Carried Away (Montana Miracles Book 1)

by Grace Walton

Thankfully the lunch monitor was giving Carrie the signal to leave. She shoved her lunch back into the brown paper bag and stood to leave.

  “All I can say ladies, is that he didn’t seem like the kind of guy you’d want to meet in a dark alley,” Carrie sniffed self-righteously. It was the truth. Gage Ferguson wasn’t a nice man.

  “Ooohh not me, I’d love to meet him in a dark alley,” laughed Ruthie provocatively.

  Carrie shook her head as she turned to step down to the cafeteria. Her students were all playing and fighting by the door. She clapped three times. They all got quickly in line.

  “Ok everybody. Listen carefully.” She was using her teacher voice. It was amazing she’d only been doing this a week. She was really starting to get the hang of this teacher thing.

  “We have two choices,” they groaned.

  “We can walk down the halls like quiet, well behaved people. Then go right out to recess,” she paused and then continued. “Or we can go down the halls like a noisy herd of buffalo and take a nap,” she paused again. “What do you choose?”

  “Quiet people,” they all yelled at once.

  “Ok, we’ll see.” She took her place at the front of the line. With her hands clasped behind her back she started slowly down the halls. It was during times like this Carrie wondered if she was going to spend the rest of her life walking down a beige colored hall with beige colored carpet, her hands clenched behind her back. Life had certainly not turned out the way she’d planned.

  Sighing, she shepherded the children into the bathroom with a stern admonition to ‘wash your hands when you’re done’. Then she started tying shoes and buttoning buttons and zipping zippers. It still amazed her that a huge five year old weighing at least 78lbs could not zip his own pants. After they had all taken one final drink at the water fountain, she announced.

  “Well, it looks like you are a group of well-behaved people today and not a herd of buffalo. Let’s go outside.” Cheers erupted. The line quickly formed once again. Carrie opened the big double doors leading to the playground and walked the kids outside. It was an incredible fall day. The leaves were just starting to turn brilliant colors and the sky was a perfect blue.

  The path to the playground was well worn and free of grass. It led to an area directly behind the school. There were two nice big trees for shade. Between them was the unofficial teacher’s bench. Carrie sat down in the middle and was soon surrounded by little girls. The boys were yelling and play fighting with each other. They pointed their fingers and made shooting sounds as they chased each other. It was a nice day for Montana, Carrie decided as she helped a girl get her ponytail holder back in place. It wasn’t Tahiti, but it had its good points.

  She actually had a house here, with a real yard. True, there was no doorman to greet her when she came home. But there were no autograph seekers either. She didn’t have to wear a wig and dark glasses when she went to the grocery store here. But the brown contact lenses and the heavy horn rim glasses were just as bad. The worst was the clothes. She was wearing what Ruthie and Patsy called ‘the teacher uniform’. It consisted of a straight baggy jumper. The jumpers came in denim or a similar sturdy fabric. They were usually in plaids or solid colors with cutesy appliqués such as apples, schoolhouses, or sunflowers. Under the jumper was the prerequisite 100% cotton tee shirt. Short sleeved for spring, long sleeved when winter arrived. To round out this ensemble a teacher wore socks, ruffles were optional, and white running shoes. Carrie imagined teachers in more sophisticated areas probably dressed like business professionals. But here in rural Montana the ubiquitous jumper was about as professional as it got.

  To say she would have killed to get her hands on a designer suit, preferably something French, was a gross understatement. At least she hadn’t had to cut and dye her hair. The Witness Protection people had instructed her to get rid of her glorious mane. It was too recognizable. But Carrie had stood her ground. Slicked back and braided it was hard to tell what color it was. She liked to think it looked sort of chic. But Carrie was smart enough to know that folks around Burnt Hickory didn’t know chic.

  Ruthie and Patsy had asked her on the first day of school if she was in one of those primitive religious denominations. One that wouldn’t let women cut their hair. The huge gold cross she wore around her neck, the hair, and the total lack of makeup had fooled them.

