Ransom Canyon (18 page)

Five minutes later with his finger professionally bandaged, he stepped from the car and almost collided with the sheriff.

“You Yancy Grey?” the lawman asked.

Yancy almost answered
Yes, boss
like he’d had to answer to the guards. “I am.” He straightened and looked at the sheriff. After all, he was just a normal citizen, nothing more.

“Well, Yancy, you did a good job. Besides that mad prairie dog, we found a spent shell the trespassers may have left there last night. We also found several cigarette butts and a few footprints. You’ve just found us our first evidence.”

“Glad I could be of service.” Yancy said what he thought he should say. “Where can I help out now?”

The sheriff shook his head. “How about you call it a day? If Ellie can drive you back to town, the rest of us will finish up here.”

Yancy thought that sounded good. A moment later, when Ellie told her uncle that she planned to check on Yancy every two hours to make sure he didn’t develop a fever, he thought it sounded great.

Climbing into her little car, he tried to think of something to say as she drove back to town like a maniac. He hadn’t driven, even illegally, in five years, but he had no doubt he could do better. At one point he started putting together his obituary.
Man survives wild animal bite only to be killed in car crash.

He reached over and touched her arm.

“You feeling sick?” she asked without slowing. “All kinds of infections could set in. A few might even kill you.”

He slid his fingers along her arm until he reached her fingers. “Would you mind if I held your hand?”

“Of course. Part of nursing is offering comfort.”

He thought about asking if comfort extended to other body parts, but he decided he’d never get that lucky. After today he’d probably never get this close to her again.

Ellie insisted on walking him to his one-room place behind the office. “Now, you rest, and I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

He lay down and let her put a quilt Mrs. K had given him all the way up to his chin.

On one crazy impulse, he rose to his elbow and kissed her cheek, then backed away waiting for the blow.

To his surprise she finished tucking him in and walked away without saying a word.

From the two-inch opening in his door he heard Ellie tell the old folks that he was resting, but they should watch him closely.

“I fear he may be delirious,” she said as if giving a medical opinion. Then in a lower tone he barely heard, she added, “And I think I like it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Staten

D
AWN
STILL
WHISPERED
along the horizon as Staten Kirkland stood staring out the window, dressed and ready to leave the hospital. He had about all he wanted of being poked and patted on. He had never been a man who gave or accepted comfort easily, and he didn’t want it now.

“If Jake doesn’t get here soon, I swear I’ll start walking,” he said more to his reflection in the glass than the nurse babysitting him.

The woman in green scrubs looked nervous. “We can’t do that, Mr. Kirkland.”

He thought of reminding her that there was no “we” in the room. She hadn’t been shot, she didn’t have a ranch to run, and he saw no point in talking to her.

“Like hell I can’t.” His boots echoed off the tiles. His spurs jingled slightly, a tiny reminder of who he was and what he needed to do. Staten was ready to go back to work. “I wasn’t sick when I walked in here, and I’m not sick now.” The girl was so thin he could probably blow her out of the way without much effort.

He hated the square room with all the stainless steel and thick glass. He hated the smell of the place. He hated the way things beeped and rang all day and night. He felt as though they’d stuffed his bear of a body into a rabbit cage.

Jake Longbow slipped around the door about the time Staten was thinking he’d simply pick up his parting gifts of a bedpan and small pink water pitcher and leave. Walking home might take days, but it would clear his head. He had a ranch to run and a woman he cared about who needed him, even if she didn’t seem to know it. As soon as he figured out what the right thing to do was, he planned to tell Quinn. Problem was, she still didn’t want to talk about the baby.

“About time you got here, Jake,” Staten snapped when he saw the old ranch hand offering his lopsided grin to the nurse.

Jake didn’t take offense. “Doctor said they’d release you about nine o’clock. I figured I’d better get here before seven.”

“You were right. I’ve been waiting since five.”

Before Staten could make his escape, the doctor appeared in the doorway. He was young, probably an intern, but he didn’t look intimidated. He simply smiled. “Morning, Mr. Kirkland. I figured you’d better be my first patient today. I got a dad who, I swear, could be your twin.”

“Does he ranch?”

“No, he runs a law office, but you two would get along.” The doctor handed him a packet of papers. “I won’t keep you. Here are your discharge forms and instructions on what you can and can’t do. That shoulder has to heal, and you can’t hurry it no matter how much you try. Only remove that sling to take a shower, and then keep your arm as still as you can. When you come back in two weeks, we’ll evaluate your progress.”

“I don’t need to come back. I’ll be well by then,” Staten said. “The nurse showed me how to put the sling on. How about I wear it until I don’t need it anymore?”

