Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (39 page)

Trisha eyed Bethany, who turned to Kate. “Mike Duncan?”

“No way. Manuel gave this to me. His mom made it.”

The girls glanced at each other again and giggled.

Kate was about to ask what was so funny, when Clint walked around the truck. “Well, look who’s here. Miss Disappear-Without-Saying-Goodbye.”

Trisha gave him a dirty look. “She was in the hospital.”

“Not all this time.”

Kate heard drums and guitars. “I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.” She smiled at Clint. “That is, if you care to talk.” Following the sound, she found the church truck. When the band members saw her, they stopped playing.

Wanda waved. “Hi, Kate. There’s a stepstool on the other side.”

Jackson set his bass on a stand. “We’ll help you.”

She maneuvered to the opposite side of the truck bed and handed Jackson her crutches. He and Monty lifted her from the stool onto the platform, handed her the crutches and led her to a plastic chair.

Monty helped her sit. “Pastor Chuck anchored this chair to the truck just for you.”

“Great. Thanks, guys.”

Mike, who stood next to the chair strumming his guitar, glanced her way.

Kate smiled. “Hi.”

He nodded then returned his gaze to his fingers without missing a beat.

She looked away. At least he hadn’t sworn at her. She’d do what Dymple said and keep smiling, whether others—including Clint and Mike, returned her smile or not.

***

The group finished the rehearsal moments before a loud boom announced the beginning of the parade. Kate jerked and looked around, noticing that the Whispering Pines entry followed directly behind them. She watched Manuel clamber up the side of the ranch truck to plop between Bethany and Trisha on the roof of the cab. The three faced the calves and chatted like they’d been best friends since kindergarten.

Kate grinned.
Wonders never cease. Thank you, Lord.
She blew a kiss to Fletcher, the big man from the WP kitchen who sat behind the wheel of the truck. He grinned and doffed his wide hat. Clint glowered at her from the passenger seat. She turned back to her microphone. So both Clint and Mike were mad at her.

She took a deep breath and released it. Today she’d forget about men and just keep smiling. And singing.

And enjoying what was very likely her final day of freedom. Knowing she was mobile enough to participate in a parade, the sheriff would probably consider her mobile enough to go to jail. And from there, back to prison—forever. But Dymple had told her not to dwell on what
might
happen. If there ever was a day she needed that advice, it was today.

The band played an introduction. Wanda, Kate and Mike began to sing.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord …

Pastor Chuck inched the truck down Main Street. The throngs that lined both sides waved and sang and clapped with the music. Kate waved back. Despite the dread that stalked her heart, she was determined to have a good time.

***

Mike had seen the wave and kiss Kate blew to Clint. So that’s why she was so happy. He watched his fingers move from chord to chord. Why did he feel possessive when nothing was happening between him and her? Especially since she stole their money. He stared beyond the onlookers. After she stole his heart. He plastered a smile on his face. He would have a good time today, no matter what was going on between those two.

***

Gripping the railing with both hands, Ramsey dragged himself up the stairs. By the time he reached the main level, he was exhausted but felt better than expected. He followed Tara into her office, where she dropped her purse into a drawer.

She turned to him. “I’ll take you to the cabin tonight when everyone is watching fireworks, including the cops. But first, I have a little project for you.” She reached for the rod on the blinds covering the window adjacent the parking lot.

He backed away.

She twisted the rod. “I need to show you someone.”

He stepped close again, and they both leaned toward the window.

With a long fingernail, she bent an eye-level slat downward. “See those three women sitting together?”

He squinted against the bright July morning. For days, he’d only seen curtain-filtered sunlight through the basement window. “With a big woman on the end?”

She nodded. “I know it’s hard to tell much from a side view, but the one in the middle is Laura Duncan, Michael’s mother. I want her removed from the Whispering Pines.”

Ramsey turned to Tara. “What exactly—?” His question was smothered by her lips. He forgot his question.

