The Payback Man (24 page)

“Eleanor? What’s happening up there?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Stay where you are whatever you do.”

This time the cow backed off and simply stood there while steam rose from her body and billowed out of her nostrils.

Eleanor swung to the ground, climbed into the truck, slammed the door and threw it into reverse.

Once Eleanor turned to head back toward the barn, she could watch the cow in her side mirror trotting behind the truck where Steve and the calf huddled together under the tarp.

Eleanor hadn’t given a thought to the other cows until she got to the gate. They were all clustered around as though waiting for an opportunity to bolt into the shelter of the barn the moment Eleanor opened the gate.

She drove up to it until her fender touched the bars, then climbed out. “Shoo! Scat! Go find your nice dry shed!” She clapped and shouted. Only the new mama stayed behind.

Eleanor opened the gate, drove through with the cow in tandem, then shut it again quickly before the others could change their minds and charge back. She drove all the way under the overhang and into the foyer of the barn.

Only then did she remember to call Selma. “We’re fine,” she said.

“You had exactly one minute left. Who’s we? Can I talk to Steve?”

“We is me, Steve, a cow of very little brain who is also a new mother, and her calf, which was nearly born under
three feet of ice water in the pond. You can’t talk to Steve at the moment because he’s in the back of the truck with the calf and definitely under siege. Take my word for it. He’s there, all right.”

“Huh?”

“Steve was trying to get the stupid cow out of the pond before she had the calf. We managed it, but just barely. We’re all four soaked and half-frozen. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t wind up with pneumonia.”

“I’ll come down in the four-wheeler to pick him up.”

“No, you won’t! I can’t handle the cow and calf by myself, and I can’t wait until morning to check them over. Sign Steve out or whatever you do. Ernest already knows there are going to be nights when we have to work late or even around the clock. We’ve got to get these animals dry and warm, and then we’ve got to get ourselves the same way. Thank God I had the men bring an extra set of clothes down here. I’ll drive Steve up to the compound in the truck after we finish here, assuming I don’t have a crushed radiator leaking antifreeze all over.”

“Huh?”

“In the war between cow and radiator, radiator doesn’t always win. Don’t worry. I’ll get Steve back not much the worse for wear.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. Selma, thanks for not alerting the COs. I told you Steve wouldn’t run off.”

“Not
this
time.”

“Cynic.”

“Experienced cynic. Every time I look at that man I see
flight
written all over him, and I don’t usually miss those signals. Be careful, Eleanor. He could still take off, only now he’s got your truck to do it in. And a hostage, if he wants one.”

“Won’t happen.”

“What won’t happen?” Steve asked as he leaned in the window of the truck.

“I’m trying to convince Selma that you aren’t going to steal my truck, take me hostage and escape.” She grinned at him, expecting a smile in return.

The startled expression on his face surprised her.

“Steve?” She opened the door and climbed out.

He went quickly back to the calf, who was now bawling lustily and trying to stand. He wasn’t getting much purchase on the slick metal bed of the truck, and he was making his mother very nervous.

“Come on, let’s bed these two down.”

The laughter, the joy she’d heard in his voice earlier was gone.

Despite the cold and wet, they worked side by side until the calf began to nurse and the cow settled down in an empty stall next to the three quarter horses. Eleanor gave both calf and cow shots, checked to be certain the cow was normal, as well, and only then realized how cold and wet she was. Steve must be much worse off, but he’d worked beside her without complaint.

“I’ve got dry clothes in the truck. I’ll go open the footlocker so you can get out your dry set,” she said. She tried to sound cheerful because she was still worried. “Go stand in the shower until you warm up, then I’ll drive you back up to the compound.”

“All right.” He turned away from her.

“Steve? You weren’t, were you?”

“What?”

“What Selma said.”

“No.” He touched her cheek with icy fingers. “Not tonight.”

E
LEANOR RAN BACK
into the barn from her truck with a change of clothes and a pair of dirty running shoes that she kept for emergencies. She tried to keep them clean, but they tended to give off a faint whiff of cow manure when the wind was right.