  It’d been hard not to laugh. She wondered what they’d think if they knew the necklace was really a global positioning system. The Witness Protection people had insisted she wear one.

  It made Carrie feel even more of a fraud than the rest of her disguise. She’d never been radically outspoken about her feelings toward religion. She’d been mostly disinterested. Well… disinterested since she’d turned twelve and her mother had died. Anyway, who’d believe the famous Caroline would be religious? That would be the day.

  Three short wails of the intercom system blasted through the outdoor speakers on the playground. As the children ran to her in confusion, she tried desperately to remember what that particular code meant. The principal had handed her a printout of all the school codes in the spring when she had begun new teacher orientation. The list had covered everything from fire drills to intruder alerts. All the administrators had a personal code and the janitor also had a code. She couldn’t remember what three blasts meant. Then Carrie heard the principal’s voice over the system. The woman sounded strained, but professional.

  “This is a message to all dolphin pals. Red Alert. I repeat Red Alert.” The sounds of gunfire abruptly ended the message. The students on the playground all started wailing at once.

  “What did that mean Miss Smith?”

  “What’s Red Alert?”

  “I want my mommy!!”

  “What was that great big noise, Miss Smith?”

  Carrie took control of the group by clapping her hands 3 times. “Children get in line and follow me. No talking.”

  Her voice was stern enough to demand their instant obedience. She didn’t have to remember a code to know what was going on. Someone had a gun in the school. She needed to get the kids somewhere protected and she needed her cell phone. Every survival skill her Dad had insisted on teaching her was suddenly racing through her mind. All those endless drills she had complained about as a teenager seemed to be second nature now.

  “Ok kids,” she spoke in a calm quiet voice. “We’re going to play a game.” Their little faces seemed pale and round as they nodded.

  “I’m going to count to three and everybody is going to hide on the playground equipment. You cannot move or make a sound until I come back. Do you understand?” They nodded in unison. “One, two, three,” she spoke softly.

  On three, they all ran to the playground equipment and hid. Carrie stayed to make sure no one was visible. Most of the children were hiding in the covered castle top of the spiral slide. The others had packed into the fort and were crouched down below the solid guardrails.

  “Ok, remember, stay put until I get back and no talking,” Carrie ordered. Turning, she sprinted in the direction of the parking lot. If she could get into her car and get her phone, she could call for help. Why had she left it there this morning? She’d been so intent on being in her classroom early she’d just forgotten it.

  She knew she had broken the cardinal rule about not leaving students unattended. But common sense and her Dad’s training told her, if the office was under siege, she might be the only one who could get a call out.

  Pausing at the corner of the rectangular building she scanned the parking lot. Nothing unusual was happening there. Whoever had fired the gun must have come up to the front of the building where the bus lanes were. That gave her an advantage, because the side parking lot was not visible to people using the front entrance.

  Carrie crouched and ran to her beat up little car. It was old and ugly, but reliable and nondescript. The folks who had placed her here in Montana had provided it. They’d liked the nondescript part best. She fished her key out of o
ne of the deep jumper pockets. Snagging the bulky key ring, she silently thanked her Dad for making her promise to always carry her keys in a pocket and not just dump them in the bottom of a purse.

  Key ready, she snaked her hand up to the lock on the door. A quick turn and she was able to pull the door open. She grabbed the cell phone from under her seat. She hit the speed dial button and silently prayed as she heard it ring.

  “Be there Uncle Mac. Please be there,” she muttered softly. Finally, she heard a rough voice on the other end.

  “What?” It barked.

  “Uncle Mac?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Carrie?” suddenly the man sounded gentle. “Carrie, is that you girl?”

  “Yes.” She was breathless with fear. “Uncle Mac I need you. I need you to help me.”

  “Sure, Doll. You know I’ll do anything. Where are you? I’ve been looking for you since your Dad… well, I’ve been trying to find you.”

  “I can’t explain right now Uncle Mac, I will tell you everything… I promise. But right now I really need your help.”

  “Ok Doll, ok, calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Uncle Mac, I’m teaching kindergarten in a grade school in Burnt Hickory, Montana.”

