The Heavenly Fugitive

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I’m worried about that horse,” Maria said. “O’Connor tells me she’ll be a handful for Rosa.”

  “Rosa can handle her,” Tony said confidently.

  “But she’s barely fifteen.”

  “She’s been riding since she was six years old, Maria. She’s ridden everything we’ve ever had on the place with four legs, even that big dog we had when she was a little mite.” Tony grinned. He stood up and hugged his wife. “She’ll be all right, dear. I won’t let her ride the mare until O’Connor says she’s ready. You should have seen her just now. She’s so happy.”

  Maria reached up and touched his cheek, and when he kissed her, she said reluctantly, “You’re so sweet, Tony, but I worry about Rosa. She’s quite spoiled, you know. A spoiled brat, really.”

  “Why, you shouldn’t say that, honey.”

  “She is, Tony! She’s had everything she ever wanted. You can never refuse her anything.”

  “Well, what’s money for if not to make you and the kids happy? I only wish you wanted something for yourself. You never ask me for anything.”

  “I don’t need anything, and Rosa has too much. Someday,” Maria said quietly, “she’s going to want something you can’t buy for her.”

  Tony snorted. “Why, money buys everything!”

  Maria shook her head but did not answer. “I hope you’ll talk to O’Connor,” she said as she turned to leave. “Tell him to be extra careful.”

  “Okay. I’ll give him the straight talk.” Morino smiled and sat back down at his desk. He couldn’t concentrate on his work, however. His mind was filled with the pleasure of giving his daughter the purebred Arabian. Staring out the window, he daydreamed of seeing his lovely little Rosa bringing home trophies in all the riding shows.

  ****

  As soon as Rosa darted out the door and caught sight of the truck pulling the horse trailer, she ran toward it full speed, her hair flying out behind her. She scarcely glanced at the young man who had gotten out of the truck and now stood beside the trailer. Her eyes were all for the horse, and she peered in through the windows, admiring the mare’s sleek coat. She smiled at the large eyes that watched her in return—rather wickedly, Rosa thought.

  She cried out, “Oh, you beauty, and you’re all mine!” She turned to the man and said impatiently, “Well, don’t just stand there! Get my horse out!”

  “I’m supposed to see somebody named O’Connor first,” Phil said.

  “He’s not here. I’ll sign for it.”

  She moved to the back of the trailer and snapped her fingers impatiently, but when the driver only looked at her and made no move to open it, she said, “Didn’t you hear me? I said open the door and bring my horse out!”

  “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t do that. I have to have an adult here. Is O’Connor around?”

  Rosa’s dark eyes flashed. She had little time for hired help, and now she marched over and snatched the clipboard out of the young man’s hand. “Look,” she said, pointing to the paper with a superior air. “Anthony Morino—that’s my father. He ordered this horse for me. Now just unload her and be on your way. Give me a pencil. I’ll sign for it.”

  Phil made no attempt to remove the pencil that was behind his ear. He looked down at the attractive young woman whose beauty, he thought, was considerably marred by her spoiled attitude. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it, miss.”

  “I’m Rosa Morino, and this is my horse!”

  “I’m sure that’s true, Miss Morino, but—”

  “Look, you see the name of this horse? I gave it to her myself. It’s Boa-ad-ecah.”

  Rosa was surprised when the deliveryman laughed. “What are you laughing at?” she snapped.

  “Well, I don’t think you pronounced it quite right.”

  “What are you talking about? There it is right there! Boadicea. She’s named after a queen from Egypt, and I guess I know how to say my own horse’s name!”

  Phil found himself enjoying the confrontation with the young woman. She was as pretty as a girl could be and had more spirit than the mare, if that were possible, but he could not help wanting to put her in her place. “Just two things wrong with that, Miss Morino. The name is pronounced Boo-dee-kuh, and she wasn’t an Egyptian queen. She was from a tribe in Britain, the Iceni. When the Romans attacked her people and raped her two daughters, she raised an army and led them to battle against them.”

