Sheriff’s Runaway Witness

Chapter 12

“I know who you are,” Rachel whispered. Her mind filled with images of his face, his smile as he gazed down at Sean.

He closed his eyes and shook her again, his fingers hard on her arms. She was sure there would be bruises. “You don’t,” he said harshly. “You only think you do.”

“Then I…don’t understand.”

“I’m a cop-you got that? A cop. And you, lady, are the widow of a crime kingpin’s son, who happened to be present when your husband was shot along with a couple of federal agents. You were there. You’re a witness. Get it?”

“But I don’t-”

He shook her again, and she stopped and just stared at him, wishing she could block out these images: the cold glitter of his eyes, the hard, unyielding line of his mouth. A moment ago I was kissing that mouth. How could it have felt so good?

“You’re a witness. You’re my witness. You are the witness who is going to break this case for me. The witness who’s going to get me my old job back. Now-do you understand what I want from you?”

She nodded. Her body had gone cold and still. He must have felt it, because he let go of her arms, exhaled and muttered, “Good…” He bent down to pick up his hat from the mossy creek bank where she’d tossed it.

She cleared her throat. “You want me to testify,” she said carefully, feeling nothing at all, except cold. “You want me to say I saw who killed those two feds.”

He turned to her, having jammed his hat back on his head, and she saw his eyes glint from the deep shadow of the hat’s brim. “I want you to tell what you saw. What you remember.”

Rachel drew a deep breath and pulled together the remnants of her strength, self-respect and pride. “Then I’m going to have to disappoint you,” she said, in a voice that didn’t shake. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this for nothing, but I didn’t see anything. Nicky shoved me down behind a Dumpster. I don’t know who killed the law officers. Do you get it? I don’t even know who killed Nick.” She sucked in another breath. “So, you can go home now.”

She plucked the pink cap Josie had given her from the saddle horn, lifted her foot into the stirrup and, ignoring twinges in tender parts of her body, lifted herself into the saddle. From that height she looked down at the man she’d once thought looked like a hero from an old Western movie. He no longer made her think of John Wayne, or anybody else; now, he was just J.J. And, looking down at him, she still didn’t feel anything. But she knew the pain was out there, gathering like a tsunami wave, heading straight for her. And she knew that when it hit her she wanted to be far away from the man who had caused it.

“Do you understand?”

He lifted his head and looked at her, his face stony.

“I can’t help you. I don’t have anything for you, so you don’t have any reason to stay.”

“Carlos-”

“Sage will protect me. He can hire someone. This is my grandfather’s place, and I want you gone.”

She tugged on the appaloosa’s reins and turned her head toward home. She dug her heels into the mare’s sides and leaned forward over her neck. She saw J.J. leap back out of the way as the mare’s hooves bit into the moist earth, and then she was surging up the shaded slope and into the meadow. Once on the open ground, she gave the horse her head and took what comfort she could from what should have been one of her greatest pleasures-riding a horse at a flat-out gallop through an open field, with the wind in her face and the sun on her back.

J.J. watched the horse and rider hit the meadow and go thundering toward the barn, two almost identical ponytails streaming like flags in the wind, and felt like throwing his hat to the ground in frustration. How, he wondered, had he managed to botch things so badly? He couldn’t have imagined a worse outcome.

A moment later, he wished he could have, because a worse outcome is what he got. His sweet little brown mare lifted up her head, uttered a heart-stopping whinny and took off after her friend, the appaloosa.

So much for ground-tying, J.J. thought. And then, as Moonshine lurched to her feet and went loping up the slope in pursuit of the horses. Et tu, Moon? What is this-you girls stick together?

He took off his hat, whacked it against his pants leg a time or two, then put it back on and began to make his way through the pines, swearing bitterly at himself. When he got to the meadow, Moonshine came trotting through the grass to meet him. The dog sat down on her haunches and gave him a long, doleful stare, panting hard, tongue lolling.

“Don’t start with me,” J.J. warned.

As he watched the two horses and one rider rapidly vanish into the distance at a pace faster than he ever wanted to go on the back of a living creature, he considered he was probably better off walking home.

“Man, I’m sorry,” Sage said.

He was in the barn, brushing down the brown horse, Misty, when J.J. got there. Out in the pasture he could see the appaloosa, already placidly grazing. Misty turned her head to look at him with big brown innocent eyes as if to say, “Hey, buddy, what happened to you?” But J.J. wasn’t fooled.

He leaned against a stall and folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.”

Sage threw him a look. “It’s her place, you’re her guest. If she wants you to go…” He shrugged and went back to brushing.

