand. “When are you going?” she asked quietly.

  “Now.”

  She couldn’t help the little spasm of pain that swept through her, and his fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Okay,” she said, and pressed her lips against the back of his hand.

  “I’ll be back, you know,” His voice sounded tight, strained, as if he were the one in pain.

  She looked up at him then, knowing there were tears swimming in her eyes, looked up anyway and smiled. “I know,” she said.

  * * * * *

  The end of April slipped quietly into May, and the mountains came alive with spring. Ellie passed the third month mark in her pregnancy with a sigh of relief, turning her concentration to the new generation of foals being born at the Walking Horse Ranch. Shaitan was about to become a father for the first time, and Ellie viewed the event with almost as much trepidation as she did her own upcoming parenthood. The mare, Alfred’s Folly, had refused to be covered by any stallion until she’d seen Shaitan, and Rafael had doubts about her qualifications as a mother.

  Ellie had no such doubts. Alfred’s Folly, so named because of her refusal to breed, would be a fine mother. Whether she’d ever let another stallion near her was a different matter, and Shaitan was being absurdly possessive, but it wasn’t worth worrying about for now.

  May turned into June, and the days grew blazingly hot. Ellie told herself she was too busy to miss Tanner, and she knew she lied. She was tired and lonely, and she sat behind the big old mission oak desk in the ranch office and thought longingly of Montana, of the hidden meadow and the cool weather.

  And then she remembered the town monument, the anger and paranoia and pain and death that had haunted the town for so long. According to Maude’s letters, things were improving. The Gazette had been taken over by a young couple with two kids, Pete Forrester had stopped haunting the graveyard, and there was even some talk of a ski area being built less than twenty miles away. While it might hurt the land, it would bring jobs and people into the area, and Ellie could only be glad.

  Even Lonnie was slowly improving. For six months he’d sat in the state hospital and spoken not a word. Now he was talking, working things out. Whether he’d ever be well enough to live a normal life was still up in the air, but Ellie, remembering the good years, remembering the real sweetness that lay beneath the anger and madness, could only hope so.

  She hadn’t told Maude that Tanner had left, but she knew she couldn’t put it off much longer. Maude was itching to visit, demanding to know when she was going to be a great-grandmother, wanting to know what was going on in New Mexico. Morey’s Falls was boring nowadays, she wrote. Even Ginger Barlow had settled down, marrying a meat salesman and becoming downright domestic. Doc hadn’t been feeling too chipper lately, but there was a new widow in town, one who seemed to think she was just what he needed, and maybe there’d be another wedding before long.

  There’d been no word from Tanner, but then, Ellie hadn’t expected there to be. All she could do was wait and accept it.

  It was another early morning on the ranch. Ellie was dressed, but just barely, carrying her coffee out onto the front porch when Rafael came charging up, panting heavily. “It’s Folly,�
�� he wheezed. “She’s ready. Better come quick.”

  Ellie set the coffee down hurriedly, ignoring the pain as the scalding liquid splashed on her hand. “Shouldn’t we call a vet? I’ll go…”

  “No way. Foals get born in five to ten minutes—there wouldn’t be time for anyone to get here.”

  “But what if she has trouble?” Ellie protested. For some reason Folly’s pregnancy had taken on enormous importance to her, as if it were a precursor of her own.

  “If she has trouble, we’ll have to take care of it,” Rafael said. “And we’ll have to pray.”

  “I can manage that much,” Ellie said. “Let’s go.”

  Rafael hadn’t exaggerated. Folly was already down. Ellie and Rafael knelt in the straw, near enough to reach her if needed, careful not to get in the way.

  Ellie didn’t know when he came in, so intent was she on the miraculous drama that was unfolding so very quickly in front of her. For a moment the light from the door was blocked out, and then it was bright again. And Tanner was beside her in the straw, not touching her, watching with the same silent intensity.

  Rafael grinned over his shoulder in welcome, accustomed to Tanner’s comings and goings. Ellie remained motionless wanting to scream and cry in joy, wanting to rage and hit him.

  In the end it took Alfred’s Folly seven and a half minutes to give birth to an impossibly long-legged colt with the ease and dispatch of a pro. Ellie scarcely breathed as it tried to struggle to its feet.

  “We don’t consider it a live birth until it’s standing and drinking from its mother,” Tanner said, his voice a deep rumble in the quiet barn.

  “What if she won’t let him drink?” Rafael fretted, still not trusting the recalcitrant mare.

  “She will,” Ellie said firmly.

  It took another endless few minutes, and for a moment it looked as if Ellie’s trust was misplaced, as Folly stared at her gangly offspring with suspicion.

  “Come on,” Ellie muttered under her breath. She reached out, knowing Tanner’s hand would be there, and held it tightly. “Come on, Folly.”