  Rosa’s eyes flashed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t care what you say! This is my horse!”

  Rosa whirled and moved back to the rear of the trailer. She reached up to unlatch the lock but was suddenly seized from behind. She began to kick and scream. “Let me go! I’m going to get that horse out!”

  “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t let you do that.”

  In her fury, Rosa swung around and slapped his face with a sharp crack that carried on the air. When she tried to slap him again, he caught her wrist. She struggled, and since she was a strong young girl, it took a great deal of strength to hold her off. Phil was embarrassed. “Cut it out, Miss Morino,” he said with exasperation. She tried to pummel him with her fists, and it was all he could do to hold her without hurting her. She thrashed and kicked, screaming, “You turn me loose!”

  While Phil was trying to defend himself without hurting the girl, he did not see the big man lumbering toward them from the house. Dominic Costello, bodyguard for Big Tony and his family, had heard the altercation from inside and came running as fast as his huge frame would allow. He had the blunt face of a pugilist, one ear puffed up, scar tissue around his eyes, and cold light gray eyes. He reached the struggling pair and pulled the girl loose so violently she staggered. Without hesitation he struck out with a tremendous right-hand blow that instantly cut Phil’s eyebrow to the bone and drenched his face in blood.

  Stunned, Phil fell backward, seeing nothing but swirling lights—yellow, red, and brilliant blue. He felt strong hands yanking him to his feet, and then another blow rocked him on the other side of his face. He tried to get away from the blows, but the powerful fists landed squarely on his face every time.

  Rosa caught her balance and stopped dead still as she watched Dominic pound the helpless young man into semi-consciousness. Even as the man was falling toward the ground, Dominic dealt a massive blow to his midsection. Rosa heard his muted cry of pain as he doubled over and fell facedown in a pool of blood.

  When Dominic began kicking the man as he lay still, she ran forward and grabbed his arm. “Dom, stop—!”

  “I’ll kill him,” Dom screamed, still kicking. “He was trying to hurt you!”

  “No, he wasn’t, Dom! I was trying to get the horse out, and he was trying to stop me.”

  Dom stepped back to catch his breath and looked at her, puzzled. “You mean he wasn’t bothering you?”

  “No, Dom. It was my fault,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks at the trouble she had just caused. Rosa knelt and gently rolled the inert body over. She was sickened by the wreck that Dom had made of the man’s face, and she whispered, “Oh, Dom, you’ve hurt him bad!”

  “Well, how was I to know he wasn’t bothering you!”

  Her face pale, Rosa shook her head. “Quick, carry him into the house. I’ll have Daddy call a doctor.” She whirled and ran inside. Dom knelt down, stared at the bloody face, and shook his head. “You shouldn’t’ve put your hands on her.” He scooped Winslow up with barely a grunt and marched toward the house. He felt bad about the misunderstanding, but he knew he would not be in trouble for it. After all, he was there to protect the family of Big Tony Morino. He was just doing his job.

  ****

  “Is he all right, Daddy?”

  Morino had stepped into the drawing room to talk to Rosa and Maria. Rosa’s face was pale, and her hands were trembling. Tony could not stand to see his child in distress, and he put his hand on her shoulder, saying, “He’ll be all right. The doctor’s with him and will take good care of him. Now tell me once more what happe
ned.” He listened as Rosa went over the story again and shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t made such a fuss over that horse, Rosa. We don’t need something like this.”

  Rosa’s eyes filled with tears, and she whispered, “I’m sorry, Daddy.” She had a tender heart, despite being so spoiled, and now the tears ran down her cheeks. “Dom hurt him so bad. I never saw him act like that before.”

  Tony had hired Dom for his destructive ability, but Tony had always kept his business out of his home. Rosa had no idea how violent a man her father was, nor how violent were the men with whom he surrounded himself. She had grown up sheltered from all of this. Now Tony met Maria’s eyes and winced at the accusing glare in them. “He’ll be all right, sweetheart. The doc will fix him up.”