She unlocked the footlocker in the storeroom and found the sack marked “Chadwick.” She would leave his clothes outside the shower room where he could reach them.

When she got up from her knees and turned around, Steve stood in the doorway behind her with a couple of thin prison towels in his hand. His face and hands were dry, but his clothes were sodden. In the harsh light of the office, his sleek wet hair was the same tawny brown as the cow’s pelt.

He’d taken off his jacket, but his shirt was wet through and clung to the muscles of his chest and arms, and his flat abdomen. His soaked jeans were pasted to his lean hips.

Eleanor tried to keep her eyes on his face and not on his body. It wasn’t easy. She started to speak, then cleared her throat. “Here,” she said, and held the sack of clothes out to him. “You warm up in the shower while I make us a quick pot of coffee. Then I’ll shower and drive you back to the compound.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Looking at his serious face, she felt that same flutter of disquiet. Had he decided to make a run for it, after all?

He tossed the towels aside and pulled her to him. “There are better ways to warm up. Together.”

Now the flutter was no longer disquiet, but excitement. “Steve, we can’t. What if Selma comes looking for us?”

“At this point, I don’t give a damn.” He kissed her softly.

She responded to his kiss, then slid away from him and said with a smile, “You feel like a wet carp.”

“So do you. A cold wet carp.” He kissed her ear. “We can fix that. The shower room has a lock on the door and plenty of room for two.”

“If we’re caught…”

“To hell with rules.” He ran his hand down her back and up under her sweater. “I want to hold you, touch you, be inside you.”

She felt heat welling up from her center. She couldn’t resist him. She didn’t
want
to resist him. For one night, one small time, she wanted to forget where they were, who they were, and that they might be torn apart tomorrow.

Steve took her hand. He’d turned on the heater in the shower room. The warmth felt wonderful. His hands felt even more wonderful. He locked the door, then turned to her and lifted her sweater over her head.

Her cold fingers unbuttoned his wet shirt and helped him peel it off his shoulders.

Their wet jeans were harder to get off, but finally the things lay on the floor in a sodden heap.

Steve slowly peeled her wet panties down until she could kick them away, then she did the same for him.

He picked her up and carried her with him into the shower. She caught her breath as the warm water began to cascade over and between them.

Her fingertips tingled as full feeling returned. Now she could curl her fingers into the dark hair on his chest, cradle his questing head as he circled her nipple with his tongue.

Her breasts felt swollen, hot, and she knew that she was
ready for him, but he held off, although when she caressed him, she could tell he was more than ready, too.

He sank to his knees in front of her. The moment his tongue touched her, she arched her back and grasped the shower rod to keep from falling. Her body burst from ice to fire in what seemed only an instant.

Then he stood up and braced her against the tile of the shower as he rolled on a condom. He entered her slowly this time. Their bodies flowed together and mingled as sweetly as the warm water that cascaded over them.

The mingling that began softly grew into a torrent, a cataract that beat against her senses until at last she fell over the edge and tumbled headlong into ecstasy.

Shaken, she clung to him and buried her face against his shoulder. She wasn’t certain she could stand without his arms to hold her up. Nothing had prepared her for the way he felt inside her. It was glorious.

It was terrifying.

She’d abandoned a part of herself she’d always protected, ever since Jerry. She belonged to Steve now, heart and soul, and if he destroyed them both, there wasn’t a thing she could do to prevent it.

Afterward, they dressed in silence and avoided each other’s eyes. Eleanor cleaned up the coffee, while Steve straightened the shower room.

Each time they made love, the barriers between them seemed to fall, only to be rebuilt stronger and taller.

Outside, the sleet had stopped, but the black night was still impenetrable. Eleanor drove Steve to the compound, spoke to the CO in charge, saw that he was properly checked in and on his way to his dormitory. She waved cheerfully to the CO as she drove away.