  “What??’ He sounded totally flummoxed.

  “I’m one of the kindergarten teachers in Burnt Hickory Montana. And we’ve just had gun shots in the office. I don’t know if it’s about me, or if it’s an irate parent, or if a kid got mad and brought a gun to school. But I really, really need you to help me.”

  “I’m on it, Carrie.” He tried to sound confident as he frantically wondered who he knew in that part of the country. There were guys all over who owed him a favor, mostly ex-military types, a few professional bodyguards, and the odd merc or two.

  “Carrie, it might take me a minute or two to get somebody to you. For now, call 911 and report an emergency.”

  “I can’t Uncle Mac. I’m in Witness Protection. My name is Smith here.”

  “Witness Protection?” the man on the phone didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I promise, I will tell you everything when this is over,” she said.

  “Can you get to your contact?” He was still searching his mental files for somebody, anybody in Montana.

  “No, I can’t,” Carrie whispered frantically.

  “Why?” he asked bluntly, knowing that she should have a fail-safe way to get help.

  She knew she could push the little hidden lever on the GPS and the Witness Protection people would be swarming over the school in less than an hour. But chances were pretty good she didn’t have an hour to seek help for the folks in the school and herself. Waiting might be fatal for them all.

  “Uncle Mac, what’s better for the bad guys, a hidden witness or a dead witness? I’m kind of trying to keep a low profile here.” She knew she was being sarcastic. But she couldn’t help it at the moment.

  “Carrie, let them protect you. That’s their job,” he argued calmly. Mac sure would like to know why his best friend’s daughter was hiding in the federal Witness Protection program.

  “No Uncle Mac.” She sounded a little like her old man. “I think there’s a leak. Things have happened.”

  “Things?” he wanted to know more.

  “Uncle Mac, I can’t talk. I need help… now.” She ducked her head at the sound of another burst of gunfire. It seemed like it was coming from a classroom this time.

  “Uncle Mac, I’ve got to get back to my kids. I need your help.” She pressed a button on the cell phone and ended the conversation.

  Mac Daniel cursed the dead phone in his hand and reached for the old fashioned circular file on his desk. He might have retired 20 years ago, but he still had the contacts. He flipped through the M’s. The only number he had in Montana was for a guy ten years his senior. A trained old codger was better than nothing, and Mac had nobody else. He quickly dialed the number. After 8 rings the phone was answered.

  “Hello?” the voice quavered. Mac rolled his eyes, knowing instantly this man wasn’t going to be able to rescue his goddaughter.

  “This is General Mac Daniel. Can I speak to Colonel Ray Evans?”

  “Mac?” The voice sounded stronger. “This is Ray. How in the world are you?”

  “I’m good Ray, but my goddaughter’s not.” He wasn’t going to waste any time. If Ray couldn’t help him, Mac had to keep looking.

  “Huh?” The old man seemed befuddled.

  “Hank Cain’s daughter is in trouble in your part of the world Ray. And I need someone to get her out of it.”

  “Little Carrie?” he asked. “I heard about Hank… that was bad, real bad.”

  “Yeah, it was. Can you help?” He knew it was a long shot. Maybe Ray was in better shape than he sounded.

  “Mac, I guess you haven’t heard. I had a stroke last year. I’m in a wheelchair now.” The words were said with no self-pity.

  “I’m sorry Ray,” Mac swallowed and kept talking “I’m sorry to hear that, I wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d known.”

  “It’s no bother,” the older man said robustly. “I can’t help. But I know somebody who can- if I can catch him in country, between jobs.”

  “Yeah,” Mac sounded relieved. “It’s a bad situation Ray. I won’t lie to you. She’s a public school teacher now. She called me from her cell phone. She says the school is under attack. Shots fired, the whole works.” He heard the older man curse at that information. “I know Ray, I know. It’s a mess and I’m sitting here in Florida.”

  “That’s ok Mac, Maybe I can handle this one.” There was a stubborn pride in his voice. “Where is she?”

