by Becky Avella
“Are you done?” Austin snarled.
“Not yet!” Sean yelled back.
Austin threw up his hands. “Sure, why not. Be my guest. Not like a man’s bleeding out on the ground or anything.”
Sean turned back to Jim.
“Don’t trust...” Jim started to say but couldn’t finish.
“Who shouldn’t I trust?”
The sheriff labored some more, trying so hard to form words that refused to come.
“Please,” Sean begged. “Who’s after us?”
Jim only wheezed in response. Sean glanced down at the bloody mess that was his side and arm. Blood still flowed from both wounds.
“It can wait, Jim. You can tell me everything later, when you’re better,” Sean said. He moved to wave Austin back over but Jim stopped him.
“Talk to Paul,” he whispered. His head fell forward against his chest, too heavy to hold up any longer.
“What did you say?” Sean leaned in close again.
“Mills.”
Jim was losing consciousness. He wasn’t making sense, just spitting out names.
Sean couldn’t tell if Jim was naming Austin as the leader behind these attacks or simply calling for his help. “Do you want Austin back here?” Sean asked, desperate to understand.
“If he dies, it’s your fault, Loomis,” Austin called.
“Ask Paul,” Jim said once more before he collapsed against Sean.
He struggled to hold up Jim’s deadweight. “He’s unconscious!”
“Get out of the way,” Austin commanded, shoving Sean away once again. Austin yelled into his radio, cursing Dispatch. “Where’s our paramedics?”
Sean didn’t fight back or argue. He’d interfered with Jim’s care enough already. He could hear the ambulance arriving and the screaming sirens of two other sheriff-deputy vehicles joining the scene. But what Sean heard most was Austin’s accusing voice. If he dies, it’s your fault.
He was unskilled when it came to saving lives. What Jim needed was for Sean to back off and let the professionals take over. Even if it meant admitting that Austin Mills was more qualified in this situation than he was. Sean wasn’t deluded enough to think otherwise. He allowed himself to be jostled by the swarm of paramedics and deputies, stumbling backward out of their way.
From a distance, all Sean could see were Jim’s boots sticking out from the huddle of men circled around him. Tyler Evanston, one of Jim’s deputies, jogged over to Sean, while the other deputy pulled Deanna and Arlene aside. Tyler was going to want answers Sean didn’t have, but at least Sean wouldn’t have to talk to Austin.
“He’s in and out of consciousness,” Tyler said. “We’re taking him to the hospital now, but I’m sure they’ll life-flight him to Seattle or Spokane.”
Sean tried to answer Tyler’s questions, describing what he could recall about the Nissan and the shooters, but there was so much he didn’t know. He made sure Tyler knew about the reports he and Deanna had written for Austin. Tyler was a good guy. At least, Sean had thought so, but how could he tell anymore whose side anyone was actually on?
“I’ve got a million more questions for you,” Tyler said, “but Jim made us promise we wouldn’t detain you. He’s the boss, so I guess you’re free to go for now. You let me know right away if you think of anything else that can help us in this investigation.”
Sean would tell him more if he had more answers to give. But he didn’t. When those bullets hit Jim, they had severed a lifeline for Sean. Jim was supposed to guide him, to take over protecting Deanna for him so he could get back to the business of saving his ranch. Jim was not supposed to be on a gurney with bullet holes through his body. Sean closed his eyes and pleaded, God, save my friend. Please.
As he watched the men at work, Jim’s words swirled around Sean like the floating pieces of ash in the air, insubstantial and impossible to grasp. He couldn’t make sense of any of it. What had Jim been trying to tell him?
Each time Sean thought he understood, a new interpretation presented itself. The only thing he knew for sure was the fire was coming. Fast. It wouldn’t wait for Sean to get everything sorted out first.
Jim had made him promise that he’d leave him, but what kind of man took off when his best friend had been shot? He should be in the hospital waiting room, pacing and drinking stale coffee until he got news that Jim would pull through.
A cool hand touched his arm. “You’re bleeding,” Deanna said.
Sean lifted his elbow to inspect it and shrugged. “I scraped my elbow when we fell.” He glanced over to the gurney being loaded into the ambulance. “It’s nothing.”
Austin was talking with the driver. Sean’s nostrils flared. Whether or not Jim had meant that Austin Mills was controlling the drugs and weapons smuggling or that he was responsible for the attacks, Austin had lied.
“I really, really don’t like that guy,” Sean grumbled.
Deanna protested, “He was the only one I could find to help...”
“I know.”
She hugged her arms around her waist. “Those bullets were meant for us.”
“Yeah. Probably,” Sean agreed.
“Are they coming back?”
“Not here—there’s too much of an audience now.” He could feed her a bunch of platitudes and attempt to reassure her, but it wouldn’t be honest. She needed to understand just how much danger she was still in—that her grandmother was still in, too. “They’ll be back eventually. They aren’t stopping until they’ve shut us up. We’ve got to get you both somewhere safe.”
“But we already told the sheriff everything we know. Why are they still after us? What more of a threat could we be?”
“It’s hard to testify when you’re dead,” Sean said.