J.J. coughed, straightened up. “You know, it’s gonna have to be up to you, now, to keep her safe.” Sage nodded. “I mean, I’ll do my best to get back here as quick as I can, but…” His plan was to get some backup, some legal authority to hold Rachel, or at least keep her in his protective custody until they could find out what she knew about the shooting. Or until they got enough on Carlos to put him away without her help. Meanwhile… “You got any guns?”

“Couple deer rifles,” Sage said. “A shotgun.”

“These guys will have automatic weapons,” J.J. said.

The house was silent. Entering through the front door, J.J. could see across the courtyard to the veranda, where Rachel sat in the rocker nursing Sean. Since he was pretty sure there was nothing to be gained by another encounter with her, he went through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen, where he found Josie at the sink, stemming a bowlful of strawberries. She glanced up, and he thought he caught the shine of tears in her eyes.

“Sheriff J.J., I’m so sorry,” she began.

“Yeah, me, too,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll be out of your way, soon as I can. Listen-is there any place in this house you could hide, if you had to?” Josie turned to look fully at him, the back of one hand, the one holding a paring knife, pressed to her nose. “You know-like a basement, or a safe room…”

She hesitated, then nodded and pointed the knife at the ceiling. “In the chapel-down at the other end of the house. There’s a secret door. It goes up to the bell tower. It’s Sam’s-it was Mr. Malone’s private place. The only way to get to it is stairs.” She twirled the knife to create a picture of a circular staircase.

“That’ll do,” J.J. said. “Listen-I want you to promise me, okay? If you see any sign of Carlos or his goons, I want you to get Rachel and the baby to that room. Get them up there, barricade the door and call 911. Don’t go out or open it for anyone until help arrives. Got it?”

Josie nodded and whispered, “Got it.”

He left her standing there looking after him and went down the corridor to his room. He took his duffel bag out of the closet and threw his clothes into it, dumped his traveling toiletry case on top of the clothes and zipped the bag shut. Then he got his service Glock and holster out of the drawer in the nightstand and laid it on the bed. He took out the magazine, checked it, put it back. Did the same with his backup Glock, then put it back in its holster where he always wore it, strapped to his right ankle.

He walked slowly to the French doors and looked out. Rachel was still there, rocking her baby. The way she was sitting he couldn’t see her face, and she wouldn’t know he was there unless he opened the doors or called to her. Which there wasn’t much point in doing. She’d made her feelings plain enough.

For the best, he told himself, ignoring the dull ache in his chest. Just as well. Last thing you needed…

He went back to the bed, picked up his duffel bag in one hand and his service pistol in the other and left the house by the same route as he’d entered. Josie, he noticed, was nowhere to be seen.

Outside in the shaded parking area in front of the six-car garage, he opened the door of his pickup and called to Moonshine. When he told her to get in the truck, she looked at him like he’d lost his mind, so he boosted her up by her hind end, tossed the duffel bag in after her and shut the back door. He got into the front, placed the Glock and its holster on the passenger seat, started up the engine and rolled away down the drive.

At the T intersection, he kept going straight, and when he pulled up to the big barn, Sage came strolling out to meet him, the border collie at his heels. J.J. waited for him to come close, then rolled down his window and handed him the Glock.

“You ever fire one of these?” he asked.

“I have not,” Sage said. J.J. showed him how to chamber a round and set the safety. “Keep it on you,” he said, looking the other man square in the eyes. “Don’t put it in a drawer or hang it on a nail. Put the holster on and wear it.”

“Will do,” Sage said.

“Goes in the small of your back,” J.J. said.

“Got it.”

J.J. nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Meanwhile…keep her safe.”

Sage nodded. J.J. rolled the window up and drove around in a circle and headed back down the dirt lane.

He was about halfway down the mountain when he saw the chopper go by overhead. He stomped on the brake, rolled down the window and stuck his head out, watching the chopper make its way up the canyon toward the hacienda.

Black chopper, no markings. He could think of only one person it could be.

Carlos Delacorte.

Or his goons, which amounted to the same thing.

He swore, hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. Started up the truck. What the hell was he going to do? Couldn’t turn around-boulders the size of SUVs on both sides of the road. He had no choice but to keep going until he found a place where he could turn around, and in the meantime…

I’ll be too late. Sage with a couple of deer rifles and a Glock against God only knows how many trained killers armed with automatic weapons…

I’ve as good as killed him. And probably Josie and Rachel, too.

Careening down the rutted dirt road, steering one-handed, he managed to punch in 911 on his cell phone.

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

“This is San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Deputy J. J. Fox, requesting immediate assistance.”

“I’m sorry, did you say-”

“Listen carefully, and don’t interrupt,” J.J. yelled into the phone. “I have a code-oh, hell, let me make this easy for you. I have a possible kidnapping in progress, June Canyon Ranch, off Highway 178. Multiple suspects, all armed and dangerous. Need immediate assistance. This is an emergency. If you have a S.W.A.T. team and a chopper, suggest you get ’em in the air-now.”

