Appaloosa Blues (Sisters of Spirit #8)

by Nancy Radke

  "You can't say your fence-corner meetings have been dull," Jo teased, accepting the tiny glass dolphins earrings.

  Karen looked sheepish. "No, far from it. But I would enjoy the opportunity to show him off to everyone." She turned her head, listening. "That sounds like a car now."

  Grabbing her jacket, Jo descended the stairs, frowning slightly, her thoughts on the letters. Why would Adam keep a letter from a thirteen-year-old kid? What had she written?

  Adam couldn’t sleep. Jo was out on her date, and he was having to fight off a spate of jealousy. He took the time to call Sheriff Allerton.

  “Hey, Jeff, any news on that vehicle I called in earlier today?”

  “Yes. It belonged to Marv Johnson. I called him and he said he’d sent his grandson to check his fences. So that was a dead end.”

  “Why the two plates?”

  “Marv said he hadn’t noticed it. He’s in his eighties, you know. That would be an easy thing to have happen.”

  “Did he go look?”

  “Yes. He said the second plate was on top of the first. You know how thin those plates are when they send them, and how they stick together? He had his grandson fix it.”

  “The back one was cardboard.”

  Marv said he must have put it on. He does things like that now-a-days. Thinks he’s fixed it when he hasn’t. The numbers on that was his old license number.”

  “I thought we’d found them. How about the vehicle I saw late last night?”

  “That one was an out-of-towner. A man and woman finding a place to park.”

  “I hope you aren’t getting tired of chasing down all the stray trucks I spot from up here.”

  “Absolutely not. I’ve asked feedlot buyers and auction houses to be on the alert for the stolen calves. I figured if I could cut off the market, that the stealing would stop. They might be gathering them in someone’s barn, preparing to make a haul out-of-state, where a lot owner wouldn’t be alerted.”

  “Wouldn’t they be wary of the different markings on them? I know lots of owners don’t brand anymore, but they still make ear cuts.”

  “Yes, but those can be changed. You’d have to hold the cattle until the changes heal over.”

  “Do you have any aircraft to check back lots?”

  “We’ve used them for mapping and patrolling the main roads. No herd has shown up where a herd shouldn’t be. But they’ve only been taking one or two at a time.”

  “Hard to tell what they’re doing with them.”

  “Keep phoning in your sightings, Adam. And try not to get shot at again. We may still nab them.”

  Jo shifted gears as she turned onto the rural road home. The date hadn't been too bad. Peter had driven them to Pendleton, the two-hour drive covered swiftly in his cherry colored Jaguar. They had gone to a restaurant, seen a movie, and stopped at a bar for a drink. Refusing to drink and drive, Jo had declined and was now driving home, struggling with the unfamiliar standard transmission.

  She glanced at Peter's profile. Compared to Adam's strong jawline and rugged good looks, Peter had the slick features that turned Jo off. His chin was weak and he lacked the strength of character possessed by Adam.

  He hadn't measured up to Adam in any way during the evening. Jo suddenly realized that subconsciously she had used Adam Trahern as a standard with every man she'd met. No wonder she'd been unable to become seriously interested in anyone. If only this date was with him.

  "Nice night," Peter remarked pleasantly. "But oppressively warm, even with the top down."

  "We'll have a thunderstorm tomorrow. That'll release the pressure building up."

  "Why don't we pull off somewhere for awhile?" Peter suggested, unexpectedly laying his hand on Jo's thigh.

  With a feeling of repulsion, she shoved it away. "No!"

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't want to."

  "That's no reason. I took you to a restaurant and movie. I expect something in return."

  Jo had heard that before. "You got it. A good time. And that's all."

  "Don't be silly. Pull over. The night's young," he demanded, his voice becoming belligerent.

  "No." Jo accelerated, refusing to look at him, and concentrated on getting herself home.

  Peter muttered something and turned to pull out a six-pack from behind his seat. "Want one?"

  "No thanks. I'm driving."

  "We're close enough home, it won't matter anymore." He opened two bottles and held one towards her. When she refused, he drank them both, and started on a third, angry and sullen.