All too soon, she moved away from him, hands on his chest. “I can’t tell you, Chester, what exactly you should do with Laura Duncan, but she’s a huge roadblock in the plans Daddy and I have for the Whispering Pines—and for you and me.” She smiled up at him, eyes wide, bottom lip pooched—the adoring look of a little girl asking for another piece of candy.

“Whatever you need, sweetheart. I’m the man.” He bent his head to kiss her again.

She slipped from his grasp. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, partner.” She adjusted her hat and turned to go. “But don’t do anything today. This place is crawling with fuzz. You’d think it was a rock festival, not a parade.

“Tonight, on the way to the cabin, I’ll show you how to get into the Duncan’s house. I can also give you your friend’s computer passwords that I just happened to overhear. Amazing what you can learn through a person’s email messages.”

After she left the office, he opened the blinds on the window facing the street, cranking the slats just far enough to watch the parade without being seen. A high-school band marched past, drums beating and clarinets squeaking, followed by a horse-drawn carriage with women in feathered hats throwing candy to the crowd. Then a Model T chugged by. Children waved from the backseat.

He stood and stretched. Daytime television was more interesting than this hillbilly baloney. He heard a cheer and leaned close to the window. Three girls with red cowboy hats and satin sashes that declared them to be the Carbon County rodeo queen and ladies-in-waiting trotted by on highly groomed horses. An antique fire truck bleated a lame-sounding whistle. What a backwoods place. Pittsburgh would never have such a stupid parade.

***

Looks more like a law-enforcement summit than a parade.
Kate’s thoughts played a counter melody below the music as the caravan inched through Copperville, sometimes coming to a complete stop. She was surprised to see so many deputies on duty at once in such a small town. Were they expecting trouble or looking for Ramsey. Or … She gulped. Or keeping an eye on her?

The song ended just as the truck halted again. Before the next one started, she heard someone call, “Kate! Mike!”

She glanced toward the source of the throaty male voice and almost choked.
Cyrus.
She waved.

He leaned toward the young woman next to him and said something. She nodded, made eye contact with Kate, and smiled.

Kate responded with a grin and another wave. Cyrus’s daughter? Then she saw Clint working his way through the crowd. When he got to Cyrus, he pounded his back and pumped his hand. Then he kissed the woman on the cheek.
Interesting.

“Mike, Kate. Down here.” Laura Duncan sat below them in a parking lot. She was sandwiched between dainty Dymple and a stout, stern-looking woman who appeared annoyed by all the noise and commotion.

Kate blew kisses, relieved Laura was friendly.

“Katy-N!”

The band and the truck started again.

Kate searched the crowd. Only one person called her that. Then she saw him. Coach in his wheelchair next to Sally, who was seated beside Rusty from the ranch and his wife. Coach’s boys scampered along the sidewalk with other squealing children, racing to retrieve the candy flung by the Whispering Pines crew. It was good to see her friends, though she might never see them again. She couldn’t expect people she barely knew to visit her in jail.

***

Ramsey was about to return to the basement when the band he’d heard earlier began to play again. The tune was catchy, a song from his childhood. He reached behind the blind to open the window. The smell of horse dung wafted in as the cab of a truck with a Highway Haven House of God sign on the door came into view. He tried to remember why that name rang warning bells in his head. The music grew louder. The bed of the truck slowly appeared.

America, God shed …

He bent a slat down and saw the drummer, his entire body bouncing with the beat, then a guitar player. Wasn’t that the Duncan guy?

and crown thy good …

Then two women, a blonde standing before a microphone and a dark-haired singer seated in a chair holding a microphone.

from sea to …

He emitted a startled oath. “Neilson.” But Tara had said she was in jail.

***

Although a swarm of celebrants watched the band from the sidewalk, Kate sensed a solitary stare. She studied the crowd while the instrumentalists retuned. But no one returned her gaze. She adjusted her sunglasses. Was she paranoid about Ramsey? Movement in a blind-covered window caught her attention. She squinted at the window as they slowly passed the store. Was that—?

A high-pitched shriek silenced the crowd. “Arrest that woman. She’s an escaped convict!”

Kate’s stomach lurched.