By the time she reached the highway she was shaking, not with cold and not with fatigue, but with fear for Steve. He’d never actually told her he planned to escape, but if he were to really use that gun of Bill Chumley’s, he’d have to try to disappear. No, he hadn’t told her, but he didn’t
have to. She’d hoped to hold him back with bonds of love, or at the very least of passion.

He’d turned the tables. She was the one in thrall. She had to break free before he destroyed her. It would be easy to let another disaster, another tragic ending to another love drag her once more into despair.

If he were still intent on murder, she couldn’t save him. She could only try to save herself.

S
HE WAS HIS NEMESIS
, his fate for good or for ill.

He lay on his cot and listened to the men around him in their restless sleep. He was afraid that if he fell asleep, he would groan or call out as he had before. He couldn’t afford to talk in his sleep. He was already walking a very thin edge.

But now that he was warm and not only relaxed but drained, he knew he couldn’t stay awake long, no matter how much he worried about his future.

There seemed only the tiniest glimmer of hope that there would be a way out that didn’t lead to more pain and tragedy. If Steve avenged his wife as he’d planned, he would be no better than Neil. If he let Neil get away scot-free, he was less than a man.

Neither of those Steve Chadwicks would be worthy of Eleanor. After tonight’s lovemaking he was afraid that if he asked her to run away with him, she would.

So he must not ask her.

He could only pin his hopes for a happy outcome—his very slim hopes—on Leslie Vickers, the man who’d allowed him to be convicted in the first place, and Charlie Schockley, the man who’d arrested him.

He could only stand and watch. Overwhelmed by the same old feelings of helplessness he’d endured these years in prison, forced to live by someone else’s rules, embroiled in a foul culture he barely survived in.

He had to face the fact that he’d fallen in love with
Eleanor. All his good intentions to stay away from her disintegrated the moment she walked into a room.

At first it was her compassion that had attracted him. A different kind of person would have simply done her job and walked away each night without a thought for the people she left behind. But even the first day, Eleanor had treated them all with dignity. She truly wanted to make a difference in their lives. How many people would have seen what a good man Big Little was? Or even bothered to look below the surface of a tattooed career criminal like Gil?

And her tenacity. Even when she was certain he was a killer, she’d fought to understand him. She never treated him like a monster. Now that she believed he was innocent, she was fighting even harder.

Then he loved the way she came into his arms, gave herself to him, wanted him. She had truly become his better self. How in hell could he be worthy of her love and trust when he must betray her?

Steve supposed everybody thought they were in love half a dozen times before the real thing. Until you experienced the real thing, you couldn’t recognize the counterfeit. He had loved Chelsea, but even that hadn’t had this intensity. His feelings for Eleanor were so different, so overwhelming, that her happiness meant more to him than life. If the only way to preserve her happiness was to thrust her away from him, then that was what he’d have to do.

B
Y UNSPOKEN CONSENT
, Eleanor and Steve tried to avoid each other for the next week. Steve was certain that everyone on the team and at the clinic knew there was something wrong between them, but nobody said anything.

Except Big.

He walked into Mark Scott’s office at the clinic one afternoon with Daisy at his heel. “Steve, how come you’re mad at Dr. Eleanor? I thought you liked her.”

“I’m not mad, Big. And I do like her.”

“She’s not happy. You’re not, either. You have a fight?”

“No. Not a fight. I can’t explain, Big. It’s something we have to work out.”

Big looked at him in silence, then reached down and scratched Daisy’s remaining ear. “It’s not right when Dr. Eleanor’s not happy.”

“I know.”

“Y’all make up.”

“If we can.”

Big left. He wasn’t satisfied.

Steve dropped his head into his hands. He felt as if he was being torn apart from inside. If something didn’t happen soon, he’d explode.

T
WO WEEKS BEFORE
Thanksgiving, Sweet Daddy sought Steve out in the mess hall after supper. “Outside, man. We gotta talk.”

Steve followed reluctantly.

“When you going, man?” Sweet Daddy whispered. He was shivering. The night was raw.

“Going where?”

