Bulletproof Heart

by Sheryl Lynn

  “Did you drop some money?” she asked.

  He turned around. She held out a limp, tattered twenty-dollar bill.

  “I found it on the ground.” She dangled it by the corner. She turned the bill back and forth, frowning.

  Her frown focused on the floor behind Reb and deepened.

  He followed her line of sight and spotted another bill. A tightening in his gut told him where the money had came from. He picked up a soggy twenty-dollar bill with teeth marks in it. “I think Copper got hold of something.”

  “My dog robbed a bank?” Emily loosed an incredulous laugh. But she called the dog.

  Copper emerged from a stall at the far end of the barn. His red-gold, mud-splattered fur was plastered to his tough body. He grinned widely, his tongue lolling with every rapid pant.

  “What have you got there, boy?” she asked. At the edge of the stall, she stopped in her tracks and gasped. “Where in the world did you find that?”

  Chapter Ten

  On his knees in the straw, Reb sorted through a pile of twenty-dollar bills. Emily stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. Copper had chewed the money into a sodden, mangled green mess. Many of the bills were in pieces, but there were a lot of pieces, perhaps hundreds of dollars’ worth. She looked down at her dog, wishing he could talk. Copper watched Reb, his amber eyes bright with interest and his tail wagging slowly. He appeared pleased with himself and eager to get back to chewing up the money as soon as the man was finished playing with it.

  “Do you think he hijacked a backpacker?” she asked, nervously, then she gave up trying to crack jokes. “How much is there?”

  “Hard to tell. It looks like he ate some of it.” Reb showed her a bill that had been chewed in half. “Looks like thirty bills all together.”

  She crouched and picked up a bill. Despite being wet, it looked new. “Why in the world would Copper chew up money?”

  Reb shrugged and placed the messy stack of bills inside a feed bucket, out of Copper’s reach.

  “A duffel bag full of money.” She laughed uneasily. If Tuff had robbed a bank, surely she’d have heard or read about it in the news. “Tuff buried money. That’s why he escaped, to get it before I do.” Uncertain what to do, she looked toward the barn door. “I better call the sheriff. He has to realize this is evidence.”

  “If you show up with this much money, word will get out about a hidden stash,” Reb said. “You’ll end up with a thousand treasure hunters crawling over your property.”

  Knowing they were in way over their heads, she backed up a step. “It’ll be better than Tuff getting away with murder. Mickey can bring in tracking dogs. If I give him the money and tell him I suspect drugs might be involved, no one will think I’m involved. I have to trust Mickey on this one.”

  “What about Joey?”

  “What about him?”

  “Tuff didn’t break out of a locked cell by himself.”

  “Watch your mouth, Reb Tremaine.”

  He held up his hands, showing his palms. “I know Joey wouldn’t help Tuff, and you know it. But the sheriff has to blame somebody. Joey was in town when Tuff escaped. Now Joey’s taken off to find him. The law might claim he’s gone to join him.”

  Lightning flashed, brightening the barn doorway. Inside their stalls the horses shuffled restlessly. Reb’s poncho rustled as he moved. “Put a leash on Copper,” he said. “Let’s see if he can lead us to the duffel bag.”

  They headed out again. Copper protested his lack of freedom by grabbing at the leash and playing tugof-war. The storm had blown east, and the sky over the mountains was black, flashing with lightning. Howling wind twisted the trees, making it look as if the storm might shift and come back this way. At the creek Emily stopped and stared. The water overflowed its banks, surging against the rocks, carrying broken branches and clumps of leaves. Even Copper balked at crossing.

  “Head upstream,” she said to Reb. “We might find a place to cross.”

  As they trudged through the sopping grass, the storm shifted as Emily had feared. Beneath her poncho and heavy sweatshirt, she could feel the temperature dropping. Wind npped at her breath and pummeled her eyes. She tried not to think about the hay crop that still needed harvesting or about Joey.