Deanna jerked. He hadn’t meant to say it quite that bluntly but it was the truth. “We’re loose ends,” he continued. “If they get rid of us, there will be no witnesses. No one to stand up in court and point fingers. And we won’t be able to snoop around for more information, either. Whoever is calling the shots, they do not want us left alive as a liability.”
As long as he was being honest, he should continue. “Besides, we didn’t actually report all we knew to the sheriff.” He glared at the retreating ambulance. “We reported it to Austin Mills.”
“What are you saying? That Austin is somehow responsible for this?” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“You never know what a man might do to protect himself if he feels threatened enough.”
Deanna opened her mouth, but Sean stopped her. “Jim just told me there weren’t any arrests made today. None. He warned me not to trust anyone. I’m pretty sure he meant Austin.”
Her face registered shock. “No, that can’t be right. Sue Lloyd said Sheriff Johnson had been out in the field all day. Maybe he wasn’t informed...” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t even convincing herself.
“Whatever degree Austin is involved in this doesn’t matter,” he said. “Austin Mills is a liar. That’s all we need to know.”
“Sean,” a familiar voice called from behind him.
He whirled around and spotted Uncle Paul standing on the curb. Sean’s stomach plummeted. How could he ever explain why he’d left Paul alone to rescue the land they both loved? The land Sean had thought his father had loved, too, before his dad disappeared on them and left it all behind. But it wasn’t anger Sean saw on his uncle’s face. It was fear.
Two more of Jim’s floating words lit on his mind and suddenly became solid.
Ask Paul.
THIRTEEN
Paul Loomis’s black hair hung in a long braid down his back, his diminishing hairline streaked with gray. He was almost as tall as Sean, dressed similarly in Wranglers, a well-worn T-shirt and cowboy boots. But Paul’s b
arrel chest was thicker, and his shoulders stooped under some invisible weight.
The family resemblance was strong, especially in their rectangular faces, with their arrow-straight noses and high cheekbones. Although Paul’s lips curled up at the corners even more than Sean’s did, Paul showed no sign of the easy smile Deanna had come to expect from Sean.
It was a shame. Paul’s face had been designed for laughter. Crinkly laugh lines and well-defined apples in his cheeks hinted at what must have been a wonderful sense of humor at some point in his life. If it had ever existed, though, it was buried now. Deep lines creased his forehead between heavily bagged, sad eyes. Deanna was tempted to crack a joke, anything to bring some flicker of light back into those brown depths.
“You ever planning on coming home, son?” Paul asked.
Sean winced. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. We—”
Paul put up a hand. “You hear about that truck crash off Tunk?”
Sean’s head dropped. “Yeah, I know about it.”
“Well, it caught the whole hill on fire,” Paul continued. “It’s spreading, coming at us quick. I need your help fighting it when it gets there.”
Deanna’s stomach churned, and she could see that Sean’s eyes held the same guilt she felt. Watching that truck explode was forever seared in her mind. She and Sean had escaped, but once again she couldn’t help but question the cost.
Paul scanned the remaining crowd, looking uneasy. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Sean’s gaze met Deanna’s eyes. She could see the decisions he wrestled with playing out across his face. She knew the moment he made his decision. His face softened, looking peaceful. He was still looking at her when he told his uncle, “I can’t go with you. I have to see this through first.”
Paul froze, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier. “Of course you can’t.” The furious look he pitched in Deanna’s direction stung. “Not when it’s her who needs rescuing, right?”
She shook her head in slow motion. “No way. Don’t make this about me.”
The men stared each other down.
“Sean, go,” she begged. His chivalry was going too far. “Gram and I will be fine.”
Sean looked at her incredulously, almost angrily. “And when those men show up again,” he said, “what are you going to do then?”
“I have a gun,” she protested.
“You mean the same gun you couldn’t make yourself use earlier today?”
His words were quiet, but they struck hard. “What do you want me to say? This is getting ridiculous. Your ranch is more important. You know you have to go.”
“But he won’t, will he?” Paul asked. Technically, the question was for her, but it was clearly directed at Sean.
Sean didn’t back down. “Just a little more time, that’s all I’m asking. I give you my word that I’ll get there before the fire does,” he said.
“Sean!” His stubbornness was driving her crazy.
Gram pulled Deanna back and whispered in her ear, “This is between them, Dee. Stay out of it.”
“You’re asking for time we don’t have.” Paul’s voice changed pitch, less shouting, more pleading. “You don’t know what you’re messing with, Sean. Please. Trust me. Come home.”
“Aren’t you curious?” Sean said. “You haven’t even asked me why I’m covered in blood.”
But Paul had already turned and walked toward his truck. He opened the driver-side door so forcefully Deanna half expected it to come off its hinges.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Sean yelled after him. “What do you know?”
“What I know is this—we’ve got a ranch to save. Land that’s been in both sides of your family for generations. I thought you cared.” Paul waved a hand toward Deanna. “But apparently you’ve got other priorities.”
Deanna’s cheeks burned. She started to speak, but Gram squeezed her arm. “Hush,” she said.
