The Locket

by Brenna Todd

  Her eyes were a darker green now. Damn it, they were! He hadn't imagined it yesterday, it was the truth. He ought to know. It seemed as if he'd spent more time looking at her in the past two days than he had the entire time they'd been lovers.

  ASIDE FROM THE SCOWLS and frowns and curious looks she'd received from Waite all day, Erin was having the time of her life. Whatever his problem was, she had decided to ignore it. This was too much fun for his black mood to bother her.

  When Annie had mentioned the trip to the 101 Ranch, Erin had pictured looking at horses and cows in a corral, maybe watching a cowboy break a horse or lasso a steer or two. A rodeo of some sort. Erin had never been to one, but knew from movies and TV what they were like.

  But this was like no rodeo or mere visit to a ranch Erin could ever have imagined. Along with the rest of the crowd, she'd been astounded by the skillful trick riders and sharpshooters, awestricken by the pageantry of the Cossacks and Oriental dance groups, and enthralled with the mini stage-shows depicting pioneer life on the plains of Oklahoma. Added to that there had been circus acts, with clowns and elephants, camels and buffalo.

  She particularly loved the women riders. Dressed up Annie Oakley-style, one of them stood in the saddle firing a rifle at a target while her horse, a gorgeous palomino, thundered across the arena. She appeared to fall, and Erin gasped and stood, almost jumping out of the stands to help her before she saw that the woman had planned it that way. The rider hadn't hit the ground at all; she was hanging on with one boot in the stirrup, still firing away at the target, her backside mere inches from the ground!

  Erin was enjoying today as she'd enjoyed few others. And she wasn't about to allow either J.B. or Waite to put a damper on her fun. She wished her aunt and parents could see her now. This was history she was witnessing, history that she was smack-dab in the middle of! That fact added even more excitement. Besides, after two hellish days of pretending to be the infamous Della, she was grateful for the chance to just cut loose.

  Her excitement fled and tension made her nerves crackle when the next event got under way. All she could think of as she watched cowboys jump off their horses, then try to wrestle steers with deadly sharp horns to the ground, was what horrible wounds the animals could inflict. And just how much help would 1920s medicine be to the poor victim? Bulldogging, they called this event, but it might just as well have been called suicide. She and the crowd held their breath, thrilled by the cowboys' strength and agility, but on the edge of their seats with terror, should anything go—

  It happened. And damn it, she knew it would! The audience shrieked when the last cowboy leapt from his horse, grabbed the steer, but then was shaken off and flung to the ground by the beast. Erin shot to her feet. In horror, she watched as the steer, refusing to be distracted by a rodeo clown, went after the fallen cowboy again, slamming him in the chest so hard that Erin could have sworn she felt the impact herself. Finally the steer was driven away by several of the other performers, but as the cowboy was taken out of the arena, Erin couldn't tell if he'd simply had the wind knocked out of him or something worse. But she didn't waste a moment more thinking it over.

  Twenties medicine was all she could think about as she scrambled past stunned spectators to get to the end of the row where she, J.B., Waite and the banker were seated. If he hadn't just had the breath knocked out of him, if his heart had stopped—as Erin suspected, judging by the force of the impact—no one in the 1920s would know how to save him.

  "Della!" J.B. shouted, and jerking around, she saw concern on his face. "Are you ill?"

  "Yes," she lied. Yes, that could happen. She cradled her stomach with her arms and grimaced. "I...just can't watch this." Then she took the bleachers two at a time, leapt to the ground and rushed behind them, quickly scanning the area in hopes of spotting a medical tent of some sort.

  Within moments, she'd found it. Two men were carrying the cowboy into the tent, several of the other performers crowding in after them. As she made a dash for it she could hear that the show had gone on—the band had struck up a new tune and horses' hooves pounded the ground. Almost tripping in Della's ridiculous heels, she yanked them off and continued running. When she reached the tent, she shoved her way past the small throng of cowboys, dancers, Indians, even George Miller himself, until she saw a man leaning over the table where the cowboy lay. With an odd-looking ancestor of the stethoscope in his ears, he was listening to the cowboy's heart. He glanced up at Miller and shook his head. "His heart's stopped, George. Nothing more I can—"

  "No! Get away!" Erin shouted, and rushed forward. She threw down her shoes and pushed the doctor aside. Grabbing the cowboy's arm, she checked for a pulse and, as she'd expected, found none. Quick as lightning she did a cursory check for broken ribs, then started CPR.

