Bulletproof Heart

by Sheryl Lynn

  REB STOOD AND WATCHED through the window. Emily ran onto the porch and fumbled at the door for a moment before letting herself into the house. Heavyhearted, he dug into his pocket and brought out his keys. He’d told one final lie. When Emily made the coded call, there’d be no return call to confirm his identity. Instead, within minutes backup would arrive. He told himself the lie was for a good cause. She was too upset to trust him enough to call in the cavalry, but once the suits arrived with badges, she’d listen to them.

  Copper barked. High-pitched and puppyish, it sounded like a startled yelp.

  A heavy tread on the bunkhouse porch told Reb it might be too late for backup. He slipped the keys under the pillow.

  Tuff Rifkin shoved open the door. It slammed against the wall. He staggered inside and swayed for a moment before standing tall. With his left hand he clutched his side over his hip. He held a .38 Colt in his right hand.

  “Where’s my money?” he growled.

  His mass of dark curls was matted to his head. Crusted blood streaked his coat, left leg and hands. Several days’ growth of beard, pale skin and sunken, feverish eyes made him look like a mad Russian monk.

  Reb guessed Joey had popped off a shot before Tuff returned fire. Good for Joey.

  Reb’s innards drew up tight. One false step, and he’d be eating a .38 round. He nodded at the footlocker. “Looks like you’re hurting. Have a seat.”

  As Tuff staggered to the footlocker and dropped heavily onto the lid, Reb tried to keep his mind off Emily. He imagined if she walked through the door, Tuff would shoot first and consider what he’d done later.

  “I’ve got news for you, buddy,” Tuff said. “You’re a dead man.”

  Reb merely shrugged. “How bad are you hurt?”

  “The bullet took a chunk out of my side, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry, buddy, I’m not dying anytime soon.” He rested his wrist on the foot rail, steadying the gun now aimed at Reb’s navel. “You, on the other hand, well, enjoy life while it lasts. Ever notice how you big-city boys always underestimate us goat ropers?”

  “You’re the one who hired me. You trusted the sheriff.”

  Emily peered around the doorway, and Reb shook his head. If she got out now, she’d be safe. She slipped into the bunkhouse and silently scooped up the shotgun. Though she held the heavy weapon with sure, strong hands, her wide eyes were terrified.

  With smooth animal quickness that jerked the knots tighter inside Reb, Tuff swung around, pointing the revolver at Emily. She froze with the shotgun aimed at Tuff’s belly.

  “Hey, little sister,” Tuff said. “Got the guts to use that gun?”

  “You shot Joey.”

  “He shot me first.”

  “If you kill her,” Reb said, “you’ll never see your money. She stashed it.”

  Emily gasped. “Liar! Shut up!”

  Reb forced a chuckle. “He’s got the drop on you, babe. You’re a thief, not a killer, and he knows it. So give it up and tell him where you hid his stuff. Three million in cash isn’t worth it. Take it from one who knows.”

  She wavered, swinging the shotgun between Reb and Tuff. Reb urged her with his eyes to play along. Trust me, he pleaded silently. If she didn’t, he was going to watch her die.

  “Your sister’s one cool cookie, Tuff,” Reb said, “but she let slip about seeing you stash the duffel bag. If you’d waited a day or two more, I could have weaseled it out of her. I wasn’t going to rip you off.”

  “You liar! Shut up. I don’t know anything about the money except for what Copper found.”

  Tuff put his left hand on the footlocker lid and pushed, wincing as he stood. He swayed, his eyes narrowed to slits. Sweat poured off his face. He turned so he could see Reb and Emily. “Tell you what, Emmy, give me my stuff and I won’t shoot you. How about that, huh?”

  Emily met Reb’s eyes. Her glance held a flicker of understanding. “Reb is the liar.” Holding the shotgun with white-knuckled hands, she backed away until she reached the wall. “I don’t have your money. He does. He’s been looking for months, and he found it. He even stole the drugs you stashed in the house.”

  Tuff hesitated, looking from one to the other.

  “Never trust a woman, Tuff,” Reb said. “She tried to buy me off with your money. She’s got the rest of it hidden someplace.” He prayed Emily had made the call so backups arrived before Tuff got his bearings.