Tara stood below her, pointing a long, red fingernail at her chest, stabbing her heart with its poisoned tip.

***

“What is that fool woman doing?” Jerry Ramsey raised the window higher to hear what she was saying. He moved to the side and pulled the blinds away from the glass. It was a better angle.

She stood in the middle of the street, waving her arms and yelling at Neilson.

A deputy with a two-way radio at his mouth stepped into the street and motioned for the truck to stop. Within moments, spectators swarmed from all directions.

***

Kate felt blood rush to her face. She’d feared this moment from the day she arrived in Copperville. Of course it would be Tara who revealed her secret to the community and obliterated the few friendships she had. She clutched the arms of the chair, options pummeling her brain as Tara ranted on the street below her. “Arrest her, arrest Kate Neilson. Now!”

She could sit and wait to be arrested or fight and scream and say it was a lie. Or she could run. Kate started to rise but stopped. Even if she somehow evaded the officers that now ogled her from both ends of the truck, and somehow managed to slip between the curious citizens who surrounded her, she wouldn’t get far, with or without crutches. And she was tired, oh, so tired, of running. If she had to spend the rest of her life behind bars, surely God would give her the strength to endure.

Microphone in one hand, Kate reached for a crutch with the other. She pushed up and out of the chair.
Help me, God.

***

Kate lifted the microphone to her mouth.

Tara looked anxiously around. “Stop her! Somebody stop her.”

Dymple, who now stood directly below Kate, bowed her head, her gnarled hands before her, palms up.

Kate smiled. Dear, faithful Dymple. She was keeping her promise to
stand by her statue
.

The crowd quieted.

Tara grabbed the arm of the closest officer.

He jerked it away.

Kate spoke. “She’s right.”

The onlookers gasped.

A smirk of victory spread across Tara’s face.

“It’s true. I
have
spent time behind bars.” Kate shifted her weight for better balance. “But I’m not an escaped convict. I was released from Patterson State Penitentiary in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, three months ago, after serving a five-year sentence. While I was incarcerated, I earned a marketing degree, which requires an internship. That’s how I ended up at the Duncan’s ranch.”

Some listeners tilted their heads as if trying hard to hear every word. Others folded their arms.

“I’ve committed numerous crimes, including theft.” She heard her amplified words echo between the buildings. “And, yes, I took money from the Whispering Pines Ranch.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike stiffen.

Tara’s eyes widened.

Dymple’s hands clenched.

Kate felt bad for not telling Dymple the entire truth earlier—how knowing she had easy access to cash, possibly lots of it, had eaten at her insides until she’d used her key to sneak into the office late at night. “I’m ashamed I stole the money.” She paused. “But I never opened the envelope. I put it back in the drawer the next day without looking inside.” She pointed to Dymple. “I kept remembering the sweet little lady who told me to live my dream. Reverting to a criminal lifestyle was not my dream. Neither was returning to prison.”

Tara clasped her hands on her hips and began to tap the toe of her boot. Her face almost as red as her skimpy top, she looked ready to explode.

Before Tara could scream another accusation, Kate continued. “I’ve done a host of other terrible things that did not result in incarceration. The worst …” She hesitated.

The crowd held its collective breath.

“The worst thing I ever did was …” She cleared her throat. “Was abort my baby.”

She heard soft moans from women in the crowd.

Tara screamed. “Shut up!”

Fletcher, whom Kate hadn’t seen leave the WP truck, stepped behind Tara and clamped his hand across her mouth.

Her hat fell to the ground.

A murmur of approval followed his impulsive action, and a wave of expectant faces again turned toward Kate.

Pastor Chuck climbed out of the church truck to stand next to Dymple. He offered a nod.

Kate went on. “I cannot bring my baby back from the grave.” She swallowed, choked by a grief she’d never before experienced. “But I confessed my crimes, including the abortion, to God. And I accepted his gift of salvation while I was in prison. He’s forgiven me for all the wrong things I’ve done. Someday, I’ll meet my child in heaven and be with him or her forever.”

Dymple punched the air with her bony fist. “Yes, Lord.”