Wind River Lawman

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Isn’t Texas big enough for ya?”

  Lips twisting, Dawson said, “It’s not about size, ma’am. It’s about my curiosity regarding this state. Even as a kid, I wanted to come up here and explore Wyoming. I don’t know why. I left the Marine Corps and decided to make that dream come true before I got too old to do it.”

  “I see. Well? What do you think so far?”

  “I like it a lot. Compared to Texas, where unless you’re in the greener parts of the state, it’s pretty much a desert. Wyoming is lush and green here on the western border.”

  “Well, believe me, we have parts of Wyoming that are a desert, just like Texas. You just ain’t seen ’em yet, is all. Go to Casper, on the eastern side of the state, and you’ll see what I mean.”

  “Maybe it’s the mountains that drew you here?” Sarah ventured.

  Dawson raised a brow and thought about it. “You might have something there. Good call.”

  “Amarillo is flatter than a pancake,” Gertie pointed out. “And Texas has bumpy hills, certainly not mountains. We have real mountains here in western Wyoming. The real deal. Is that what drew you here, then?”

  “A good point,” Dawson agreed. “It probably was.”

  Gertie held both her slender wrists toward him. “You’re a paramedic. What do you think of these?”

  Seeing the slight swelling, he said, “Do you mind if I examine them?”

  “Nope. I want to know what you think about them. I’m sure Sarah told you I have arthritis in ’em.” She laid her right wrist into his opened hand.

  Dawson was gentle. “Well, this isn’t very medical, but you have what I call bird bones,” and he smiled a little, moving his fingers lightly across the area where the wrist joint was located.

  “Bird bones?” she snorted. “Sarah, tell him I’m not some little itty-bitty bird.”

  Laughing, Sarah met his warm gaze. “Her enemies call her the vulture of Wind River Valley.”

  “Ouch,” he muttered, giving Gertie a kind look. “You don’t seem like that to me.”

  “Never mind me! What do you think of my wrist?”

  Smiling to himself, he concentrated on her wrist. “There’s swelling around it, which is usually an indicator of bone rubbing against bone. Is that what your doctor told you?”

  “Yes,” she muttered defiantly, her gray brows rising and falling with consternation. “He said the same dad-burned thing! What about my left wrist?”

  “Well,” Dawson said, gently palpating it here and there, “it’s pretty much the same thing.”

  “I was so hoping for another, better diagnosis.”

  He released her wrist. “Has your doc talked to you about going to a chiropractor or to a doctor of osteopathy, a bone doc?”

  “No.” Her lower lip pooched out as she regarded him darkly. “Why? What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

  “I’m a great believer in alternative medicine, ma’am. I’d have X-rays done first to see if the small bones across your wrist are out of alignment. Often, when your spine goes out, it can travel up your shoulder and down your arm to those small bones.” He gestured to her right wrist, which was worse-appearing than her left. “I’d go get an adjustment from a chiro first to see if they can’t pick up on why it went out of alignment in the first place. Then, if that doesn’t fix it, I’d see the bone doctor. She or he might have some cards up their sleeve that could be helpful to you.”

  “My doc wants me on damned mind-altering drugs. Hydrocodone. I took one and it knocked me out for four hours! I was so pissed when I woke up. I don’t have four hours to waste in a day. I called him and chewed his ear off. He told me to stop taking them. I don’t trust him. I hate drugs. Do you know of anything besides drugs that might help me?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But you have to jump through other hoops, so we can really understand if you have the osteoporosis kind of arthritis or not.”

  “My family never gets sick! No one has ever had arthritis.” Her nostrils flared, and she tapped her short fingers, angry. “I think he misdiagnosed me.”

  “Maybe, if he’s not a good fit, Gertie, we can find you another doctor.”

  “Yes,” she snapped, “that’s a good idea.”

  “Would that be part of my job?” he asked.

  “Absolutely. I don’t trust medical doctors further than I can throw ’em. I wanted to go to Taylor Douglas. Before this other doc rolled into our little community, Taylor took care of all of us just fine.”

  “Is she a doctor?” Dawson asked.

