Sheriff’s Runaway Witness

by Kathleen Creighton

  In the time it took to draw two good breaths, she sized him up: Old, but still looks fairly fit, especially sitting up there on that horse. Big, but he looks like he used to be bigger. Age has shrunk him.

  And this one really does look like John Wayne.

  He wore a cowboy hat and a leather vest hanging open over blue denim shirt and jeans. His hair was gray-almost white-and hung well over his collar. He hadn’t shaved in a while.

  “I’m not trespassing,” she said.

  The old man threw back his head and laughed out loud.

  Annoyed rather than reassured, Rachel straightened and let her feet drop back into the water. “Why is that funny?”

  “It isn’t,” the old man drawled in a cracking voice. “You just reminded me of somebody I used to know.” He leaned across the saddle horn and nodded with his head in the direction she’d come from. “You’d be from up at the big house, I expect. Kin to old Sam Malone.”

  Her heart had accelerated again, but she tried to keep any traces of eagerness out of her voice. “Do you-did you-know him?”

  The old man scratched his chin whiskers and considered. “Yep. Sure. Used to know him well. ’Course, that was before he turned into a crazy old cuss.”

  Rachel said dryly, “Childhood friend, huh?” The old man gave another bark of laughter.

  “That your dog?” He nodded toward Moonshine, who was still lounging in the shade, seemingly unconcerned by the stranger’s sudden appearance.

  “No, she belongs to a…friend.” Some watchdog you are, she thought.

  “Used to have a dog like that. Long time ago-when I was a kid.” He sounded regretful, and his eyes had gone faraway and sad.

  Feeling an obscure desire to cheer him, Rachel said, blatantly teasing, “Couldn’t have been all that long ago, then.”

  The old man reared back and glared fiercely down at her from his high saddle. “Young woman, are you flirting with me?”

  She smiled, not at all intimidated. “Yes, I believe I am.”

  He snorted. “Why, I’m old enough to be your grandpa.”

  Rachel sighed. “I kind of wish you were. I mean, instead of the ‘crazy old cuss’ who is my grandfather.”

  His eyes narrowed, and even with the whiskers and the width of the creek between them she could see a smile play around the corners of his mouth. “Now, missy, why would you say a thing like that? You don’t know me from Adam.”

  She lifted her head to look at him, shaking her braid back over her shoulder. “I don’t-didn’t know him, either,” she said evenly. “But I know he hurt someone I love dearly.”

  There was a pause, then the old man nodded and looked away. “I can believe that. Yep…I can believe that.” After a moment he sighed and his head swiveled back to her. “What makes you think I haven’t hurt my share of good people in my lifetime, too?”

  She leaned back on her hands and regarded him, thinking about it. “I don’t know…you just don’t seem like you would. Not on purpose, anyway.”

  He made a sound-a bark of laughter. “Not now, maybe. But, listen, I was a different person in my younger days. Maybe you wouldn’t have thought so well of me if you’d known me back then.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, and stubbornly added, “but then again, maybe I would.”

  She was surprised when he laughed again, that deep in the belly, head thrown back guffaw that made him seem years younger than she knew he probably was. “You sure do remind me of someone I used to know.”

  “Yeah? Who’s that?”

  “Missy,” he said, leaning across the saddle horn, squinting at her with one eye, “I don’t know you well enough to tell you that.”

  “You know,” she retorted, “you remind me of someone, too.” And she had to smile.

  “Yeah? Who’s that?” Mocking her.

  Her smile broadened; laughter tickled beneath her breast-bone. “John Wayne.”

  The old man laughed again-not a guffaw but a different kind of laugh and it faded quickly. Somberly, he said, “The Duke was a helluva man. I was-I’d a’ been proud to stand in his shadow.”

  Before Rachel could respond to that, they both heard a distant whistle. Moonshine lurched to attention, staring back up the slope toward the ranch house.

  “Yeah,” the old man drawled, nodding in the same direction, “that’ll be your ‘friend,’ I expect. Looking for his dog.” His eyes slid sideways, coming back to rest on Rachel. “Or, maybe it’s you he’s lookin’ for.”