  As they reached the gravel road, he placed his hand over hers as she tried to shift, causing her to grind the gears.

  "Cut that out!" she shouted, as if loudness would get the message across quicker. He was becoming repulsive, and drunk enough to be irrational.

  He slumped, morose and sullen, mumbling to himself. "Not right," he said over and over. "Jus' not right. I’ve got money now. I paid for everything."

  He lurched forward suddenly and grabbed the wheel. Jo slammed on the brakes, sluing sideways on the road. The Jaguar was sitting with its rear part way out into the road, but there was room enough to drive around it. "Peter! Let go!"

  "I wanna stop."

  "You can stop, then. I'm walking home." She yanked the keys out of the ignition. She probably had about six miles to go, all uphill, but she wasn't going any further with him. And she was taking the keys with her so he wouldn't kill somebody if he tried to drive.

  As she swung open the door, the light startled him. "Where you goin'?" he cried, grabbing her arm and yanking her onto the gear box. The lever hit her on the side of the face, just below the eye.

  She fought to get her hand free. "Let go, Peter!" He grabbed for her as she struggled upright, catching her dress, ripping one of the spaghetti straps loose.

  At the sight his expression became more determined, and Jo felt him gather himself to renew his attack.

  It was happening again. First in a bedroom, now in a car.

  She had to get away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Fear engulfed her, threatening to paralyze any resistance to Peter's attack. Successfully forcing past the moment of panic, she called up anger to take its place, including the adrenalin anger produced. Even then she was unable to break Peter's hold until she jabbed his face with the keys.

  Free. She rolled sideways out the car door and gained her feet. As she started to run, headlights illumined the night — a vehicle coming down the road. Jo stood in the center and waved her hands. The fast-moving pick-up skidded to a stop.

  Adam flung open the door, causing Jo to cry out with relief. At the same time Peter caught up to her, grasping her arm roughly. "It's okay, we don' need any help," he shouted.

  Adam didn't reply, probably reading what he needed from Jo's expression and the ripped dress. With a quick, smooth motion, he stripped Peter's hand from her arm.

  Angry, Peter stepped forward, fists swinging. Adam blocked them for a second, then stopped Peter with a left hook that lifted him off his feet and dropped him to the gravel.

  Jo didn't wait to see if Peter stayed down. Crying out Adam's name, she scrambled into his arms.

  The intense gaze he turned to her was thunderous. "What's going on? Are you all right?" he demanded as she clung to him.

  "Yes. Now you're here," she replied. The tension hit her all at once and she sagged into his arms like a puppet without strings. Adam caught her full weight as a spasm shook her helplessly.

  At that moment Peter came off the ground, fists swinging, yelling and cursing them both. Ignoring him, Adam swung Jo up on the hood of the car, out of the way, enabling Peter to land one blow before Adam was ready.

  Peter was taller, but Adam proved stronger and more skilled. He'd grown up scrapping with her brother Tom. Adam's blows were swift, hard and well placed, leaving Peter's face a mess. A rapid combination of punches dropped him to the gravel.

  Stepping over Peter's prostrate form, Adam scooped
Jo's purse and jacket out of the sports car. He tossed Peter into the front seat, the keys in the back, and slammed the door.

  He still looked angry as he strode over to Jo. What must he think of her? She burst into tears, unable to stop the flood. It was ridiculous — the danger was past.

  His expression changed to concern as he draped her jacket around her shoulders, stroking her hair, calming her with soft assurance. "You're safe now, dearest. Hold onto me." His arms tightened as she pushed bodily against him, seeking his strength, burying her face in his jacket and getting it all wet with tears, then after he unzipped it and pulled her inside, she soaked his T-shirt thoroughly.

  "Go ahead and cry, precious. You're entitled to it. Let all that fear and anger flow out. I got here in time, didn't I?"

  Jo nodded, sobbing. There was something healing about being pressed up against Adam, wrapped securely with him inside his jacket — as she had been that night long ago when he'd found her injured on the mountainside.