  The three waited for what seemed like a long time, and finally Dr. Clarkson came striding into the drawing room. Instantly the three converged on him.

  Rosa was the first to ask, “Is he all right, Dr. Clarkson?”

  “No, he’s not all right, Rosa.” James Clarkson was a tall, rangy man with light blue eyes and reddish hair, whose speech carried the echoes of his boyhood home in the North Carolina hills. He had been Rosa’s doctor since she was born, but Clarkson now ignored her and glared at Tony. “You’re in trouble here, Tony,” the doctor snapped.

  “Why, what’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s got a broken nose, and those cuts around his eyes are going to leave scars. Besides that, he’s got several broken ribs. What was he trying to do—rob the house?”

  “Well, no, he was just delivering a horse.”

  “Why did Dom beat him up so badly?”

  Rosa spoke up timidly. “He . . . he thought the man was bothering me.”

  “Was he bothering you?” Clarkson demanded.

  Rosa dropped her head. “No, sir, he wasn’t. I was being awful to him. He was trying to stop me from letting the horse out of the trailer.”

  “Well, that’s not good, Tony. He may go straight to the police—maybe even sue you for this. If there’s a trial, I’ll have to be a witness against you. I won’t have any choice.”

  “We’ll take care of it, Doc,” Tony assured him. “He’ll be okay.”

  The doctor eyed Tony pointedly. “But he may not be, Tony. He could die—you understand? He needs to be in a hospital for observation. And you ought to get rid of Dom. He’s a dangerous man.”

  Tony did not comment but instead asked the doctor, “Is he awake?”

  “Yes, but I’ve sedated him, so he’s groggy. I tell you again, he needs to go to the hospital.”

  “I’ll take care of that, Doc, and all the expenses. Don’t you worry.”

  Clarkson stalked out of the room, indignation in every line of his body. As soon as he was out the front door, Tony said, “I’ll go see him.”

  “I want to go with you, Daddy.”

  “Better if you didn’t, sweetheart.”

  “But I want to. It was my fault.”

  Big Tony shrugged, and the two of them, along with Maria, made their way down the hall and into the bedroom where the young man rested.

  As Tony walked in the door he was shocked to see the damage Dominic had done. The man’s face was puffy beyond recognition and badly discolored under both eyes. A bloody bandage covered his forehead where the doctor had stitched up the most serious wounds over the eyebrows. His lips were swollen, and his eyes stared steadily at Tony through narrow slits.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” Tony said gruffly. “What’s your name?”

  “Win . . . slow. Phil Winslow.” He could barely pronounce his own name.

  “Well, it was all a misunderstanding, Phil,” Tony said quickly. “Now, listen, we’re going to put you in the hospital—and I’m going to take care of all the doctor bills—”

  “No,” Phil said, his tone firm this time.

  Tony halted and looked at him, surprised. “Look, young man, you need to go to the hospital.”

  “Gotta . . . take . . . truck back.”

  “I’ll take care of all that. I’ll have one of my men drive it back. I’m going to have another one take you to the hospital.”

  Phil found it difficult to move, but he struggled to his feet. Rosa stepped forward to help him and said, “I’m sorry. It was all my fault.”

  Phil glared at her. “Forget it,” he whispered. “Now . . . I wanna go home.”

  “Sure,” Tony said quickly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “Here, you’ll be off from work awhile. This will take care of that.”

  Phil stared at the bills but could not even shake his head he was in such pain. “No . . .” His voice was barely audible. “Just . . . home.”

  Tony argued briefly, but finally Maria said, “You’ll have to let him have his own way. He’s going to pass out.”

  “Okay. We’ll get you home. Don’t worry about a thing.” Tony rushed out quickly and came back almost at once with Dominic behind him. “Dom will take you home. He’s sorry about what happened—wants to make it up to you. Anywhere you say, and we’ll be in touch. I still think you ought to go to the hospital, though.”