“Don’t pull that crap on me. I know you’re going. I can read the signs. Hell, we all can. You got a plan?”

“If I
were
going, it’s no business of yours.”

“I’m going wid’ you.”

Steve laughed.

“Nobody laughs at Sweet Daddy. I about had enough of this place. I want out, and I ain’t coming back. Man like you, smart, he going, he got a plan, am I right? No three and three, not for Sweet Daddy.”

Three miles away and three hours before they capture you,
Steve remembered hearing. He said, “And if I don’t take you?”

“Then you don’t get no three and three—you get nothing and nothing and lose your good time.”

“You’d snitch?”

“I ain’t going, ain’t nobody going. I want to eat my own turkey with my own ladies on Thanksgiving day. She helping you, am I right?”

“Wrong. And I’m not going anywhere. You tell the COs that I’m planning to walk off, and you will regret it.”

“Don’t nobody threaten Sweet Daddy.”

“Sure they do. All the time. You snitch on me, and I’ll make certain that various groups know about it. You won’t last a week.”

“I come with you, man, or you don’t see your woman.”

Before Steve could stop him, he scuttled back into the dormitory.

Steve leaned against the side of the building, suddenly hot despite the chill. That wasn’t an idle threat. Steve couldn’t take Sweet Daddy along, but neither could he safely leave him behind. He couldn’t snitch on him to Gil or any of the others without revealing his own plans. The same for Eleanor.

He’d have to try to move up the timetable. Tomorrow he’d call his man on the outside. The man picking him up outside the prison would bring a weapon for him to use. If he was lucky, the Neil problem would be solved in an hour.

If Eleanor discovered he’d disappeared from the grounds, she’d be frantic. He’d have to trust she’d try to cover for him. Not fair to her, but he didn’t dare take her into his confidence.

And Sweet Daddy? He’d think of something.

T
ONIGHT WAS FINALLY THE NIGHT
. Steve thought he’d be nervous, but instead, he felt empty.

At long last Mark Scott had returned from his trip for Buchanan Enterprises. Steve remembered meeting him before the trial, although they’d only been nodding acquaintances.

Mark seemed pleased at the work Steve had done on organizing the clinic’s inventory and finances. He sug
gested that there might be a place for Steve at Buchanan when he was paroled. Steve was flattered but noncommittal. He couldn’t think any further than his impending confrontation with Neil.

He’d formed a plan to avoid Sweet Daddy. Unfortunately it involved Lard Ass Newman, but that couldn’t be helped. In the end he only had to call in a couple of favors from men he’d helped at Big Mountain before they moved down to the farm.

Newman was now one of the COs on mess duty, which meant he could lounge around while the men ate, then stuff himself with leftovers while the kitchen crew cleaned up.

That night at supper, Sweet Daddy discovered he was sitting surrounded by large genial cons whom he knew only slightly. He couldn’t change seats without insulting them. He’d pay for an insult.

Steve sat at the very back of the mess hall nearest the door and watched Elroy craning his scrawny neck trying to locate him.

As everyone was finishing and putting their trays on the conveyor belts to the kitchen, Big Nose Noonan on Sweet Daddy’s left took offense at a remark made by Peterman Blake on the other side of Sweet Daddy. The two men argued over Sweet Daddy’s head, while the men across the table egged them on.

As Steve figured, Newman waded in to restore order. In the ensuing ruckus, he slipped away into the night and out of the compound.

He kept to the bushes and pine trees that lined the prison road all the way down to the highway. He moved fast, even though he doubted anyone would notice he was gone for some time. This wasn’t like the normal prison where a count could be called at any moment. The men were checked in at bedtime and in the morning only. The rest of the day they were all over the farm on their respective teams. Steve had at least half an hour before Selma checked on him—more like an hour, if he was lucky.

The plain dark sedan waited for him in a narrow turnoff under the trees at the highway’s edge. Steve vaulted the four-foot perimeter fence and slipped into the front seat.

The driver sped off and turned on his lights only when he was well under way. He didn’t speak. Neither did Steve.