Luck Be Delanie

by Shelli Stevens

  Bridget continued reading silently. And then Ellen told her that the key was “drink in moderation first.” “Every fourth word leaves us with the and in. Those are pointless.”

  “Yeah. I know. And then the last line is still hanging out there.”

  She reread the final sentence of the missive. Always loved that wealth of unhelpful, impractical information. Call me later, Lyle. “What if we just pull out words that look important?” she suggested.

  Rodney sighed. “We’ve tried that, remember? Too many words. Too many variables. Plus we still have that damn up hanging out there unexplained, which could mean my godmother Ellen theory is shot to hell.”

  “We’re closer now.”

  Rodney leaned back in his seat. “Yeah. I guess. But I have to tell you, if Lyle weren’t already dead, I’d probably kill him for leaving us such shitty clues.”

  Bridget laughed. “You’d have to get in line. Why he thought I could figure this out is beyond me. He must’ve tried to explain how to work sudoku puzzles to me a thousand times, but I never got it.”

  “We still have some time. There’s three weeks until the trial. We’ll just keep plugging along until then. At that point, we’re going back to New York—with or without the flash drive. I’m going to grab the keys to Steven’s truck and go check out the cabins.”

  “You know, if the cabins don’t work out, we could always just stay here. We have enough money to cover us for most of the three weeks if we’re careful. It feels safe here.”

  Rodney gave her a knowing grin. “You can’t kid a kidder, Bridge. Safety has nothing to do with it. There are two fucking gorgeous cowboys here, and you’re hot to get into their sexy-as-shit, too-tight jeans.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one checking out the James brothers’ Levis. “Yeah, well, just remember they’re my cowboys, hot stuff. You can look, but no touching.”

  “Believe me, those two don’t play for my team.”

  She laughed. It had become a pass-the-time game on the bus trip from Oklahoma to Saratoga for her and Rodney to decide whose sexual-orientation team their fellow travelers played for. “Maybe not, but their brother does.”

  Rodney closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “Christ, kitten. We’re running for our lives here. We don’t have time to get laid.”

  She stuck out her lower lip in playful pout. “All I’m asking for is a few more days. If we really are looking for a woman named Ellen, we’d have a better chance finding her if we’re closer to town. Besides, imagine if their younger brother is as hot as them. You’ve gotta be feeling the effects of this forced abstinence as much as me.”

  “Here comes the persuasion again,” Rodney muttered. “Fine, Bridget. I’ll admit it. I’m horny as shit and tired of sharing a room with you. It’s not like I can take care of my own needs with you snoring across the bedroom.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “But I’m not about to jeopardize your life or mine for a quick screw with a cowboy I’ll likely never see again after we leave here. We’re so close to end, Bridget. Let’s don’t fuck it up now.”

  He was one hundred and twenty percent right. Damn him. “And you say I’m the persuasive one. Fine. I’m focused again. Promise.”

  He reached out and patted her on the shoulder. The gesture was meant to comfort her. She wanted to shrug it off, rail at him, but she couldn’t. He understood her frustrations because he shared them. It wasn’t fair for her to blame him for something that was ultimately her fault. Would Lyle still be alive today if she hadn’t suggested he share the information he’d uncovered with her? If she hadn’t planted the seed that they break the news by splashing it all across the front page of the newspaper? If she’d insisted that they call the cops first?

  Rodney refolded Lyle’s letter and put it back in his pocket as he stood. “Why don’t you expand on your friendship with Todd? See if you can’t find a way to figure out who this Ellen might be.”

  She forced her concern aside at Rodney’s worried glance. She gave him a jaunty salute. “Aye aye, Captain.”

  He laughed, fooled by her feigned attempt at lightheartedness. “I won’t be gone long. Don’t get in to any trouble.”

  “I won’t.”

  She watched him leave but made no move to rise. She was suddenly feeling very tired.

  Three more weeks and the running would stop.

  Three more weeks and she could return to her normal life. That thought didn’t bring her as much comfort as it used to. She wasn’t the same woman who’d escaped New York in the middle of the night. That woman was driven, obsessed with climbing the ladder of success. That woman let her best friend sacrifice his life simply to provide her with information for a lousy newspaper article.

  That woman didn’t exist anymore. Her life had been snuffed out the instant the judge’s bullet pierced Lyle’s flesh.

  Three weeks.

  Then what?