  Lightning struck Hannah Peak, making the air vibrate and blinding Emily for a second. The rain exploded from the sky as if a mighty hand had turned on a fire hose. She wore one of her grandfather’s cowboy hats, but its broad brim gave only the illusion of protecting her face from the driving rain.

  She slipped in the mud and grabbed Reb’s arm. “This is nuts!” she yelled above the wind. “Copper is miserable.” Ears pressed flat to his skull, the dog hunched his back. “Even if we get across the creek, he won’t be interested in looking for anything.”

  Reb stared longingly at the trees on the far side of the creek, then turned back to the house. By the time they reached the house, Emily’s socks were soaked inside her boots, her hands were red and stinging cold and her teeth chattered. Joey, she thought miserably, out there alone, without a chance of finding dry wood for a fire. On the porch, she dried off Copper, then made sure his water bucket was full and put extra kibble in his food dish.

  “I’m going over to the bunkhouse,” Reb said from the doorway as she peeled off her dripping poncho and hat.

  “Stay here. I’ll get you a towel and a robe. You can use the shower upstairs.” The invitation held a suggestive ring she told herself she didn’t mean. She merely didn’t want to be alone. She was scared and wanted Reb by her side. “There’s nothing we can do out there. No sense you putting on dry clothes just to run back here through the rain. I can wash and dry your clothes while you wait.” She clamped her lower lip between her teeth to stop the rush of justifications.

  “Throw in some hot coffee and it’s a deal.”

  She hurried to fetch him a towel before he changed his mind. After starting a pot of coffee, she went upstairs to shower. The heat of the pounding water made her worry all the more about Joey. He was tough, and living on a ranch meant he’d been out in worse weather than this, but still she imagined him wet and cold and sick. Her only consolation was she doubted if he could find his own hand, much less Tuff, in this storm.

  In her room she pulled a robe from her closet. Daniel had given her the robe on her birthday. Made of heavy emerald green satin, it tied under her breasts, and the skirt flowed over her feet. It was warmer than a sweat suit, she reasoned. Modest. She wasn’t trying to look pretty for Reb. She plaited her hair into a loose braid.

  Downstairs Reb sat at the table. He had wrapped the towel around his waist. The sight of his heavily muscled arms and powerful chest turned her joints heavy. Head down, she mumbled, “I left a robe in the bathroom for you. First door on the right at the top of the stairs.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said in that cool, amused way of his.

  As he left the kitchen, she peeked, eagerly noting the smoothly working muscles in his back. Not a trace of fat softened the hard lines of his waist, and his legs were as she imagined, chiseled and covered with black hair.

  Smoothing a hand over the soft robe, she knew before he left her, she was going to make love to him. She would beg him to stay, pride and sensibility be damned.

  She put their wet clothing into the washing machine.

  A sudden knock at the back door made a scream rise in her chest. Back arched, she clutched the washing machine. The knocking continued, turning insistent.

  She peeked around the edge of the laundry-room doorway. Through the glass in the upper half of the kitchen door she could see a hulking man-shape. She glanced at the shotgun propped against the wall.

  The water stopped running upstairs. Pipes clanked.

  Steeling herself, she went to the door. Mickey Thigpen stood on the porch. Unable to leave Mickey cooling his heels, she invited him inside, but she wished she knew if her suspicions about Reb avoiding the sheriff were valid. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she wan
ted to cover for Reb—even if he was in some kind of trouble.

  “I didn’t hear you come up,” she said. “Is everything all right? Did you find Tuff?” She spoke loudly, hoping Reb heard and stayed upstairs.

  Mickey brushed off his hat, holding it low in an effort to keep the water from dripping on the floor. “Not yet. My guess is he’s headed for Mexico.”

  As she helped Mickey out of his poncho, she glanced guiltily at Reb’s boots turned upside-down on the rack by the door. “Has he been spotted?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “Phones are ringing off the hook. Folks have seen him in barns and in cars. One fellow swears up and down he saw Tuff flying a plane. It’s a doggone mess.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue and teeth. The puffy circles under his eyes made her wonder if he’d had any sleep since the escape.