  She muttered a denial under her breath, and he smiled, showing strong, even teeth among the whiskers. “You know, missy, there’s worse things than a man who thinks enough of a woman to want to keep her safe.”

  He touched a finger to his hat brim and went riding off, quickly disappearing behind the thicket of willows and cottonwoods.

  Rachel stuffed her feet into her shoes and slid off the rock, discovering only then how oddly quivery she felt inside. More unsettled by her unexpected visitor than she realized, evidently. Something nagged at her, but J.J. was coming, and for the life of her, she couldn’t think what it was…

  As she climbed up the steeper slope of the creek bed, she could see him making his way across the meadow, and Moonshine trotting out to meet him. The horses had moved away down to the far end of the meadow. Her steps slowed, then stopped, without her being aware of telling them to, and as she stood watching the tall figure of the sheriff come toward her, she realized she wasn’t angry with him for coming to find her, or even mildly annoyed. What she felt instead, she was almost sure, was pleasure. She put one hand over her mouth to hide a smile as J.J. stepped carefully around something-a pile of cow or horse manure-and pressed the other against the spreading warmth in her still spongy middle, and thought about what the old man said about a man who thinks enough of a woman to want to keep her safe.

  Did Nicky? About me? I honestly don’t know…

  But…honestly? She was pretty sure Nicky hadn’t thought much about anyone but himself.

  I’m not going to say anything to make her mad.

  That had been the thought uppermost in J.J.’s mind as he picked his way through the minefield of cow pies and horse apples. He was determined not to scold her for going out alone, after he’d expressly told her not to. He kept reminding himself she was a grown woman, and just because she was his witness-potentially-didn’t give him the right to treat her like his prisoner. Or a child.

  Not that he thought of her that way. Far from it. He paused, with Moonshine panting juicily at his side, and watched her come closer, and he thought he’d never seen anyone look less childlike. In spite of her small stature, she seemed to him the very picture of womanhood-cheeks pink and eyes bright, the sun striking fire in her shiny dark hair…figure lush and full beneath the loose-fitting top she wore, molded to her body now by the breeze.

  He waited for her to get close enough, then told her, with an unexpected gruffness in his voice, “I’ve got some news about your friend. Thought you’d want to know.”

  She halted, and a look he was familiar with flashed across her face. Guilt. She’d forgotten all about her friend Izzy, he could see that. At least for a moment.

  Concern instantly replaced the guilt. “Is she-”

  “She’s fine. Evidently you were right about Carlos, at least as far as his feelings about harming nuns go. She’s back working at her clinic, none the worse for wear.”

  “Her car-”

  “I’ve made arrangements for it to be returned to her.”

  She closed her eyes, put a hand to her forehead and breathed a fervent, “Thank you.”

  Then there was a moment…a silent, awkward moment… while she simply gazed at him, lips slightly parted, as if there was something more she wanted to say. A suspenseful moment, when it almost seemed to J.J. she was leaning toward him. Then she reached up and touched his face.

  He jerked back, and a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding came gusting from his chest.

  “Oh. Sorry-” Sh
e pressed her fingertips to her lips but they failed to hide the smile that had formed there. “You, um…you had…there was some toilet paper. A little bit. Right there. I guess you cut yourself shaving. Again.”

  “Oh-yeah.” He laughed without humor, touching the spot that still felt the imprint of her fingers.

  “You do that a lot, I’ve noticed.” He could see the hint of a dimple in her cheek as she turned to begin strolling back toward the house.

  He fell in beside her, and Moonshine hauled herself out of the grass and padded along behind. “Yeah…” he drawled, “guess I’m kind of out of practice doing that kind of thing. Shaving.”

  She threw him a look. “How come?”

  He snorted, thinking how dumb his little rebellion seemed now. “Not important.” He walked a bit, then tossed away a grass stem he’d been fiddling with. He felt compelled to add, “Might not believe it now, but used to be…back when I was on the detective squad…I could clean up pretty good. You know-military haircut, suit and tie…the works.”