  Phil did not answer. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the man who had beat him senseless, but he was too weak to argue. He shuffled across the floor like a very old man, moving on willpower alone. Dom reached out to steady him, but Phil deliberately pulled his arm back.

  When the door closed behind the two, Rosa began to cry. “He’s hurt so bad, and it’s all my fault. Why wouldn’t he go to the hospital?”

  Tony’s eyes were fastened on the door. “He wouldn’t take money, either. Not a very smart kid turning down dough. He’ll learn better someday,” he murmured. Then he turned to Rosa and put his arms around her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. He’ll be okay. Don’t worry about him.”

  “But, Daddy, it was all my fault, and he’s hurt so bad.”

  “People get hurt bad, Rosa,” Big Tony Morino said. “You’ll learn that as you get older.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’ll Give It All I’ve Got!”

  A can of chicken soup was on the first shelf of the upper kitchen cabinet, but when Phil lifted his arm to pull it down, a blinding pain struck him in his left side. It was like being stabbed with a red-hot knife, and he leaned forward gasping, biting his still-swollen lip to keep from crying out. He rested his palms on the counter and waited for the waves of pain to recede before he straightened up carefully. He had been out of the hospital for four days now, and while his face was healing rapidly, the cracked ribs were more painful than anything he had ever experienced. Although he’d insisted on going straight home that day he was hurt at the Morino estate, Tony had surreptitiously ordered his bodyguard to take Phil to the hospital instead. Phil had tried to resist but had found it was no use. The doctors and nurses at the hospital had given him excellent care, and he had been grateful after all. When they released him he was worried at the prospect of taking care of himself in his lonely apartment. Now, as he drew a ragged breath, he muttered to himself, “If cracked ribs hurt like this, I’d hate to know what broken ribs feel like!”

  He looked up at the soup can on the shelf and shuddered at the thought of building a fire to cook a meal. Unable to bend over and feed the coal stove with the large chunks, he had let the fire go out and the room was freezing. He had awakened shivering and had delayed getting out of bed as long as possible. Even putting on his robe was painful, for he had difficulty getting his arms behind him.

  I didn’t know a few cracked ribs could be this much trouble. I’m like an old man creeping around! Can’t do anything for myself—not even tie my shoes.

  Simple survival had become a grim matter for Phil. He discovered that once he lay down on the bed, he could not roll over without waves of pain flooding him. And getting out of bed was a nightmare. Lifting himself up and twisting, trying to throw his feet over the edge, brought agonizing pains to his side. He had not shaved since coming home and knew he looked terrible.
<
br />   He stared at the elusive soup can, wondering how he could possibly build a fire in his condition. He had eaten nothing the day before, and now hunger pangs gnawed at him. “It’s cold soup or nothing,” he grumbled. Turning, he stepped to the table and slowly pulled a kitchen chair over to the cabinet. Grasping the back of the chair, he put his left foot up on it and then gritted his teeth. “Should I do it slow and easy—or should I do it all in one motion?” He decided on slow and easy, but even that was hard. Finally, standing upright and trembling from the exertion, he reached out, grasped the soup can, and tried to step down. He lost his balance when a searing pain struck him, and he made a wild grab for the back of the chair, which he missed. He fell to the floor and almost passed out. He lay on his back moaning and holding his side, waiting for the pain to pass.

  The linoleum was ice-cold, but that was the least of his problems. Getting up from such a position was agony. He would have to roll over on his right side, shove himself up-right, get on his knees, then hold on to the cabinet and pull himself to a standing position. He dreaded the thought and wished he were safely back in bed. For a long time he lay there, listening to the ticking of the clock up on the table. He knew it must be some time around ten in the morning, but from where he lay he could not see the clock face. He was summoning up his will to endure the pain when suddenly a knock came from the door. He whispered, “Come in.” No answer and then another knock sounded, more insistent this time. He rasped out as loudly as he could, “Come in. The door’s open.”