  Now, listening to the steady beat of his heart and his words of comfort, Jo gradually regained control. Where Adam was, was safety. He helped her over to his truck, lifted her inside and gave her her purse.

  As they drove the few miles to Jo's home she dug out a handkerchief and dried her eyes. It seemed he was always rescuing her. He must think her a helpless fool, blubbering like a baby.

  "Adam?"

  "Uh huh?"

  "How'd you find me? You always seem to be around when I'm in trouble. Why were you out this time?"

  "Well... I hate to admit it, but I was watching for you to come home. I saw the lights and checked the car. With the top down, I could see two people inside, but couldn't tell who they were. But when you veered from side to side, and then skewed to a stop...."

  "You came—" she whispered.

  "Flying." He took a deep breath. "I could have killed that—" His hands clenched white on the wheel.

  "Just as well you didn't. He isn't worth the trouble that would've caused."

  They pulled into her driveway and Adam turned off the motor. "Come here, love," he said, holding his arms wide. Instantly she moved, tight against him, head on his chest. "Now tell me what happened."

  She did, briefly. "You must think me a weak, helpless female," she concluded.

  "Weak — no, and helpless — no. But a female, yes, definitely. Which simply means you aren't able to fight off a drunken lout who wants his own way. I should've beaten him harder."

  "You did a pretty good job of it, anyway." She pressed herself closer, her mind in suspension. "It's going be years before I feel safe going out with anyone."

  "Don't worry, you can go with me. Unless you don't feel safe. I hope you know by now I'd never hurt you."

  She wiggled more securely into his arms and would have crawled inside him if she could. She felt so safe. How had she ever dreaded becoming `engaged' to him? "You are definitely not included."

  "Then we'll prolong the engagement. And we'll ease the pace of our courtship somewhat. If you wish.

  Was that what she wanted? "Thanks," she murmured, but his suggestion didn't offer the comfort she needed. She didn't want things to be faked. "Uh, Adam?"

  "Yes?"

  "Let's not ease the pace, not now," she pleaded.

  "You don't think it will bother you?"

  "Not that way."

  "If you're sure."

  "Why should it?"

  "Why indeed? My touch won't trigger off unpleasant memories?"

  "No. I have only happy memories of being with you, so why—"

  "Just so you trust me, Jo."

  "I always have. Well, somewhat."

  "I'm after total trust, dearest. Nothing but the best for me."

  Jo smiled to herself. What was that supposed to mean? Sometimes he talked in riddles. She took a deep breath, still shaky.

  "Relax, sweetheart. Do you want to talk or just rest?"

  "Talk, for awhile at least. Whenever we stop, I keep having pictures flash through my mind."

  "Let's talk then. Maybe we can get rid of some of them before they become nightmares."

  "You don't mind?"

  "Never. Talk to me, Joanna. I don't care what you say. And dearest — you need to know — it wouldn't have made any difference if I'd been too late to stop him. I would still respect you." His voice was low, resonant...and truthful.

  "Thank you." Jo talked then, randomly, giving him her fears, letting him take them from her as he had taken the burden of Karen's problem. Eventually she ran out of words and the silence stretched as she lay relaxed in his arms. Adam made no move to release her, evidently understanding her need to be held.

  "Jo, dearest, wake up."

  She opened her eyes. It was daylight, the Sunday morning sky streaked with red. Had she fallen asleep? She sat up as Adam dropped his arms.

  "I hate to disturb you, but it might come as too great a shock for Gramps to find you asleep in my arms. It's five a.m."

  She turned to him with a smile, one hand resting on his arm. "I agree. That wouldn't do at all. Thanks, Adam, for...well, for everything."

  He sat looking at her, quizzically, and didn't answer. Raising her hand to his face she gently touched the bruise that was beginning to show, then touched his lips. He was giving her no encouragement, evidently waiting for her to take the initiative.

  Was he still afraid he might remind her of Peter?

  That would never be. Adam had never forced her to do anything. She couldn't conceive of him becoming violent towards her.