“He’s blaming me,” she said to Gram in a harsh whisper. “I’ve got to make Sean go home.”
“This is about more than that,” Gram said into her ear. “Let Sean get to the bottom of it.”
Deanna’s gaze bounced between the two men, trying to comprehend what was really being said through their stiff body language. Their facial expressions contorted with emotion, continually changing. She couldn’t translate all that was transpiring between them, but she eventually saw what Gram had seen. This argument wasn’t about the ranch or the fire. And it wasn’t about her, either. This was none of her business. She bit back her words.
“How long are you going to ignore my question?” Sean said.
Paul scrubbed his face with his hand. “You have no idea what you’ve done, kid.”
Sean stepped toward the truck. “Enlighten me, then. What have I done exactly?”
Paul slapped the roof of the truck and cursed. His angry expression crumpled into such raw pain it looked like his face was made of melting wax.
“Uncle Paul,” Sean said, his voice hoarse. “Answer me. What have I done?”
Paul’s voice was so soft Deanna almost couldn’t hear it. “You’ve become your father,” he said. Then he shut the door, pulled a U-turn away from the curb and drove away.
* * *
The retreating taillights blurred into a smear of red. Sean blinked to clear his vision and then they were gone. Uncle Paul had taken any chance for answers away with him into the darkness.
An owl hooted in a nearby tree. Sean heard a slamming car door echoing down the street. But behind him all was silent. Deanna and her grandmother must be holding their breath, waiting to see how he’d react. He stared ahead, unwilling to turn and face the questions he expected to see in their eyes.
Or maybe it would be pity. That would be worse.
The slimy voice of suspicion whispered accusations against Uncle Paul in his ear. Each new indictment burned like a branding iron. Sean gritted his teeth and refused to believe any of it. There was no solid evidence. Until there was, he’d stay loyal, but there was no denying that Uncle Paul knew something. More than that. He knew a lot. He knew they were in danger, not from the flames, but from the men after them. Sean squeezed his fingers into fists. Uncle Paul owed him so many explanations. Dropping a bomb like that and then driving away without explaining himself had been a cheap shot.
Deanna touched the back of his hand. She wiggled his tight fist loose with her fingers until she could slip her own hand into his. They didn’t speak to each other, just held hands while they stared out in the direction Uncle Paul’s truck had disappeared.
Deanna leaned her head against his shoulder and a lump rose in his throat. Her touch, her nearness—it was exactly what he needed right now. She couldn’t know how much it meant to hold on to her like this, to have a friend to ground him in reality while he wrestled with all these what-ifs. He closed his eyes and inhaled the faint strawberry scent of her hair. He wanted her even closer. He wanted to pull her in and bury his face in her neck, to hold on to her until life made sense again.
“You going to be okay?” she finally asked.
His face heated. It was a good thing she couldn’t read his mind. He could never have imagined allowing himself to be this weak and vulnerable in front of anyone. But in front of Deanna Jackson?
“If you’re not careful, your chivalry is going to cost you your ranch,” she said.
He glanced back to where Arlene waited for them on the curb. They shouldn’t be standing out here in the open. “I will go home the minute I’m convinced that you and Arlene are somewhere safe.”
Deanna squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”
He whipped his head around in her direction. Thank you? No arguing? No pushing him to leave? What had changed?
Her sigh came from somewhere deep. As she spoke, it sounded like
she was breathless. “It’s hard to admit, but I’m in over my head.” She paused and then added, “In everything.”
She lifted her head to look up at the sky. This admission must be killing her pride. “I’ve been treading water for so long, and I’m tired. It’s the honest truth. I really, really don’t know what to do.”
How many times had he felt overwhelmed like that? Needing Dad’s advice but not being able to ask him for it? Fighting to control a world that refused to be controlled. Wondering if he’d fail or succeed. It was terrifying. “I’ve been there,” he said.
She faced him. “I’m not saying you’re being smart risking your ranch for me, I’m only saying I’m thankful we’re in this together.” She toed the sidewalk with her boot, flicking a pebble that skittered across the street. “So, thank you.”
Sean slid his thumb across the back of her hand, aware of how soft it was under his calloused skin. He couldn’t leave her alone, couldn’t risk someone hurting her. No matter how guilty he felt about letting down Uncle Paul or what price he’d eventually pay for this decision, he did not regret staying with her. It had been an easy choice.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And I’m not gambling the ranch as much as you think. I’ve done a lot of work already. Everything I could possibly do to prepare. I think Uncle Paul wants me up there for moral support more than anything else.”
Arlene cleared her throat behind them. “Is it safe to stay out in the open like this?”
“No, probably not,” Sean said, embarrassed. He guided Deanna and Arlene back to the old Ford and helped Arlene into the passenger seat first. He expected Deanna to climb in, too, but she closed the door instead and turned to face him.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said, rubbing the front of her neck as if her words were hard to swallow. “A few favors, actually.”
She nodded her head in the direction of her grandmother and said, “I can’t think straight until I know she’s safe. Will you help me get her away from here?”
“Where?”
“Seattle.”