  "Here now!" the doctor exclaimed when she began pumping his chest with the heels of her hands. "What do you think you're up to, young lady?"

  "Just give me some room." She pulled the cowboy's jaw forward instead of tilting his head back-worried that he might have suffered damage to the spine. Then she pinched his nose closed and blew into his mouth. All around her were exclamations from the onlookers, the doctor's the loudest of all. "Wha— Here now, I said!" He grabbed her arm when she started to pump his chest again.

  "Back off," Erin growled, shooting the man a ferocious look. "Just back the hell off!"

  His mouth went slack and he did as she ordered. A hush descended over the tent full of people, and Erin turned back to the boy, pumping his chest, then filling his lungs with air and checking for a pulse every few minutes.

  Again. Again. Come on, come on.... Breathe, guy, breathe. There was only so much time before brain damage would occur. Again. Again. Please, God.

  Erin knew the moment she felt him inhale, knew the moment his breath met hers, that God had been listening, and her throat went tight with emotion. She reared back and watched the miracle—one she'd witnessed so many times before: the bluish-tinged skin transforming to a healthy pink. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips, her heart banging crazily as she waited for his eyes to open.

  The doctor rushed to the other side of the table, gave Erin a dazed look. "Clint?" he said. "Clinton, boy?"

  Clint coughed and gave a quiet groan, then his eyes fluttered open.

  "Yes!" she cried, and heard gasps from the crowd behind her.

  One of the cowboys said, "I'll be goddamned," then whooped and slapped his knee.

  Erin could only smile as she stroked the boy's cheek. "You with me?" she asked, the fingers of her free hand instinctively reaching to check his pulse again. The question was unnecessary, of course, and so was feeling for the pulse again. But he'd come so close to dying, Erin needed reassurance from every sign of life she could find.

  His expression, both puzzled and pained, the boy croaked out, "Yes... yes, ma'am."

  "God almighty," the doctor breathed, his stunned gaze flipping back and forth between Erin and Clint. He put his hand on the boy's chest, then shook his head. "What was that you did?"

  George Miller appeared at her side. "Mrs. Munro... ?" he whispered in an awed voice, removing his cowboy hat and looking down at Clint, who was now trying to sit up. Good, Erin thought. No trauma to the spine, it seemed.

  Then she looked up at Miller. She'd been running on adrenaline, frantic to perform a medical procedure she knew wasn't recognized at this time. But how to explain it? She'd acted on instinct, not even pausing to think about the repercussions.

  She backed away from the table, her gaze swinging from Miller to the doctor, then the knot of performers crowded behind her. She reached for her discarded shoes. "It was... uh... just something I heard about... uh... in Europe," she muttered.

  The doctor and rancher exchanged incredulous looks.

  "Really... I heard about it there." She picked up the shoes, then thought about J.B. If this got back to him... Well...she could do without more complications. "Can I... talk to you outside, Mr. Miller?"

&n
bsp; The man nodded slowly, disbelief still etched on his face, and followed her out.

  "I don't know what to say, Mrs. Munro." He still held his hat in his hands, still looked as though he'd been poleaxed. "That thing you did back there... I've never seen the likes of it."

  "I know. But, really... I overheard a doctor in Europe talking about it... a-at a party J.B. and I once attended. I'd forgotten about it, actually. And I just, well, when I saw Clint hit by the steer... I thought maybe it would work. That's all."

  He shook his head. "That was a miracle you performed. Clint was a dead man and you—"

  "No. No, it was just something I remembered. And, Mr. Miller, I want you to promise me something."

  "Well, yes, ma'am. I owe you a debt of gratitude, of course."

  "Could we just keep this our little secret?"

  He frowned. "Why?"

  "I have my reasons. Personal reasons. Like you said, you owe me. And this will be payment of that debt. Just... don't mention it to J.B."