  “She’s a physician’s assistant,” Sarah said. “And she really has taken care of everyone around here.”

  “Plus,” Gertie said, waving her finger in Dawson’s direction, “she hates medical drugs as much as I do.”

  “Did you go to her?” he wondered.

  “No, because I was stupid and listened to the medical doctor in Jackson Hole instead. He didn’t trust PAs, didn’t think much of ’em.”

  “Well, you need a second opinion, ma’am. Why not set up an appointment with Dr. Douglas?”

  “Would you come with me?”

  “Of course.”

  Gertie turned to Sarah. “I like ’im.” Then she turned to him. “You’re hired, Dawson. I need an assistant to help me sort out lots of things, and you’re a man with a big curiosity about life. I like people who are thinking, asking good questions and have common sense. You know? Common sense is something very few people have, I’ve found out. Rather disappointin’, if you ask me. But you have it. So, you want to work for me?”

  Dawson smiled a little. “I’d be honored to work for you, Mrs. Carter.”

  “Pooh! You call me Gertie or I’ll thump you good, young man!”

  Dawson held up his hands. “I surrender. I’ll call you Gertie if you call me Dawson.”

  “Fine,” she grumbled, scowling. “And lose that ma’am stuff, too. All right? Everyone who worked with Isaac and me were seen and treated like family. I like family. Family is a good thing. And if it’s cared for properly, it makes everyone within the family stronger. And happy.”

  “I come from a similar type of home,” Dawson said, trying to still his sudden joy at being hired.

  “I read your résumé and your DD Form 214, young’un, and you’re a real hero. I was wondering if any of those wounds you got those Purple Hearts for were gonna be an issue around here. You got any physical issues?”

  “No, I can work with no problem at all, Gertie.” He saw her suddenly smile, her entire face wreathed in that smile. She exuded warm sunlight, and he took her change in moods in stride.

  “That’s good to hear. I’m makin’ you foreman of the horses and cattle we have here on the ranch. In the coming weeks, I’ll get you introduced to the women and men who run our egg and chicken business. And I think Sarah told you that you’ll have a suite up on the second floor of my house here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cece has the bedroom at one end. The suite is at the other end of the hall. It’s real quiet up there and I think you’ll like it.”

  “After sleeping out on rock slopes in Afghanistan,” he told her, “I’m sure it will be like a five-star hotel in comparison.” He saw pleasure come to her eyes at his compliment.

  “Sarah, here, usually comes over every few days to check on me. I know she’s really busy, but we usually have a family dinner on Sunday afternoon. Cece makes it, and our whole family gathers around the table. You’re expected to be there, too.”

  “That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Shocked, Dawson understood Gertie, in her own unique way, was trying to make him feel like part of her family. “I’d like that.” He glanced over at Sarah, who looked relieved, happiness dancing in her green gaze. At least he’d see her once a week, and that made him feel good on a completely different level.

  “You got someone special in your life right now, Dawson?”

  “Er . . . no . . .” and Dawson was caught flat-footed by her unexpected question. For whatever
reason, he saw satisfaction come into her eyes.

  “Good! Sarah isn’t hitched yet either,” Gertie informed him. “So she’ll be comin’ alone. I intend to put you two young’uns together at the Sunday dinner table.”

  Instantly, Dawson saw Sarah’s cheeks grow a bright red as she stared, aghast, at her bold grandmother. Gertie, on the other hand, looked like the fox that just got into a big, fat henhouse, her pleased smile saying it all. He had the smarts to keep his mouth shut and simply nod his head. He wasn’t about to throw gasoline on this fire. No way . . .

  Chapter Five

  June 8

  Sarah was astounded at Gertie’s obvious matchmaking efforts. Her cheeks stung like fire and she saw deviltry dancing in her grandmother’s eyes as she asked him about his love life. So why did she feel relieved inside, huh? Oh, she didn’t want to go there. Her life was far too intense and stressed as it was. Sarah was not looking for a relationship. It was the farthest thing from her mind. Gertie then inquired if Sarah might show Dawson his new quarters up on the second floor and see if he approved of them.

