Winsor, Linda (7 page)

"Well,
that settles that, I guess," Shep drawled. "I might as well take you
back to Great Falls."

Deanna's
breath caught, but it didn't stop the feel of the blood racing from her face to
feed the panicked staccato of her heart. The only thing worse than being stuck
here for six weeks was being stuck in Great Falls without a getaway car. She
couldn't go back there. She just couldn't. She needed to lay low until she
figured out what she could do.

"We'll
hash it out over lunch," he suggested when she didn't reply.

After
a short stop by the Farm and Ranch General, Shep took her to a vintage fifties
railcar diner. The sign in front advertised a hot turkey sandwich and
"fixins" for $2.99 as the special of the day. A shiny glassed-in
entrance appeared to have been a recent addition, no doubt for climate control
to the streamlined structure of time-dulled stainless steel.

As
they entered, almost every head turned toward them, save those people who
stared at the new arrivals via the reflection in the mirrors lining the diner
walls. As she'd done since leaving Charlie's garage, Deanna warily searched
each face, although she tried not to be as obvious as the curious townspeople.
To her relief, none looked threatening—just the everyday rural sort.

Undaunted
by the blatant attention, Shep ushered her to an empty booth around the end of
the lunch counter by the restroom entrances, affording them some semblance of
privacy.

Even
though Deanna had just eaten her egg sandwich, the sight of the oversized pies
in the glass display case on the counter and the smells emanating from the
grill made her mouth water. The last time she'd eaten in a place like this had
been with her grandmother when Deanna was a schoolgirl. The old diner at the
corner of Maynard and Vandam had long since been replaced by a parking garage
for a new medical facility Somehow the similarity of Buffalo Butte's Town Diner
to the one from her past was reassuring.

"So
what'll it be today, Shep darlin?" A waitress—the only one as far as she
could see—spoke to Shep, but her eye was on Deanna. She even looked like the
Maynard Diner's Miss Fanny— heavy on the eyeliner and in a faded pink uniform
with a spotless white apron. All that was missing was the little pleated frill
in her tightly permed hair.

Shep
grabbed a laminated menu from behind a miniature jukebox listing golden oldies
and, glancing up, answered the inevitable question in her eyes. "Maisy let
me introduce you to Deanna Manetti. Deanna, this is Maisy O'Donnall. She and
her husband run the best diner in town."

"That's
because it's the
only
diner in town," Maisy shot back, not quite
appeased by Shep's brief introduction. "Manetti? That's not a local name
is it?"

"I'm
from New York." Deanna extended a manicured hand. "Pleased to meet
you, Mrs. O'Donnall."

"Lord
'a mercy, just call me Maisy. Last time I heard Mrs.
Anything
was right
after I said 'I do.'"

"Miss
Manetti is just checking out the place before she decides to take a job in
Great Falls and relocate permanently from the East," Shep said. "Or
she was until that blamed stallion ran her off the road and wrecked her car.
She's been stranded out at Hopewell."

"Now
I could think of worse folks to be stranded with." The wink Maisy gave him
was outrageous.

"It's
just till my car is fixed," Deanna mumbled, shooting an uncertain look at
Shep. Where had
that
come from? Was it the answer to her shaky prayer or
her desperation to stay at Hopewell until she had wheels again?

"Honey,
if I was you, I'd take some irreplaceable thingamajig out of that vehicle and
hide it, if you get my drift."

And
Miss Fanny had also flashed that same flirtatious twinkle Maisy directed at
Shep.

"Don't
pay any attention to her," he said. "She runs on that way to all the
men. And if they're single, her sole purpose in life is to herd them to an
altar to alter their status."

"It's
a scientific fact that married men live longer than single ones," Maisy
rallied, her ample bosom swelling beneath the bib of her apron like that of a
ruffled hen.

"Hey,
Mais, where's that coffee?" one of the patrons at the counter called out.

"Now,
Homer darlin', you know full well where it is," the waitress hollered over
her shoulder. She turned back to Deanna with a woman-to-woman wink. "I'm
making Shep's New York girlfriend here welcome. It wouldn't do for her to think
we were antisocial."

It
was almost like going back to the safety and security of another era... except
instead of Gram, a tall, dark, and handsome cowboy sat across from her, a flush
climbing up from his collar. Maybe Shep wasn't as impervious to his
surroundings as he'd have others think. Or instead of being embarrassed, he was
quietly fuming over her presumption that she was staying at Hopewell for the
next six weeks.