  Smiling, she touched her lips to his, initiating the kiss. He took charge, deepening it as his arms arched her to him. Her head spun rapidly as her body melted in response.

  Adam released her abruptly and opened the door. "Better get you inside," he declared. "This place is too risky."

  Her knees were all wobbly and she grabbed his arm as she stepped onto the ground, heart pounding loudly in her ears. In a daze, she watched while he opened her front door and eased her through. "Good morning, love," he whispered. "See you in a few hours."

  "`Night, Adam..."

  He laughed softly and squeezed her shoulder. "Remember, dinner with me today."

  Jo walked slowly up the stairs, slightly shell-shocked. What on earth had happened? All he had done was kiss her. No moonlight, no lake water, no romantic setting at all.

  It appeared the emotions Adam had stirred up were his to call back, anytime he chose. Instantly. She was still trying to figure out how that could be as she climbed into bed, where she tossed and turned for an hour.

  Unable to sleep, Jo finally dressed and made biscuits for breakfast. She set out milk and cereal, butter, honey and red-rich apple butter. Next she diced fresh chilled cantaloupe in a bowl beside each plate and left a pot of coffee to perk.

  Calling out that breakfast was ready, Jo ran upstairs. Gramps was in the hallway, and she ducked quickly past him and into her room. She didn't particularly want to tell him what his "choice" had done. Later, perhaps, when she had time to think how to let him know without upsetting him. A weak heart was tricky to work around.

  Carefully she put cover-up over the bruise — at least she didn't have a black eye — then darkened under the other for balance. When finished it looked more like a shadow...as if she had dark circles under her eyes. It was good enough to keep people from questioning her about it — like hesitating to ask a fat lady if she was pregnant.

  Gramps refused to go to church with them, claiming he didn't feel up to the long drive. They picked up Mike and Cindy and their two little boys outside their home. Jo held Cindy's youngest on her lap while the other recited his memory verse for her.

  Peter's car was gone, but as they passed the spot, Jo shuddered. She had been taught to value herself highly, and his assault had unnerved her. A woman became extremely vulnerable when she accepted a date with a man, more so than Jo had realized. So much depended upon the man's character. No wonder fathers were overly careful about who their daughters went out with.
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  They parked outside the old wooden building and walked in, Cindy taking her youngest to the class Karen was teaching while her older boy ran off to his class. Mike, Jo and her dad went into the auditorium. Aunt Marjorie greeted her at the door with an enthusiastic hug, while Uncle Stan shook her hand heartily. Church meant a time of togetherness in Jo's family and she missed her mother's presence. And Gramps'.

  Mike found a long empty row near the middle and moved in to sit down. Her dad stepped back to allow Jo to enter next, but a hand on her arm stopped her. Adam.

  "Good morning, Mr. Davies, Mike," he said, nodding his head in welcome. "If you'll excuse us, I believe Jo's sitting with me this morning." He tucked her hand beneath his arm as he spoke.

  Jo liked the feel of her hand placed thus. It was a centuries old gesture of care, and announced — publicly — that she was his. A distinct murmur passed through the congregation and heads turned as friends around them took notice.

  Jo didn't know how to react. This was much more of a declaration of intention than her idea of pausing to speak to him. Go to a restaurant in this town and the only ones to see you would be the teen crowd, passing salesmen, or tourists. But here were old friends and neighbors — most of those who counted in the community — of all ages.

  Everyone would know, and know quickly — Mrs. Johansen and Alice Nertz were better than any news service — that Adam Trahern had taken Joanna Davies to sit with him, and that she had gone along more than willingly. How would Gramps take it?

  Adam glanced down at her with a slightly skewed grin of mischievous inquiry, and her heart somehow did a complete somersault. A flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks, knowing everyone was staring.

  With a smile at her father who looked completely off guard, Jo allowed Adam to escort her to the front seats. She was thankful she had worn her royal blue shirt-waister. With its full skirt and buttoned neckline it was simply cut, yet very feminine, accented by a gold locket with inlaid lapis her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Its long sleeves hid the bruises on her arms and its color made her hair, worn loose today, seem even redder.