  Good! Anything to get Gertie’s focus off her for a while. Walking quickly out of the dining room, Dawson followed her at a reasonable speed behind her, hands behind his back, a thoughtful expression on his face. Damned if she could read his real feelings, though. The man had just as good a black ops game face as she did.

  The huge oak staircase curved gracefully in a half circle up to the second floor. The stairs were covered with a dark blue paisley carpet, her footfalls muffled as she quickly moved up the steps. At the top, she turned and waited for Dawson.

  “I’m sorry about my grandmother,” she apologized in an undertone, not wanting their conversation to get to Gertie’s ears, as he came to a halt at the top.

  “It’s okay. Just sort of caught me off guard, I guess.” He gave her a wry look. “You seemed shocked by it, too.”

  Making an unhappy noise, Sarah gestured toward the left hall. “Gertie doesn’t mince words.”

  “Really?”

  She heard the amusement in his voice as he walked easily at her side. “You’ll see. I warned you beforehand about her not being PC. Remember?”

  “Indeed, you did. I just didn’t expect that sort of a question.”

  Sarah didn’t see any real disappointment in his face, however. Why did she sense that he was very pleased about the whole damned, uncomfortable situation? And why? Oh, she wasn’t going there with Dawson. Not after Gertie’s high jinks!

  “My grandmother can really stir a pot if she has a mind to do it,” she murmured, halting and twisting a hundred-year-old brass doorknob, pushing open the mahogany door. Stepping aside, she said, “Go on in. This is your new home, Dawson.” Somehow, to her, it had a nice, comforting ring to it. His expression remained neutral and he released his hands from behind his back and stepped into the carpeted suite. She followed and quietly shut the door behind her.

  In front of them was the parlor, which had an antique couch, a mahogany coffee table in front of it, a red-brick fireplace off to one side, two other antique chairs, two lamp tables, plus windows that allowed in a lot of light. She saw Dawson halt and swore she could feel him absorbing the room like a sponge. It wasn’t anything obvious. Nothing about him really was, but her own sensing mechanisms were highly honed, and she could feel him taking it all in.

  “I don’t know if you’re into antique furniture?”

  Dawson turned, holding her gaze. “My family has 1900s’ furniture from my great-great-grandparents who settled in the Texas Panhandle. I grew up with furniture somewhat like this. But that couch? It’s a beauty.”

  Sarah moved over to it, placing her hand along the top of the polished mahogany. “This is a very rare Duncan Phyfe couch. The crest rail shape, the curved legs, which are called a curule foot, is hard to find anywhere these days. My grandmother had this refinished in cream-colored-striped satin about twenty years ago. Before that? It had the original horsehair weave on it.”

  “It looks very rich and very expensive. I’m not sure I should sit down on it.”

  She laughed. “Well, as kids, we played on the couch. Gertie isn’t the type to put a no-trespassing sign on something just because it’s old. Her grandparents were very well off and bought the best of everything, and all the furniture you see was bought to last through many, many generations.” She fondly patted the wooden polished rail. “This couch brings back a lot of happy memories to me.”

  He moved to the other end of the couch, sliding his hand across the curved end of the sofa. “The fabric feels soft. Inviting. I know my parents would love to see this.”

  “Take a cell-phone photo and send it to them. I’m sure they’d like to know you’ve landed a very nice job up here in Wyoming.”

  “Good idea.” He turned, leaning down. The curved wood holding up the sofa rested on a large ball of the same material beneath each curved form. “Wouldn’t a certain amount of weight break those balls?” he wondered, studying them.

  “We never did,” she offered. “And we were bouncing off and on this couch when we played on it. I guess if you put three grown men your size on it, maybe,” and she grinned.

  He straightened. “Well, it’s quite an artistic piece. I like it.” Turning around, he studied the fireplace. “Does it work?”

  “Better. It’s all the heating you have up here on the second floor during the wintertime.”

  “Will I be chopping wood for—how many fireplaces in this house?”

  “Yes, you will. There are three of them. On the main floor, with the largest of three fireplaces, Gertie had wallboard heating installed, too. She just loves to hear the wood popping and crackling in the fireplace, but it’s for show only. Cece and you will be building a fire every morning.”