  “Carrie says she is a kindergarten teacher in Burnt Hickory, Montana. I gather there’s only one elementary school there.” He stopped to grab a breath. “I don’t know what name, she’s using but tell your guy he won’t be able to miss her. She’s tall and very beautiful.”

  “I remember seeing her picture in one of those celebrity magazines,” Ray agreed. “I’m sure he’ll be able to recognize her. Let me go so I can get him started.”

  “I owe you Ray.” Mac knew it was the truth.

  “Yeah, you sure do.” The old man cackled as the phone went dead. Ray listened for a new dial tone and then carefully pressed the big numbers on his phone.

  On the Black Knife Ranch

  The shrill ring of the phone in his saddlebag spooked the big spotted horse he was riding. Gage cursed under his breath while keeping a firm grip on the reins in his right hand. He muttered soothing noises to the horse as he reached back and retrieved the phone. Flipping it open he growled into the receiver.

  “This better be important.” By way of a greeting it lacked a lot. But on the other end of the line the old man smiled.

  “Gage,” Ray explained. “This is Ray Evans.”

  “Colonel Evans. What can I do for you?” His tone had changed from irritation to guarded interest. Ray Evans was a legend in the black ops world. There wasn’t even a name for what he had done- it was that deep cover.

  “I need a favor Gage.”

  “It’s yours,” he assured without asking for details.

  “I appreciate your willingness to help, but let me explain first.” The older man stopped for a minute to think how to go on. “A buddy of mine called to tell me one of our mutual friends has a daughter in trouble out there in Montana.”

  “What kind of trouble?” He sounded suspicious.

  “Not the kind you’re thinking,” Ray said sourly, knowing what the other man was probably thinking. “This has nothing to do with a baby, or an unwilling bridegroom.”

  “Fine,” Gage said. “I’ll do it, tell me the details.” He turned the horse towards the barn and urged it into an easy lope.

  “Are you sure?” The old man hesitated. “I’ve heard you’re sort of busy these days.” He let the words fall and waited to see what would come of it.

  Gage frowned, “Who me?”

  Ray knew a bluff
when he heard one. “Yeah, I heard you were doing a little freelancing.”

  “Oh yeah?” There was an awkward silence before he continued, “So, you need me or not?”

  Ray was satisfied. He wasn’t against a man making a living even if it was an unsavory business he’d heard Gage was caught up in. He’d personally never hired out, but he didn’t fault those who did. And right now he was between a rock and a hard place. At the moment Gage Ferguson looked like a Knight in Shining Armor.

  “She’s a kindergarten teacher in Burnt Hickory. That’s close to your ranch right?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “She says the school is under attack. She’s calling out on a cell phone. She’s reporting gunfire in the building,” Ray explained patiently.

  “I can be there in ten minutes,” Gage answered. He spurred the horse to a flat out run. Soon he saw the barn coming into view over a rise in the pasture. “Who am I looking for and why hasn’t the sheriff been called?”

  “For all I know, the sheriff may already be there,” Ray answered in frustration. “You’ll know Carrie when you see her. She’s pretty impossible to miss.”

  “What do you mean ‘impossible to miss’?” He’d reached the barn. He dropped off the skittish horse with a lithe easy grace. He motioned for a cowhand to come and take his mount. He was already striding to his truck.

  “She’s using the name Smith there. But her professional name is ‘Caroline’. She’s a model,” Ray answered.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of her,” He answered urbanely as he cranked the truck. Every man on the planet had heard of Caroline. And most of them had mourned when she’d announced she was planning a more private life and ending her career several years ago. She’d dropped out of sight. He knew that more than most. He’d been trailing her for a while now. Sometimes life was just so perfect, he thought. Here he’d been searching for her and now she’d just fallen into his lap, so to speak.

  “So, what’s she doing teaching kindergarten in Montana?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” the other man admitted.

  Gage had the truck up to 95 as he steered it down the long ranch black top leading to a county road. Once he turned onto that road, he gunned the motor higher and made sure he’d only use the ten minutes he had allotted to get to the elementary school. He pulled the beat up Stetson low over his eyes and spoke into the phone.