  “Button, button, who’s got the button,” Tuff sang softly. He advanced on Emily and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun. Sobbing, she tried to hold on, but even injured, he had a demon’s power and he ripped it out of her hands. As she ran for the door, Tuff coolly fired the handgun. It blasted a hole in the wooden floor scant inches in front of her feet. She screamed, stopped in her tracks and clapped both hands over her ears.

  Tuff dropped the revolver into his coat pocket. “At least Joey had the guts to pull the trigger. Where’s my money, Emily?”

  Reb slipped his hand under the pillow and felt for his keys. He was in an awkward position, having to reach over his left side, fearing Tuff would look his way. He understood getting shot hurt like hell, but he worried more about what might happen to Emily if he ended up dead.

  Tuff pressed the shotgun under Emily’s chin. “Five…four…three—”

  Reb closed his fingers around the small, round key. “Shoot her, and the money’s gone forever,” Reb said. “She’s the only one who knows where it is.”

  Tuff grabbed Emily by the hair, and swung the shotgun around to Reb. “What if I shoot you? Let’s make a deal, Emily. How about…you give me my money, and I let him keep his face.” He jerked her so hard, she stumbled to one knee.

  A vehicle rumbled up the driveway. Tuff hissed a curse and dragged his sister to the door. Reb knew the visitor wasn’t FBI, but the noise of the engine and

  Tuff’s lack of attention gave him cover to unlock the cuff on his wrist.

  “Claude,” Tuff said in disgust. “Maybe I’ll shoot him. Will that make you tell me where my money is?” He pushed her through the doorway. As she scrambled to maintain her footing, Tuff smoothly raised the shotgun and fired.

  Emily screamed. Reb ran to the door in time to see Paco leap out of the truck bed, slipping over the wall like a flow of black-and-white water. A huge, ragged hole marked the passenger door. Claude was nowhere in sight. Holding Emily as if her struggles affected him not a bit, Tuff aimed at the charging dog.

  Reb grabbed the back of Tuff’s collar and his right arm. Emily hit the porch floor and rolled. Tuff jammed his elbow backward, catching Reb in the chest, making him see stars. Reb tightened his grip, but holding on to Tuff was like holding a grizzly bear.

  Paco flew onto the porch, soundlessly, fearlessly. He bit Tuff’s left arm and held on. Tuff collapsed underneath Reb and the dog. With all the power in his forty-pound body, Paco worried and chewed Tuff’s coat sleeve.

  The world exploded in Reb’s face. He knew he had fallen, and yet his entire body was numb. Up and down looked the same, and red mist shrouded his vision. From far, far away he heard Emily scream. Reb struggled through what seemed like a hundred woolen blankets.

  He guessed he hadn’t been hit with a shotgun round, or he wouldn’t have a face left to worry about. But the world was spinning round and round. Six Tuffs rose heavily off the porch. Six Pacos charged the man. Tuff swung the gun like a baseball bat, catching the dog in the ribs, sending him rolling off the porch.

  In slow motion Reb rolled to his belly and placed his hands beneath him. Raising the shotgun, Tuff turned, smiling dead-eyed at Reb.

  Ah, Emily, I’m sorry…

  Tuff grunted, staggered and dropped the shotgun. It hit the porch with a bouncing clatter. Eyes wide,

  Tuff looked at the dark stain spreading below his shoulder. He stumbled against the wall, and his legs folded. He dropped to his knees, then pitched forward onto his face.

  Sitting up, holding Reb’s .22 pistol with a thin curl of blue smoke wisping fr
om the bore, Emily met Reb’s eyes.

  “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and a curtain closed over his mind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alone in a private room of the Humbolt hospital, Reb tried to sleep. He wanted to sleep, he craved sleep, Dr. Nelson had ordered him to sleep but anger kept him awake and brooding. He glared at the white walls.

  To say the debriefing with his boss hadn’t gone well was an understatement. Reb had been accused of acting like a free-lance mercenary, the worst kind of hotshot, and of treating the investigation like a personal vendetta. It was all true—Reb blamed himself for not foreseeing Mullow’s intention to rip off the arms dealers in the first place.