  Her gaze drifted to the window, where it looked dark as dusk outside. Rain sheeted against the glass. She imagined Tuff heedless as a demon, drawing ever closer to his duffel bag. Lightning flashed, turning the world bright for a moment; seconds later thunder rattled the house.

  “Emily?”

  The urge to tell him about the duffel bag was so strong she could almost hear the words hanging in the air. She cleared her throat. “How is Tim?”

  Mickey shook his head. “Good thing he’s got such a thick skull. Got his head cracked a good one, but I still had to give him an official order to take a few days of sick leave. He’s fretting at the bit, and I can’t say I blame him.” He cocked his head, frowning at her. “Strangest thing. He was sitting at his desk, filling out a report, and suddenly Tuff came at him. But his desk faces the door, so no one could have gotten past him.”

  She didn’t like the way he looked at her when he spoke. “Tim smokes, doesn’t he? Maybe somebody slipped into the building while he was outside taking a break.”

  “I already figured that—is that coffee I smell?”

  The pot had finished brewing, and she poured him a cup.

  He sat at the table. “Funny seeing you in nightclothes during the day. Are you sick? There’s a flu going around.”

  Heat rose on her cheeks. What if Reb appeared, also wearing a robe? Mickey had been annoyed at her before. She could well imagine what he’d think if he found her dressed like this with another man. She busied herself at the sink. “I got caught in the rain, and I needed something warm to wear. Drink your coffee while I change.”

  “Don’t bother on my account. I think you look just fine.”

  “All the more reason to change,” she said tartly, and hurried upstairs.

  Steam billowed lazily through the open bathroom door. She whispered, “Reb?”

  He poked his head out of her bedroom. She shooed him inside again, then closed and locked the door.

  “It’s the sheriff,” she whispered, eyeing him in dismay. Her grandfather’s flannel robe fit Reb as if it belonged to him. With his wet hair and flushed skin, he looked as if he’d spent the morning romping with her.

  “I know,” he whispered back. “I saw his car.”

  “I can’t let him see you like this.”

  “Fine by me.”

  She refused to even consider what he meant by that. “Face the door and don’t peek. I have to change my clothes.”

  He faced the door squarely and locked his hands behind his back. She dressed quickly in gray sweats, watching him all the while, making sure he didn’t peek. To her disappointment, he didn’t.

  Downstairs Mickey had almost finished his coffee. Forcing down her impatience, she joined him at the table.

  “Aren’t you having coffee, honey?” He held out his cup for a refill.

  “I only drink tea.” As she freshened his cup, she realized her mistake and waited for him to ask why she’d made coffee if she was alone. “So how is the search going?” she asked. “Is the posse having any luck?”

  “It’s out of my hands. As soon as I reported the breakout, the state police took over. I’m just a penny-ante gofer these days.” He spoke lightly as if it were amusing, but anger showed in the taut lines around his eyes.

  Emily couldn’t blame him for taking the escape personally.

  “Helicopters are grounded, and they’ve pulled the dogs. The posse is threatening mutiny because everyone’s worried about their hay crops.” Mickey shrugged. “Plus the media has lost interest. As soon as the reporters found out Tuff’s crime was only being drunk and disorderly, they packed up their cameras and went home.” Mickey gazed solemnly at the coffeepot. “Where’s Joey?”

  “Why?”

  “Somebody helped Tuff. I intend to find out who.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said hotly, scared all over again. “Joey didn’t help Tuff escape.”

  “Where is he?”

  She stared at her hands. Mickey wanted a scapegoat. He was angry, his pride affronted, and he probably felt taken advantage of, too. Locking up both Rifkin boys would go a long way toward assuaging his anger. Her urge to tell him about the duffel bag withered. No way could she explain why she’d withheld the information in the first place. “He’s out,” she said. “Checking cattle.”

  “You’re expecting him.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  His smile turned right, and his eyes glittered. He stroked a hand over his damp, shiny hair. “Who are you expecting?”