  " Well... all right, but-"

  "Thank you, Mr. Miller." Erin breathed a sigh of relief and gave his hand a grateful squeeze. "I know it's strange, but.. .well, thank you." Then she put on her shoes and took off like a shot for the stands.

  WAITE STEPPED OUT OF the tent and went over to George Miller's side. His ex-boss was scratching his head, his baffled gaze riveted to Della's retreating form. When she was out of sight, George turned to look at him. "My stars and little catfish," he said with a half chuckle. "I've seen some sights in my life, but never anything like that. Did you see all of it?"

  "Saw enough."

  "What do you make of it?"

  What did Waite make of it? He made that Della was lying for one thing.

  Again.

  He'd overheard her conversation with George, and he knew that Della had never attended a party with J.B. in Europe. She'd never even been there at all. Before becoming J.B.'s wife, Della had been content with traveling in this country. Since they'd been married, she'd planned one European trip after another, only to have them canceled by J.B. for "misbehavior."

  "I don't know, George. It was like nothing I've ever seen."

  George shook his head, then put his hat back on. For all his puzzlement, his eyes were also bright with relief over his bulldogger's rescue. "Saved his life," he said in quiet bemusement. Then he left Waite and made his way back inside the tent.

  The boy had been dead, and Della had brought him back. She'd breathed into his mouth, pushed at his chest, his heart. It was a powerful image; one Waite would never forget. To think it was possible to bring someone back from the gates of heaven— or the threshold of hell—by simply sharing one's breath...

  Hell, he had seen it with his own two eyes and he still didn't believe it! Especially of Della Munro. That was compassion he'd witnessed today. Compassion and mercy and...caring. He couldn't shake the picture of her placing her hand, a hand that trembled, on the boy's cheek.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "WHEN CAN WE GO HOME, J.B?" Erin asked when she was seated in the stands again.

  "Go home?" He frowned. "Are you going to tell me seeing that accident gave you the vapors?"

  "I'm all right. But it has been a long day and I'd just like to leave."

  His frown deepened and he cut her off with, "You've never been a weak sister, Della, so don't become one now. This is business. Just look at Wyndham," he whispered. "His eyes have been bulging out of his head since we got here. I want him to feel the full effect, and that won't happen until the last act. Will Rogers and Tom Mix are about to make their appearance, and I want—"

  "Wait a minute. Where's Waite?" Erin interrupted. He'd been seated between J.B. and Wyndham. Now his seat was ominously empty. She quickly glanced about the stands, hoping he'd just changed seats and hadn't followed her—hadn't seen what she'd done...

  "Since he left right after you did, I suppose he went to ask after the cowboy's condition. He still considers these people family, you know, after working here so long. Probably knows the boy well."

  That was right. Waite had worked here. George Miller had mentioned it when they'd first arrived. So Waite probably had rushed to the tent after the accident. And he'd probably witnessed every incriminating moment!

  Odd how everything kept coming back to Waite. Oh, sure, she worried about J.B.—she could definitely do without him wondering about "Della's" strange behavior until Erin could finally get out of here—but it occurred to Erin that she was more emotionally off-balance in the presence of Della's former lover than she was in the company of the woman's husband. Would she have cared one whit about that scene at the dinner party last night if Waite had not been present? And why was she going to such pains to avoid eye contact with the man? Why were her dreams filled with erotic images of him?

  Simple chemistry.. .mere attraction. Her brain suggested that was the reason, but her heart wasn't buying it. Besides the eerie connection she felt, there was more to Waite MacKinnon than a very masculine physique and gorgeous face. He was a fine, honorable man. He'd slipped up and kissed her yesterday at the creek, but his violent reaction to the mistake, the way he'd gathered his loyalty to his friend around himself like some sort of invisible shield—it spoke of an innate decency that was appealing to Erin.

  Much too appealing.

  "Excuse me." Erin's green eyes locked with the black ones of the man her thoughts had been centered on. He stood next to her, suspicion in his gaze and impatience in his stance. Oh, Lord, appealing didn't seem quite strong enough a word to describe him. He was so tall...so daunting...so capable of causing her untold trouble.

  "I need to get to my seat, Della."