  The boss had also accused Reb of getting personally involved with possible suspects. Ha! Falling so madly, deeply in love that it skewed his judgment was more serious than mere personal involvement. Even worse, Reb had ignored procedure and endangered civilians. Nevertheless, Reb wouldn’t be brought up on charges. After all, nobody had gotten killed, Reb had gathered enough evidence to put Tuff away for life-if Tuff survived the wounds inflicted by his siblings-and they’d recovered the money.

  Agents armed with federal warrants had descended on the local sheriff’s office. After finding ten thousand dollars locked inside a desk drawer, they’d arrested Deputy Tim Patterson. He’d confessed, leading them to the rest of the money he’d stashed in his garage. Tuff had made the mistake of bribing the deputy when he’d first been arrested. Through bulletins the office had received, which Patterson had never shared with Mickey, Tim had put two and two together and figured out Tuff had been involved with Mullow. He’d allowed Tuff’s escape, but after the storm, Tim had looked one more time and found the money.

  In spite of how things had turned out, Reb had quit his job.

  Without a word the old man had left. Reb supposed his boss meant to give him time to heal, cool his temper and reconsider any hasty career moves. The first two would definitely occur; he wasn’t so sure about the third.

  A soft knock turned his attention to the door.

  Emily entered the room. She wore a dark blue chenille sweater, and her hair was swept up in a twist. It was a different look for her, sophisticated and nice. She was so beautiful, his chest ached. She sat on a chair next to the bed. Her large eyes were solemn and dark with fatigue. Her perfect face seemed carved from pale marble. He mentally urged her to smile.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  From the neck up he felt as if he had a gigantic toothache. He opened his mouth to say he felt okay. Getting slammed in the forehead with the butt of a shotgun wasn’t all that bad. But his lies had done her enough damage, and he hadn’t the heart for even a little white fib. “Have to get better to die,” he said.

  Her fingers twitched as if she wanted to touch him, but her hands remained on her lap, holding her purse. “That’s what Joey says about his head, too. Dr. Nelson is discharging him. I’m going to take him home now.”

  “Did my boss talk to you?”

  “He told me everything. He said they found the money. Tim Patterson had it. There are still a bunch of agents at the ranch. They’re using dogs to search for Mullow’s body.” She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Mickey is really upset. The press is making him look really bad for not believing me. He won’t talk to me.”

  “What about Tuff?”

  “They transported him to a hospital in Denver, but he’s got an infection in his bloodstream. Nobody thinks he’ll make it.” She lowered her face and pressed a hand to her eyes. “I still can’t believe I shot him. But he was going to kill you. I had to.”

  “I’m so sorry, Emily. I messed up—”

  “I’m not blaming you. Tuff has always been dynamite, looking for a fuse. Besides, you saved Joey’s life, and that’s all that matters anyway.”

  Despite her reassuring words, she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Her stiff posture rebuffed him.

  When he reached for her, her fingers tightened on her purse. He lowered his hand to the bed. “How about you, Emily? Are you okay?”

  She gave his question some consideration before slowly shaking her head. “I’ll live.”

  “You’re mad at me.”

  She rose and backed away from the chair, holding her purse to her breast like a shield. “I have to go. Joey’s waiting. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Don’t go. We have to talk.”

  “Goodbye, Reb.” She turned for the door.

  “I love you.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Tears glazed her eyes. “I don’t even know who you are.” She walked out of the room, and the door closed gently behind her.

  EMILY HELD on to the saddle horn as Strawberry trotted toward the mailbox. It had snowed like crazy for two weeks, dropping three feet of snow in the valley and piling drifts in some places up to eight feet high. Emily felt as if she’d been cooped up in the house for months. Today was gorgeous, picture-postcard perfect without a cloud shadowing the sky, snow-draped mountains and trees cloaked in fluff. The temperature hovered around freezing, but the sunshine was bright and warm.

  Head down, his face sporting a frosty beard, Copper followed rabbit tracks. Strawberry pranced through a snowdrift. She hopped friskily and shook her head.

  “Hey, hey. Be a good girl, and I’ll give you some sugar in your Christmas stocking,” Emily promised.