"I'll
have a burger and fries," he said quickly in an obvious effort to bring
Maisy back to the point of their visit. "What'll you have, Miss
Manetti?"

The
earlier tease in his voice had hardened as well. She shouldn't have mentioned
it in front of someone. Why couldn't she just let things develop without taking
over the controls? This mess with C. R. scrambled her brain and undermined the
faith she sought to dust off.

Deanna
skimmed over the menu, unable to focus on the specials. Finally she seized upon
a picture of a soup and sandwich meal. "A cup of the chicken soup looks
good. Oh, and a diet cola." Her mouth had gone dry as the dirt on
Hopewell's main street.

"Landsakes,
gal, no wonder you got so many sharp corners. Men 'round these parts like their
women more rounded, if you get my drift."

She
squirmed under Maisy's disapproval. "I had a late breakfast." No
doubt, the waitress would make her eat every drop of soup, just as Miss Fanny
always had. After Deanna's loved ones had passed on, she thought people had
stopped caring. Maybe that was why she'd been such a dupe when it came to C. R.
and his seeming solicitous attentions.

Maisy
shifted her attention back to Shep. "You want coffee as usual?" At
his nod, she leaned over and said in a sawmill whisper, "Take care of this
one and she'll round out nice as me."

"Well,
you've done it now," he remarked, watching the waitress retreat behind the
counter.

"Done
what?" Deanna gave him a startled look. This was it. He would insist on
taking her back to Great Falls.

"Now
everyone within satellite range of Buffalo Butte will know that I'm harboring a
waif from the Big Apple who doesn't have enough meat on her bones to tempt a
hungry buzzard... leastwise, to Maisy's notion."

She
mustered a laugh more of relief than humor, but it was short lived.

"You
know, Deanna Manetti, I get the feeling that you're not telling me everything
about your reason for being in these parts."

"W-what
do you mean?" She struggled to keep her gaze and voice steady.

"First,
you're riding out here in the wild with no idea where you are, as if you didn't
even have a destination. You're as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full
of rockers. You seem to be expecting something horrible to happen to you at any
moment. And—" he took a deep breath before continuing—"you really
have a problem with trusting anyone, particularly a man. Now you've either been
watching too much TV or..."

Deanna's
breath froze in her chest, the sip of water she'd just taken pooling in her
mouth. She waited for the proverbial ax to fall.

"Or
you are running from something, lady"

Shep's
lips thinned into a grimace at Deanna's stricken silence. "I'd say you've
had man trouble... maybe a relationship gone sour?"

Seizing
on the excuse, she nodded, managing to swallow. Yes, that would work. Surely it
came from heaven to his lips! Deanna resisted the urge to clap her hands in
pious gratitude, swallowing the water instead.

"Sour
is
as good a word for it as any." That one
had
to be from God. She
couldn't have put the notion in Shep's head. And for the most part, it was
true. Framing her had certainly soured her relationship with C. R. At least God
was speaking to Shep, if not her.

"And
what about your job?"

"He
was my boss." Was being the key word, as in dead. That part of her
nightmare still didn't seem real, even though she'd seen the pictures of the
charred remains of his car. She shuddered inside.

"Here's
your drinks." Maisy set the soda and coffee on the table and left abruptly
as though she knew this was no time to interrupt. "Food'll be up in a
jiffy," she called over her shoulder.

Deanna
couldn't freeze now. Her thoughts clicked, processing a believable scenario
based on Shep's assumption. A week ago, her honesty did her family's raising
proud. Now she couldn't tell the truth... at least not the complete truth.
"I just wanted to get away from it all. In just six weeks, he...he took
over my life, which wasn't what I expected when I came out here. Nothing was
what I expected."

"In
other words, East is East and West is West." The bitterness that surfaced
in Shep's voice and expression took her by surprise.

"It
wasn't
that
exactly I was willing to give the West a try, but my prince
was a snake in disguise." Her shoulders fell. So far, she hadn't told an
outright lie. "He frightened me and I ran. Now I..." The blade of
emotion in her throat was real. "Now I don't know where to go or what to
do. I just know I can't go back to Great Falls... or New York for a
while."

"Do
you think he'll follow you?"

She
saw where Shep was going, thinking that maybe the owner of the jacket had been
her ex's. Deanna wished C. R.
were
all she had to worry about. But the
one who'd broken into her apartment, not to mention the police, was a different
matter. As for her car... No, that was a coincidence, nothing more.