  “In this weather? Nobody.” She tried to control the guilty pitch of her voice. She knew he knew she lied.

  He stared so hard she felt needle-pricked. The old clock hanging over the sink ticked slowly, loudly, echoing the thumps of her guilty heart. The horrible idea that Mickey knew everything grew in power. She pressed the back of a hand to her forehead.

  “Is there someone in the house?” he whispered.

  Tuff. Mickey thought Tuff was holding her hostage. “You don’t need to whisper, Mickey, there’s no one in the house.”

  “Maybe I should take a look-see for myself.”

  “Maybe you should just take any ideas about getting upstairs into my bedroom right out of your brain!” The ease with which she mustered indignation surprised her. But it had the desired effect. Mickey’s face flushed and he scowled, his eyes darting.

  “When are you going to get it into your thick head that I think of you as a friend, nothing more?”

  “Now, darn it, honey, that’s not what I was thinking.”

  “That’s what you’re always thinking.” She clamped her arms tightly across her chest and gave a wounded little sniff. “And I’d like you a whole lot better if you’d just stop thinking that way about me and start treating me with a little respect. If for no other reason than because you respected Grandpa.”

  “I can’t help it if you’re beautiful. You’ve got that effect on a man. It makes me a little…randy.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  He visibly considered her question. “Do you consider it a compliment?” he asked cautiously. He pulled his head against his shoulders. “Reckon not.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, restlessly toyed with his coffee cup and fiddled with his tie.

  Emily almost felt sorry for him. On occasion he acted like a jerk, but he had a good heart and meant her no harm.

  “Actually,” she said, “I am hoping Joey will come home soon. I’m worried about him. He’s on horseback, and this lightning makes me nervous.”

  He shifted his gaze to the shotgun propped in the corner. He nodded as if it confirmed something, and his shoulders relaxed. “Where did he go exactly?”

  “I don’t know…exactly. Probably the north pasture. If you absolutely have to find him, I can loan you a horse. You can’t get there by car. Or you can check over at Claude’s place. Except Joey might be outside with Claude.” She shut up before she tangled herself in the lies.

  “I suppose it’ll keep.” He lifted his gaze. All traces of good humor were gone.

  Yes, Mickey definitely knew she was lying.

  “Have you seen Pat Nyles lately?” he asked. />
  The name alone made her grimace. Pat Nyles had been the only boy in her seventh-grade class who needed to shave and had a license to drive. He’d been a hulking, sullen boy who carried cigarettes inside his shirt pocket in open defiance of school rules, and masked his stupidity behind a vicious temper and ready fists. “I didn’t know he still lived around here.”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s one of Tuff’s running partners.”

  “Do you think he helped Tuff break out of jail?”

  “Could be. He came by almost every day. I’m changing my policy, that’s for certain. This escape is turning me into a laughingstock. That idiot over at the newspaper is having a field day with cracks about my ‘open-door policy.’“

  “Why ask me about Pat?”

  He glanced at the shotgun again. “It’s probably nothing. Pat’s only running his mouth and acting like a big shot. But rumor has it that Tuff hired Pat to come after you.”

  Uncomprehending, she shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “Tuff was madder than hell about you calling the law on him.”

  “So he asked Pat to…hurt me?” Fear closed in on her, settling square in her chest in an ice-cold knot.

  “It’s probably not true, but Pat’s disappeared and no one knows where he went. The timing is peculiar, know what I mean.”

  “Wait a minute. Peculiar? Tuff hired Pat Nyles to kill me, and you’re worried because he’s disappeared?” Her entire body went numb. Her own brother had hired a man to kill her!

  Mickey waved a hand lazily. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. Now you look like you’ve seen a ghost, and you’re getting all excited about something that’s nothing more than a rumor.”

  “So why are you telling me?”

  “For one thing I never said Tuff hired Pat to kill you. Rough you up, maybe, or scare you. Has Pat tried to scare you? Threats? Phone calls? Any hint at all he intended to help Tuff get out of jail?”