“Sir, if you’ll just stay on the line-”

“Can’t do that. Just get me some help. That’s June Canyon Ranch-don’t have an address, but it belongs to Sierra Sam Malone. Gotta go.” He dropped the cell phone into the center console and took hold of the wheel with both hands. Sent up a prayer and yanked it to the right, steering into a relatively clear patch of sand. Backed up into the resulting dust cloud, shifted into forward gear and hit the gas. Moonshine whined as the truck went bouncing and jouncing up the winding road, back the way they’d come.

Rachel saw the helicopter pass overhead as she sat on the veranda rocking Sean. She knew instantly whose it was. She knew, because she had flown in it-or one just like it-not so long ago. The one that had whisked Nicky and her from their wedding reception at Carlos’s Malibu beach house to the airport, where Carlos’s private jet had been standing by to fly them off to Tahiti for their honeymoon.

Cold enveloped her. She held on to Sean as if someone might try to rip him from her arms. She didn’t remember leaping to her feet or going inside or crossing her room, but when she opened the door, Josie was standing there with her fist raised to knock.

“Carlos-” Rachel gasped.

Josie grabbed her arm, motioning with her other hand. “I thought so. Bring him. Come with me. Hurry.”

Rachel followed her blindly, back onto the veranda, then across the sunlit courtyard. The wing of the house opposite the kitchen and living room was higher than the rest of the hacienda. Josie opened arched double doors in the whitewashed wall and motioned Rachel to go in ahead of her. Inside it was cool and dim, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, Rachel saw that they were in a small chapel. Josie gave her no time to get her bearings, but took her arm and urged her to the left, toward a beautifully carved wooded altar. She hurried ahead of her up the steps, reached up and turned a candle sconce on the wall to the right of the altar. To Rachel’s bemusement, the altar creaked slowly outward to reveal an opening behind.

“Come,” Josie whispered, gesturing urgently. “You’ll be safe in here.”

Rachel gave a sobbing laugh. Once again, it seemed, she would be putting her trust in Carlos’s respect for his Roman Catholic upbringing.

Holding Sean for dear life, she ducked through the opening and found herself at the foot of a wrought-iron staircase that wound upward into shadows. Josie waited for her to begin the climb, then pulled the altar and secret door back into position and secured it with a heavy old-fashioned wooden bar before following.

The stairway ended at a landing, with a single door, also of heavy, old-fashioned wood. Josie opened the door and once again waved Rachel into the room ahead of her before closing and barricading this door, too, with a sturdy wooden bar.

“This is Sam’s room,” Josie said, breathless with excitement, or from the climb. “It used to be the bell tower, but Sam had the bell taken down. It’s mounted on the front patio downstairs.”

Rachel nodded, barely listening. There were small windows on three sides of the tiny room, set in walls nearly a foot thick. Other than that, she noticed very little, except that the room was sparsely furnished, with a twin bed covered by an old-fashioned handmade quilt, a nightstand and a straight-backed chair and a small writing desk. There were framed photographs on the walls, but she didn’t take the time to look at them. Still holding Sean, she went to join Josie at one of the windows.

The window looked out toward the front of the house. To the left was the curving flagstone walk and shallow steps that led to the front door. Straight ahead, the driveway wound through the stands of poplars and pines before reaching the barbed wire fence that bordered the meadow pasture and arrowing off to the right toward the old ranch house and barns. From this vantage point, they had a clear view of the meadow, and the black helicopter that was just settling onto it like a dragonfly onto a pond.

Sage was in the house, standing in front of the open gun safe, when he heard the chopper fly over. He went to the window and watched the black bird hover, then set itself down in the meadow across from the big house. He was pretty sure the chopper didn’t belong to anybody he wanted to see.

He went back to the safe and took out the only weapon that was inside. Then he got out a box of shotgun shells, loaded the gun and put a handful of cartridges in his shirt pocket. The rifles were gone, both of them, and he knew who had them. No use wishing for what wasn’t there. He knew the shotgun wasn’t going to be much good against assault rifles, but he figured it might come in handy at close range, if it came to that.

He went to the front door and whistled for the dog. He came bounding from the direction of the barn, evidently excited over the prospect of visitors from the sky. Sage held the door open for him, said, “Stay, dog,” and shut him inside.

He could hear the dog whimpering as he set out for the big house at a dead run, cradling the shotgun in one arm while he pulled the Glock out of its holster in the small of his back with the other.