"It's
possible I'm being followed." What would happen if she told Shep the
entire truth? His concern seemed genuine enough—a straight arrow given the
respect she'd seen afforded him by those who knew him. If only she'd sought
references for C. R. Majors.

"I
have friends with the police. They'd take care of him."

"No!"
Her panicked thought was out before she could hold it back. "I...I was
hoping the old adage out of sight, out of mind, would kick in. I mean, once he
sees I didn't return to New York, he'd have nowhere else to look, right?"
Folding her arms on the table, she buried her face in them. "I can't
believe I was so stupid to think I was in love."

A
tear trickled down her nose and dripped on the table. She had to pull herself
together. It wouldn't do to turn crybaby. She needed her wits about her. She
needed—

"Been
there, done that."

Sympathy
and compassion were rich in Shep's voice and in the warm hand he put on her
shoulder. "All you need is three hots and a cot until you get your
thoughts together. Maybe that's where the Hopewell name gets its meaning. I
know I've certainly taken refuge there since I was a kid watching my folks get
divorced. I always left well again and filled with hope that things would be
okay, if not in my eyes, at least in the Lord's. The Father knows best."
It was the quote embroidered on the small wall plaque over the sink in his
kitchen. Deanna raised her head, staring at Shep. Had God really heard her
prayer? Was this His answer? Could it be this simple and straightforward?

"But
any stray who comes to Hopewell has to pull her own weight," he advised
her. "How does room and board sound in exchange for keeping house and
giving me a hand when I need it?"

Relief
flooded Deanna's mind, but with it swept in one tiny cloud of anxiety It
sounded like heaven, but the job itself was just the opposite to a woman who
depended on the laundry down the block, food from a dozen local delis and
restaurants, and a once-a-week cleaning lady to keep her apartment from being
closed down by the Health Department. Her work had been her life, taking up and
paying for keeping her singular household.

"Giving
me
a hand when I need it,"
he'd said. Make that
two
clouds,
she amended as the rest of Shep's proposition registered. "But I don't
know the least thing about horses."

"Ain't
nothin' to know about horses that this fella can't teach you." Maisy
leaned over and placed a bowl of hot soup in front of Deanna. Shep got his
burger and fries. "Not that I was listenin'. And if I was, no need to keep
such as that to myself, since everyone in here can tell the only horse you ever
rode had to swallow a quarter to run."

"What,
am I that green?" Deanna fell in with the ribbing.

Maisy
chuckled. "Now, hon, you just got that citified look and manner, not to
mention that accent. You call Shep's horses 'you guys,' and you just might
spook 'em."

"I
wish I knew what it'd take to spook
you
away," Shep said with a
pointed look at Maisy.

"More'n
you got, cowboy," the waitress fired back as she returned to the counter.

Deanna
giggled. It seemed to ease the heaviness in her chest that had been there since
everything had started to go wrong. It felt good, almost intoxicating. Shep
Jones didn't exactly wear a white hat, but in that moment, he was her hero.

"She's
a real character. Reminds me of someone I knew back in Brooklyn when I was a
kid."

"Characters
are all we grow out here," Shep told her with a grin that made her giggle
again. Startled, Deanna put her hand over her mouth. Only half the schoolgirl
reaction escaped, but it lit up mischief in his eyes.

"I
didn't think you had a giggle under that streetwise facade of yours. Not to
mention you've been white as old ashes since we left Charlie's."

Façade.
He saw right through her. Deanna wasn't sure she wanted that with any man
again—even a hero. Somehow she managed to pull a straight, stern face.
"Facade, huh?" She pointed an authoritative finger at his plate.
"Just eat your food before it gets cold."

***

In
spite of his companion's confession, Shep had a niggling sense that he still
didn't have the whole story. Or maybe his uneasiness was the result of the
protective instinct she evoked in him. Taking in strays was a weakness of his,
but this was a woman, not a cat or dog. Although, her spit and huff reminded
him of a kitten, trying to intimidate for all it was worth out of fear. It was
natural to want to coddle and reassure her.

And
quite possibly dangerous. He must have taken leave of his senses to let her
stay at Hopewell, much less offer her a job. The more he thought about it
through the meal and a second cup of coffee, the more convinced he became.
Deanna Manetti was definitely on the run and afraid of whoever was after her.
The physical threat didn't bother him nearly as much as the emotional risk.

Despite
her appeal, she was like his ex-fiancée—city born and bred. And like Ellen,
Deanna minced no words regarding her opinion of Big Sky country As soon as she
excused herself to go to the restroom, he slid out of his seat and headed for
the old-fashioned wooden phone booth located between the restroom doors.