  “I was always charged with bringing in the wood for our potbellied stove from age nine until I left for the Marine Corps at eighteen. I’m pretty handy with an ax.”

  “Not a deal breaker, huh?”

  “Nah, chopping wood always feels good. I sweat, I work hard, and I like that.”

  “You really are an outdoors type.”

  “That was the only thing that concerned me about this job, but I think after listening to Gertie, I’ll have my fill of outdoor activities, too.”

  “Oh,” Sarah deadpanned, “she’s just as much an outdoor person as you are, Dawson. I think you’ll find that out pretty quickly. She’s got a Polaris ATV parked out back, a bright red one she named Rocket. She drives like a bat out of hell around the ranch; I should probably warn you about that. Rocket takes her all over the place, and she puts the pedal to the metal. I told her if she didn’t slow down on the property I was going to give her a speeding ticket.”

  “I’ll bet that went over real well.”

  She chuckled. “You could say that.”

  Grinning, he walked to the red-brick fireplace, smoothing his hand along the reddish mahogany mantel above it. “Yet she can’t drive her truck off the property and into town?”

  “No, she can’t. You’ll do that for her. I think my suggestion for her to get an ATV after my grandfather died really helped her out a lot. She’s got macular eye issues, and while she can see okay up to a point, she doesn’t want to risk hitting someone out on an open highway because of her condition.”

  “I see.” He moved to the two Edwardian mahogany chairs in different parts of the room. They, too, were very old but were lovingly cared for, with creamy satin fabric on them as well. There was a huge nine-by-twelve floral carpet with roses woven into it within the central area of the parlor. The blond oak flooring provided a nice dash of color surrounding it. The pale gold background color of the velvet rug was a backdrop for the red roses in bloom, the greenery mixed with other wildflowers at each corner.

  There were two sturdy oak rocking chairs in two of the corners. The windows were open, showing the beautiful, transparent stained glass, and then a protective window behind it to shield them from the harsh winter weather. “I
like that stained glass,” and he walked over to the window, pulling the transparent curtains aside. There were heavy brocade gold drapes that could be pulled closed over all of it, if he wanted. Dawson was sure those drapes would stop some of the cold leaking in from the windows during winter.

  Sarah joined him. “Gertie loves stained glass. Colorful types, I should add.” She gestured to the red roses arcing across the top of the window, and then blooms, stems and leaves down both sides, leaving most of the window open so people could easily see out of it. “She hired a very famous woman from back East to come out and update each window. My grandmother loves rainbows, too, but I think you already know that,” and she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. Her heart thudded in her chest. The expression in Dawson’s eyes seemed as if he genuinely was enjoying their conversation. She hadn’t expected him to be very interested in the Victorian-era suite, but to her surprise, he was.

  “My parents’ home has some stained-glass windows in it, too. Nothing as fancy and pretty as these, but as kids, me and my brother liked watching the sun rise to a certain position in the sky, and then the sunshine would hit the window and there’d be rainbows all over the back wall and then the wood floor.”

  Sarah frowned. “You have a brother? I didn’t see anything about him on your résumé.” She recalled that he’d put down the names of his parents and himself; that was all.

  Dawson’s mouth thinned for a moment and he remained by the fireplace. “Yeah,” he admitted heavily, giving her a glance, “I did. Toby was my younger brother by two years. When he was ten years old, he drowned. I tried to save him, almost drowned myself trying to do it, but I lost him.”

  The heartache was clear in his lowered voice; the pain and grief were there, too. Shock bolted through her system as she stared at him. “You lost your brother? I’m so sorry, Dawson.” She felt her throat closing. The past came rushing back up to her, vignettes, like web pages being slammed into her again, and she struggled to push it all away. Forcing herself, she focused on Dawson because she saw the lingering sadness, the guilt, in his lowered eyes. Sarah made an inarticulate sound as tears rushed to her eyes, stinging and hot. A sheriff wasn’t supposed to show emotions, and instantly, she lifted her fingers, brushing them away, swallowing hard several times, fighting back a past that had never been lain to rest.