  She turned to give him another look, a longer one, this time, shading her eyes with one hand against the morning sun. A measuring look, he thought, and felt a curious stirring low in his body.

  “Did you like doing that?”

  He hadn’t expected that particular question, and had to think about it. After a moment he shrugged and said, “It went with the job. And I did like doing that.”

  She didn’t say anything for several steps. Then, without looking at him: “Do you really hate it so much? Being out here, I mean?”

  “Out ‘here’?” He waved a hand and managed a smile of sorts. “You mean, out there-in the freakin’ desert? What’s not to hate?”

  She glanced at him, then looked away quickly, and he realized that for some reason his answer was important to her. And without fully understanding why, he found he really wanted to give her an honest answer, if he could. So he thought about it for a while. Then he said slowly, “Okay…maybe there are some things-one or two-I’d keep. Old Moonshine, there, being one. But…thing is, I liked putting killers behind bars.” A knot had formed in his chest, and he had to clench his teeth and use some force to push words past it. “I really did like doing that. And out here-” He hitched in a breath, forced another smile he didn’t feel. “Anyway, I really want to get back to that, someday.”

  And you’re the one who’s going to help me do that. God willing and I play my cards right.

  He was going to have to tell her that, soon, and start asking the questions that would change everything between them. Questions that would put him firmly on one side of the law and order divide, and her on the other. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it just then. Not yet, he told himself, without knowing why he dreaded it so. Not yet.

  He noticed she’d gone quiet, and that the brightness and smiles had gone away. He wondered if she’d somehow picked up on the guilt he was feeling, which naturally made him feel that much guiltier. He tried to think of something he could say, something they could talk about, something…ordinary. Like…small talk. But he couldn’t think of a thing, and it occurred to him that maybe somehow their relationship had bypassed the small talk stage. He didn’t know if that was a good thing, or a bad one.

  They’d almost reached the fence when she hitched in a breath, like a preamble to something momentous, and then came out with, “I saw a man, just now. Down by the creek.”

  He halted in his tracks. “What? What do you mean, you saw a man? Who was he? Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  She let out the breath in an impatient gust. “Because I knew you’d do this-overreact. And he was harmless-just an old guy on a horse.”

  “So, why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I thought I should. Look, don’t make a big deal out of it. I was resting by the creek, and he stopped to say hello. I think he must be a neighbor-he said he knew my-knew Sam Malone.”

  “Neighbor?” J.J. waved his arm in a wide arc. “Do you see any neighbors around here?” He paused, fighting for calm. “Okay. You said he was on a horse? Did he give you his name?”

  Uncertainty crossed her face. “Well, no, I didn’t…”

  He swore under his breath. “What did he look like?”

  “Um…don’t laugh, okay?” He didn’t tell her laughing was the furthest thing from his mind; he figured she already knew that. In stony silence he watched her bite her lower lip, watched a smile duel with a grimace. “He looked like John Wayne.”

  He smacked a hand to his forehead. “Oh, for-”

  “Except old,” she added quickly. “Longish whitish hair…beard… But, he was nice, I swear. Quite a character.” She paused and added with a touch of defiance, “I liked him.”

  He folded his arms on his chest and looked at her, and she looked right back at him, not budging an inch. And it took about ten seconds of that before he realized he wasn’t as annoyed with her as he should have been, and that what he wanted to do more than anything was haul her in and kiss her right where she stood.

  “Well, okay-this time,” he said finally, on an exhalation of surrender, “but you need to take a cell phone with you when you go out from now on. Will you do that for me, at least?”

  She let out a breath, too. “I was going to ask you about that. I need to get one.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay…good.”

  Since it seemed they’d arrived at a truce of sorts, he turned to the fence and slipped easily between two strands of barbed wire. Then he put his foot on the middle strand and pulled up on the top one to make a space for Rachel to get through. She gave him a grateful look and stooped down to climb through the opening, but he could see she needed something to hold to steady her, so he just naturally gave her his free hand.