“All right.” The doctor didn’t argue, obviously seeing any discussion would be pointless. “Try to stay out of the way of any bullets. You were voted the least likely patient we’d ever want to see again.”

“Is he being funny, boss?” Jake asked.

Staten walked out the door. “Probably not.”

They stopped at the pharmacy and waited in line for pain pills Staten probably wouldn’t take. Half an hour later, when they passed through Crossroads, Staten insisted on stopping at the sheriff’s office.

Brigman’s office was on the main road through town. There was no sign on the front, just a five-point star with a circle around it carved into the door. County offices were downstairs and a courtroom on the second floor.

A reception area in front split off into four offices. One for the sheriff, one reserved for Texas Rangers, one for the coroner and the last one for the justice of the peace. His job must be very peaceful, because no one in town had seen him for months. A receptionist, long past retirement age, was the guard at the gate. She looked old enough to have dated Davy Crockett when he rode into Texas heading for the Alamo.

“Morning,” Staten said with a nod. “Sheriff in?”

The woman pointed them to the only open door, then giggled as Jake winked at her.

Jake pointed one finger at the coffeepot. “Mind if I have a cup, Pearly?”

“Not at all,” she answered. “I’ll make a fresh pot in case you stay around.”

Staten tried not to notice the exchange between the two. They might be just being polite, but he swore an undercurrent was weaving through the conversation, and the receptionist was developing bedroom eyes behind her bifocals. He didn’t want to know what was going on between the two. In his day, Jake liked to brag that he’d shoved his boots under many a bed and left every lady smiling.

Dan Brigman stood when Staten appeared at his door. The sheriff motioned him over to a table near the window. The entire six-foot surface was covered with maps.

Brigman looked tired, and Staten couldn’t help wondering if he’d slept the past two nights. If the bullet that hit Staten had been two inches over, Brigman might be dealing with a murder. It didn’t sit well with Staten that he’d be the victim.

“Fill me in, Sheriff.” Staten fought from cradling his left arm with his right. There was no use wasting time with small talk. Both men knew why he was there.

With Jake and Staten leaning over a county map, Dan Brigman explained every fact they knew about what had happened the night Staten had been shot. “I have two witnesses who saw an old one-ton truck on the road between your back gate and the county line, but my men watching the main road since your bull got hit said no truck passed them. Since one of the witnesses was sober, I think we’ll have to list the sighting as a clue. Only problem is, do you have any idea how many one-ton trucks are registered in this county?”

“There are a few back roads that turn off before the spot where you posted your men. Anyone traveling those would have to know where he was going or they’d be lost for hours driving from one water tank to another.”

“Some aren’t even on this map,” Brigman agreed and moved on. “The shell that Yancy Grey found on your land is pretty common, probably used in half the rifles around. But, if we find the weapon that shot you, we can send it in for testing.”

Jake leaned back to spit in his empty coffee cup. “Weapon didn’t shoot him, Sheriff, a man did.”

The sheriff nodded at Jake and added, “Since you said you heard several shots earlier, we may find where he was standing when he wounded the deer. I’m pretty sure Yancy found the spot where he stood to fire at you. If the same man shot both you and the deer? Probably not, since the slugs we dug out of the deer didn’t match the one the doc dug out of you, Staten. There could have been two hunters out there. One looking for game and the other looking for you.”

“Hold up a minute. We’re talking about a pasture, not the Two Step Bar over in Bailee. What are the chances there would be two men out there at the same time?” Jake thought for a moment, then added, “Or maybe it was a woman firing at you, Staten. You pissed off any stepmothers lately?”

“No,” Staten answered. “Me and the latest one gave up talking about two years ago. She told me she was going to have some work done, and I told her to be sure and record it because I’d bet a hundred dollar bill that she’s never seen work in her life.”

The sheriff choked down a laugh and continued with every detail they’d found that might be a clue. The cigarette butts, the footprints made with shoes, not boots. “From the looks of it, one man climbed out of his car or small truck and waited until you moved out of the shadows, after the truck you saw passed by. He must have guessed you’d want to tail the truck.

“We think the car pulled off the road behind trees, and the shooter found a place where he had cover from three sides. After the shot, he turned around and left through the north gate. That might be why you or Lucas didn’t see another vehicle.”

Staten didn’t like the idea that the shooting had been premeditated. He’d rather have thought it was simply an accident.

He paid attention to every detail as the sheriff continued. “The tracks we found near the spent shell were not that of a truck with any weight. Which explains the two engines you heard. One driving past you, one turning off waiting for you to step out so he could get a clear shot.”

“So, you don’t think it was just bad luck.” Staten took the news cold, without feeling. “If someone was waiting, willing to make a long shot, then the odds were good he knew what he was doing. You think they were out to shoot me.”