For
all Shep knew, cultural and social differences could have been the issues that
broke the proverbial camel's back between her and her estranged boss/boyfriend.
She was here out of desperation, he decided as he dialed a familiar number.

"U.S.
Marshal Service, Holloway speaking."

"Don't
tell me you're still around, old-timer," Shep teased his longtime friend.
"I thought you'd have hung up your six-guns by now."

Bob
Holloway had run into the same sort of physical disability problem as Shep had,
except his friend chose to take a desk job rather than leave the service
altogether. Shep couldn't blame him for taking a sure thing rather than chasing
a dream with a wife and five kids to support.

"Well,
if it isn't the big game hunter. How are things in the high country?"

"Beautiful
but troublesome." Shep glanced a few booths away where Deanna took her
seat again. Maisy chatted with Deanna while she indulged in a slice of one of
Town Diner's home-baked cream pies. The waitress insisted that it was on the
house, a welcome to Buffalo Butte gift.

"Sounds
more like a woman than an elk."

"It
is. I need you to check out a Deanna Manetti—New York City, maybe Brooklyn with
her accent... moved to Great Falls for a job with Image International. It's a
marketing firm, I think."

"That
it?"

"I
have a license number and car to trace." Shep fumbled through his wallet
for the note he'd made and gave his friend the data.

"Nice,"
Bob drawled. "A high-price city gal. You must have a weakness for the
type."

"Once
burned, twice shy I just want to know what I might have to deal with,"
Shep explained, as much for himself as the man on the phone. "She's not
been forthcoming with information. Claims she's running from a possessive
boss/boyfriend."

"Don't
tell me you've taken her in."

Wryness
tugged one corner of Shep's mouth. "Didn't have much choice. It was
my
stallion
that ran her off the road, even though she was on my property"

"And
you felt obligated—"

"Yeah,
yeah. Just call the sheriff's office in town and have him contact me when you
get the info, okay, buddy?"

"Watch
your back," Bob cautioned.

"I
usually do."

The
warning prompted a distracting rush of unwelcome memory. Shep hung up the
phone, snatched back to a time he'd tried to forget. He'd been so busy watching
his back, and that of the witness in his custody, that he'd failed to see what
the DEA agent assigned to the joint operation was doing. Before Shep knew what
was going down, he'd taken a bullet in the knee while protecting a female
snitch.

A
full-scale gunfight had broken out. The other agency hadn't bothered to tell
the Marshals that the witness assigned to their transport and protection was
being used as bait to draw out the big fish. His gung ho partner got a
promotion. Shep got an award and forced retirement from active duty.

He'd
returned to the high country to reconcile the bad turns in his life. Psalm
18:33 became his mantra:
"He makes my feet like the feet of deer, and
sets me on my high places."
There Shep reevaluated his life, his love,
and rediscovered the closeness he'd once known with God, before his busy life
had come between them like a time-stealing, attention-grabbing predator.

Was
Deanna Manetti a different kind of predator, either by design or by chance?
Barely healed himself, Shep struggled with the inner voice that urged him to take
her in. Why would God put another woman in his path after the last one had come
between them?

Shep
opened the folding door of the age-darkened phone booth and met Deanna's smile.
It wasn't an invitation, but there was a part of him that wished it were. It
was that part of him that scared him more than the possibility of some
gun-wielding, jealous boyfriend.

Lord,
lead me not into temptation,
he prayed as he stepped up to the table
and took the check. "Well, Slick, are you ready to hit the road?"

Nodding,
Deanna gathered up the small purse from the vinyl seat beside her.

"Don't
you forget the community hall meeting Friday night," Maisy reminded him.
"Bring Deanna too. Maybe she can come up with a way to stir more interest
in our Craft Days fund-raiser."

Even
though he was committee chairman, Shep had forgotten. Deanna was disrupting his
life in more ways than he could count.

"Better
watch out for this one," Shep said, with a sigh. "If the government
had Maisy O'Donnall on their interrogation team, she'd unravel the secrets of
the criminal world like a crocheted blanket."

Maisy
snorted with indignation. "I'm just bein' friendly to this nice young
woman. Not that she'd have a secret to her name."

Was
that a check of alarm Shep detected in the deep pools of his guest's eyes or
the shot of sunlight reflected on the diner's shiny door opening to admit a new
customer? Reservation clouded over his playful humor as he followed Deanna to
the checkout. He hoped he was mistaken.