  Erin didn't want to let him pass. She didn't want him anywhere near J.B., but she pulled in her knees anyway, albeit slowly. She swallowed, watching Waite out of the corner of her eye as he sat down next to J.B. and wondering just what he would say to his partner. He turned to look at her, and she knew by his expression that he'd seen all of it. Wonderful. Just what she needed. J.B., you should have seen what I just saw! She pulled her gaze from his, concentrating instead on the arena where Will Rogers was being introduced by George Miller.

  "The boy all right?" J.B. asked.

  "Miraculously enough, he is," Waite answered.

  "Get the wind knocked out of him?"

  "Oh, more than that."

  Erin clenched her fists. Come on, Waite, don't pick now to drop the strong, silent image.

  "You don't say? Well, Doc Kenner's been known to perform a few miracles in his time."

  "True. But he had some help this time."

  Erin swallowed. Hard. She couldn't help it, she had to look at them. J.B. had lifted a brow at Waite. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  Erin grabbed J.B.'s arm and pointed at the arena. "Have you ever seen anyone like that Will Rogers? He can do just about anything with a rope, can't he? Mr. Wyndham," she said, snagging the banker's attention, "what do you think? Is Will amazing or what?"

  The man smiled and nodded. "Quite astounding."

  "Astounding. That's the word for him, all right," she rattled on. "And he's a native Oklahoman, of course. J.B., have you told Mr. Wyndham about all our famous native sons? I'm sure he'd be interested to hear about them. And the outlaws. The whole state was a huge outlaw hideout at one time, you know." Her father's pride in his state came in handy. Erin knew Oklahoma's history as well as any non-native could. "Make sure J.B. tells you all about the outlaws."

  "TULSA WORLD, MR. MUNRO !" the young man shouted as he sprinted toward them. He held up a camera. "Can I get a picture of you and Mr. Rogers for the paper, sir?"

  Erin held in a groan. Aw, come on, she thought, can't we just go home? She'd loved the show, had nearly embarrassed J.B. to death by gaping like an idiot when Will Rogers and Tom Mix had come over to talk to their old friends, the Munros, but her nerves were shot. It was bad enough that Waits kept giving her those I-saw-what-you-did-and-I-want-to-know-how-you-did-it looks, but Erin had also remembered tha
t she wasn't safe in this crowd of people. It was altogether possible that Della's murderer enjoyed Wild West shows. How she'd slipped up and forgotten that fact, she didn't know. What she did know was that being a target did not sit any better with her than the possibility of Waits telling J.B. what he'd seen.

  "Well, certainly, son. Della, I want you in the picture, as well, dear," J.B. said, gathering her to his side.

  "Oh, J.B., no. Really, I must look... a fright," she objected, pulling away. She gestured toward the Packard. "I'll just wait in the car. I don't like having my picture taken."

  Waite and J.B. both stared at her as though she'd grown another head. Too late, the tour guide from the future's words drifted in. It was said that Mrs. Munro loved to have her picture taken...Oh, great. She'd slipped up again.

  "I'd believe that of almost anyone but Della," Waite said to J.B. with a chuckle. He shot her a challenging look, but kept his tone light. "What do you think, J.B., has someone replaced Della with an impostor?"

  Erin glared at him. Waite MacKinnon was playing with her now, jerking her chain. He knew somehow—had probably heard her ask Miller not to tell J.B.—that she'd rather not face questions from J.B. about saving the cowboy's life. Why wouldn't he just mind his own business?

  Della Munro, and therefore Erin, was none of his business. He'd made that point loud and clear. So why wasn't he following his own stupid dictum? No, not stupid, Erin told herself. Smart. Sensible. A dictum to live by.

  She'd had it up to here with Mr. Waite MacKinnon and all his thunderous looks. There hadn't been one thing she'd done today to merit his glares and frowns. He'd told her to stay the hell away from him and she had. She hadn't so much as spoken to the man! Now here he was, putting her on the spot. And seeming to enjoy it.

  She fluffed her hair, smiling and giving Waite a flirtatious wink as she moved back to stand beside J.B. "Oh, you know me so well, don't you, Waite? I was just hoping for a little attention, as always. You men haven't paid me nearly enough today, what with all these distractions going on. Can you blame a girl for wanting to be.. .persuaded?" There you go, Waite. Is that Della enough for you?