“You, or one of your men.” Brigman scratched his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Rustlers don’t go after trouble. They want to sneak in and out.”

Staten had heard enough. He’d gladly face trouble head-on, but he’d have to think about this. He had no idea if the shot was meant for him, or for anyone who’d driven out to check on the shots fired earlier. All he knew was that at least two people were on his ranch who didn’t belong, and apparently both were armed.

By the time Jake got him home, Staten was exhausted and would have even gone back to the hospital to sleep.

He wasn’t surprised when Quinn met him at his own front door. She hadn’t been over to his place in years, but he knew she’d want to make sure he was all right. In his experience women were like that, even with men they were mad at.

His lady might be quiet and shy, but she had a stubbornness about her that sometimes made him smile.

Jake saw him to the front door and walked away, complaining he should have left his boss in town. “If he keeps complaining, Quinn, just hit him in the head. He’s already brain damaged, so I don’t see that it would do any harm.”

Staten put his good arm over Quinn’s shoulders and leaned on her just a bit as she walked him to the couch in his big office. She felt so good against him, he knew she’d be the only medicine he’d ever need.

“I’m guessing you’re not going to let me put you to bed.” She laughed.

“Not unless you’re going with me,” he answered.

“But you will rest.”

“I will.” When he leaned against the pillows she’d already stacked, he relaxed for the first time since he’d been shot. “You going to be here when I wake up?”

She kissed him. “It’ll take me all day to pick this place up. Your house is so dark and closed up. Cave dwellers must have built it.”

He nodded. “Stepmother number two. She hated the ranch and didn’t want a single view interrupting her décor.” He didn’t add that when Amalah died, he and Randall had taken everything upstairs that they decided they no longer needed, and then they’d lived in the two downstairs bedrooms, the office and the kitchen. When papers and supplies piled up, Staten didn’t care. At least he knew where everything was.

After his son died, he stripped away all that had made the house a home. Somehow he wanted a shell to live in. A cell. A hole, where feelings would never find him again.

Five years later, his office was stacked with paperwork. He quit using the cabinets in the kitchen and started just stacking food on the counter. Saved time. He had no idea what was upstairs, where Randall’s things had been moved. He rarely climbed the stairs to the four bedrooms on the second floor.

The space that had been Randall’s bedroom downstairs was completely bare. He’d go in there now and then and stand thinking that the room reflected his soul, barren and scraped clean.

Only now, when he was weak and exhausted, Quinn had stepped into his colorless world.

“Do whatever you want, Quinn, just be here when I wake up,” he whispered, half-asleep. He didn’t care if she took a match to the big house. It was no longer a home.

Eight hours later, he woke to the smell of heaven. Quinn had cooked. She was still in his house. He sat up, one pain at a time, and pulled her against him as soon as she came close.

“Feed me,” he whispered after he kissed her.

She laughed and helped him to the kitchen table. He was on his third bowl of stew when he noticed that he could see the kitchen counters.

“You cleaned up. You weren’t kidding.”

“Do you mind?”

“Nope.”

She handed him a pill, and he took it without arguing. Then, she walked him to the bedroom and undressed him for a change.

“Stay with me,” he asked, wanting her close.

“I can’t, but I’ll come back tomorrow. When I drive out, I’ll tell Jake to send one of the guys over to sleep on the couch in case you need something in the night.”

“I won’t,” Staten said. He thought of arguing about what difference did it make if they slept together here or at her place. But he knew that it did matter to her.

She left before he thought of any words to say. They needed to talk about the change coming, but she wasn’t ready yet. He knew he’d have to respect her choices or he’d lose her completely.

In the silent house he thought he should have told her that she’d been his every thought when he was on his way to the hospital.

They both seemed to be fighting for their world, their relationship to remain the same, but it couldn’t, it wouldn’t.

In less than two weeks Lloyd deBellome would be in town for the concert. She had to make up her mind if she was going to go to the fund-raiser and possibly face him, or run and avoid him. Either way, Staten planned to be by her side.

Thanks to Miss Abernathy’s visit at the hospital, he knew more than he ever wanted to know about the master pianist. Lloyd was starting a world tour beginning in Dallas next week and covering the globe. He had agreed to play at Crossroads free, only charging expenses. Of course, this concert would bring him publicity and goodwill for his tour, but that wasn’t the reason he agreed.

She quickly mentioned that the expenses included having his classic BMW shipped to Dallas from New York and a first-class plane ticket. But, after all, he needed his car so he could drive to Crossroads. Miss Abernathy explained that he loved the car and needed to drive it one last time before he left for Europe.

Staten didn’t care what the guy did as long as he stayed out of Quinn’s life.

If he bothered Quinn, he wouldn’t have to worry about the tour. He’d be headed back to New York by ambulance.