  Hanging on to him, she managed to get halfway through the fence before she lost her balance. Then he had to let go of the top wire in order to grab her and keep her from falling, so of course then one of the barbs got caught in her hair. By the time he’d got her extricated from the fence and standing on her own two feet, he was sweaty and flustered and so was she. And somehow or other, she’d wound up pretty much in his arms.

  For a long moment, neither of them seemed inclined to do anything about that, even though J.J. knew he ought to. That he had to. Because one thing he could not do was go on standing there with his arms around her and her body warm and damp and soft against him. Things would happen, then, he knew, that would make it next to impossible for him to ever put her on the other side of that law and order divide. So he mustered all his willpower and eased up his hold on her.

  For a moment she stayed where she was, not moving away from him, just looking up at him, cheeks pink and lips parted, as if there was something urgent she had to say. Instead, suddenly she sucked in breath in a sharp gasp and pushed away, one hand on her blouse, right over her breasts. She glanced down at herself, then back at him, and backed away, looking like she wished she could be anyplace else but where she was.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, feeling like the world’s biggest jerk. “I didn’t mean-hey, it won’t happen again. Okay? I don’t want you to think-”

  “Funny,” she said, her voice soft and breathless, “I was just thinking how sweet you were to keep me from making a complete fool of myself.”

  She turned and walked quickly away from him, head down and ponytail slapping against her collar, leaving him as confused as he’d ever felt in his life.

  One thing for sure. Before this gets any more complicated, I’m gonna have to find a way to ask her those questions.

  Like, were you with your husband the night he was killed? Did you see who shot him?

  And most importantly, what else did you see?

  The baby was fussing.

  Again?

  Rachel groaned and peered at the clock radio on the nightstand. Big glowing digits proclaimed the time: Four o’clock. In the morning.

  She rolled onto her side, and every part of he
r body felt as though it were made of lead. Even her hair felt heavy. Using all her willpower, she managed to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the bed, then stand upright. She shuffled the few short steps to the bassinet and stood for a moment looking down at her son. In the soft glow of the nightlight, she could see him squirming and waving his fists, his face scrunched up with eyes shut tight and mouth wide open, the very picture of infant displeasure.

  “Hey, sweet boy,” she crooned, and even though her throat ached, her voice was musical and soothing as a lullaby. “How can you be hungry again already? I just fed you an hour ago.”

  Inside, she was screaming, I can’t do this! I can’t do it alone. Dammit, I wasn’t supposed to have to do this alone.

  “What am I going to do with you, huh? I don’t have any more milk, and I’m so sore-” Her voice broke. Whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…shh…” she scooped up her now-wailing son and cuddled him, joggling him and patting him, to no effect whatsoever.

  She began to pace in utter despair, and then from somewhere in her sleep-fogged brain a memory surfaced: a nurse, at the hospital, giving her some bottles of formula…telling her she might need to supplement feedings until her milk came in, if the baby didn’t seem to be getting enough.

  Yes!

  Okay, she thought, almost crying with relief, this would definitely seem to qualify as one of those times. The bottles-where were they? The kitchen, probably-Josie had helped her unpack, she’d most likely put them in the refrigerator.

  She tucked the frantic baby into the crook of one arm, opened her bedroom door, peered out, then hurried down the empty corridor to the kitchen. The Mexican paving tiles were cold on her bare feet, but she didn’t think about that, or the fact that she was only wearing underpants and the sweatshirt J.J. had given her to wear to bed her first night out of the hospital, the night she’d spent in his trailer.

  In the kitchen, whimpering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…shh…” she opened the huge custom-built refrigerator and took out the six-pack of formula bottles. She set it on the tiled top of the large island in the middle of the kitchen that served as both work space and casual eating area. Now what? How was she supposed to get one bottle out using only one hand, while juggling a crying baby? She was trying her best to do that, trying not to succumb to sobs of exhaustion and frustration, when she felt a rush of warmth against her back, and hands heavy on her shoulders.