  A pretty blue spruce reminded her of the tree she’d put up for Joey. She’d gone whole hog this year, ferreting out every Christmas ornament and light she could find and putting up an eight-foot-tall tree. She’d been baking for weeks. Cookies, fruitcakes, fancy breads, even a chocolate Yule log with marzipan animals. Joey had yet to show the slightest interest.

  She was worried about him. He’d recovered from his bullet wound, and they’d finally managed to talk about Grandpa, the ranch and even her marriage to Daniel. Joey agreed to start school in January; she promised to stay until he could manage the business end of ranching. They’d made their peace, but he had yet to make peace with himself. He blamed himself for Tuff’s death even though the bullet wounds hadn’t killed him directly. If Tuff had received medical care when first shot, he’d have lived.

  Strawberry neighed. Emily saw Claude Longo riding down the road. His erect carriage on the saddle made it hard to imagine in less than a month he’d have his seventy-seventh birthday.

  She reached the mailbox and raised a hand in greeting.

  “Hoping for Christmas cards, girl?” He stopped his horse. Behind him Paco sat in the snow, gazing suspiciously at Emily. Tuffs vicious blow had broken the dog’s ribs and punctured one of his lungs. He’d healed completely, and Emily was glad. Paco wasn’t nice, but he was a good dog.

  She looked around for Copper. He’d disappeared. The coward.

  She leaned in the saddle and opened the mailbox. The postal carrier had left a goodly haul of catalogs and brightly colored envelopes. She sorted through them, hoping to find something from Reb.

  A pang squeezed her heart. After his release from the hospital, he’d gone away. She didn’t know where, and pride wouldn’t allow her to ask any of the FBI agents. She kept telling herself she was glad he’d left. He was a liar and he’d hurt her and betrayed her. The only time he’d told the truth was when he said he wasn’t good enough for her.

  One of these days she’d stop loving him so she could hate him.

  She handed over Claude’s mail.

  “That mare’s purebred Appy even if you can’t tell by looking,” Claude said. “Might be worth the risk taking her to stud. Could get a nice foal out of her.”

  “Really?” She patted Strawberry’s neck. Her winter coat was as thick and soft as wool.

  “She comes from good stock. Her granddaddy was a champion.” His weathered face darkened and he tugged at his hat brim. “I always say, there’s some worthwhile in everything. Just have to open your eyes and look for it.”

  He was actually being nice to her,
she thought, stunned. “You know best.”

  “You betcha I do. I’m thinking you, me and Joey should put our heads together. I’ve got some ideas about breeding horses. Might bring in a few extra dollars.”

  Joey drove up the road. She squinted at his truck. Sunshine reflected off the windshield, hurting her eyes. She expected him to stop and say hello to Claude, but he thundered past, his wheels throwing slush. He carried a large box tied down in the truck bed.

  “That’s a fine howdy-do,” Claude grumbled, stuffing his mail inside his coat. “You need to knock some manners in that boy’s head.”

  “I’m trying. See you.” She turned Strawberry for home. “Oh, by the way, I made another gingerbread cake.”

  Claude’s pale eyes lit up with interest. “Lemon sauce?”

  “Of course. If you aren’t too busy this evening, drop by and have some with us.”

  “If I find a minute, I just might do that.”

  By the time she reached the house, Joey had unloaded the box from his truck. Muddy footprints tracked up the porch steps and into the house. She dismounted and tied Strawberry to the porch railing.

  “Joey? What are you doing?” She wiped her feet on the mat before she entered the house.

  Joey had carried the box into the kitchen and set it near the sink. He used her best paring knife to saw through the cardboard.

  “That’s my good knife!” She tore at her coat buttons.

  He grinned, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Caught off guard, enchanted, unable to remember the last time he’d smiled like this, she drew her head aside. “What are you up to? What is that?”

  “Merry Christmas, Emmy. It’s for you.”

  She peeled off her coat as she stared at the box. Blue-and-white printing proclaimed it an automatic, contained-unit dishwasher. Tears rose in her eyes.

  “Now don’t start blubbering. It’s just a dishwasher.”

  Scarcely daring to believe her eyes, she cautiously approached the box. “A dishwasher. You brought me a dishwasher. Oh, Joey, thank you. This is the best present ever.”