He was outnumbered and outgunned, but he had knowledge of the terrain on his side. That, and maybe the instincts of his ancestors. If he could make it to the trees, he figured he could flit from tree to tree, picking the gunmen off one by one as they came up the lane. He’d seen a documentary one time about how the Natives had shown the American colonists how to fight like that against the British. It had evidently worked for them, so he figured he had as good a shot as any at holding off these guys until help arrived.

Only one problem. There was a stretch of open ground along the road to get across before he reached the cover of the trees.

Even so, he almost made it. He was about fifty yards from safety when he heard the first shots. He didn’t fire back, figuring it would just waste what ammo he had, just put his head down and ran like the wind, praying all the way. The bullet hit him just as he reached the trees. It didn't hurt, just felt like someone had whacked him with a shovel. He spun around and the shotgun went flying, but he held onto the Glock as he crashed onto the pine-needle cushioned ground.

High in the bell tower, Josie uttered a sound like a wounded animal and clamped her hand over her mouth.

Rachel felt as though she’d been slugged in the stomach. Breath gusted from her lungs; instinctively, she tightened her arms around Sean. Oh God, oh God, oh God, was all she could think, at first. Then: I can’t let this happen!

Turning, she thrust her baby at Josie. “Here-please. Keep him safe-”

Cradling Sean in one arm, Josie caught at her shirt. “Wait-no-you can’t.” Tears were streaming down her face. “You have to stay here. J.J. said-”

Breathless, Rachel shook her head. “No-no, it’s okay. It’s Sean they want. If I go out there without him, they won’t kill me. Not until they make me tell them where he is.” She gave the other woman a quick hug and slipped from her grasp. At the door, she lifted the bar, opened it and ran down the stairs, footsteps echoing loudly on the metal steps. At the barricaded door to the chapel she paused to gasp for breath, one hand going to the cheek that no longer bore any trace of the bruises Carlos’s fist had put there. She felt cold…like throwing up. He would beat her, she was sure. He’d hit her for a letter she’d hidden from him; what would he do to her for hiding his grandson?

She saw again, in super slow-motion, Sage whirling around from the impact of the bullet, then crashing to the ground. Tears blurred her vision.

I’m sorry, Jethro. This is my fault. I should never have sent you away.

She dashed away the tears, took a deep breath and lifted the heavy bar and pushed the altar back far enough so she could slip through the opening. She shoved the altar back into place, ran through the chapel and out the arched double doors, across the courtyard to the front entry. On the front steps, she hesitated. Through the trees, out in the meadow she could see three men dressed in black making their way slowly toward the fence. They all held automatic weapons, ready to fire.

She pressed her hand against her wildly thumping heart, gasped in a breath, and ran down the lane, waving her arms and screaming, “Wait-don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

She didn’t wait to see what the gunmen’s response to her cry might be, but ran on between the towering trees. Just before the trees ended and the lane straightened to run parallel to the fence, she saw Sage. Relief overwhelmed her when she saw that he was sitting upright, his back against a tree trunk. He held a gun in his hand. When he saw her, he struggled to rise, and called out to her in a voice like the croaking sound a crow makes.

“Rachel! Rachel-no!”

She ignored him and ran on. At the fence-that damned barbed wire fence-she halted, holding on to the top wire, and yelled across to the advancing gunmen. “Let me talk to Carlos. If he’s with you, let me talk to him!”

The gunmen slowed, then stopped, weapons pointing straight at her. Her heart was racing so fast, she wasn’t sure she could make a sound, but somehow she heard herself yell, “Tell Carlos, I’ve hidden the baby where he’ll never find him. If he wants to see his grandson, he’ll have to talk to me.”

One of the gunmen put his hand to his ear, then nodded at his comrades. He started toward her while the other two stayed where they were. Shaking with hope and fear, Rachel bent over and began the tricky process of climbing through the fence.

From somewhere on the edges of her consciousness she heard a powerful engine revving…the screech of tires. Someone shouted, called out her name, but she didn’t pause. Out in the meadow, the two gunmen raised their guns.

Then all hell broke loose. And Rachel was caught in the middle of it-literally. Hung up in a barbed wire fence.

Barreling along the lane, J.J. could barely see through the dust cloud he was raising. But he saw Rachel. Saw her come flying out of the shelter of the trees into the open, waving her arms. At first he thought she’d lost her mind. Then, that she was waving at him. Then he saw she was heading straight for three thugs armed with assault rifles. What the hell?

When he saw her bend down and start to climb through the fence, and one of the gunmen lower his rifle and start toward her, his heart nearly stopped. Part of him was so furious with her he could have killed her himself. The other part…the biggest part was so terrified he felt paralyzed.

As he brought the pickup to a jolting halt, he caught movement from just beyond the horrifying scene being played out by the fence. He opened the door and dove out, telling Moon to stay put as he slammed the door shut. Crouched by the front fender, he could see Sage ahead in the trees, pulling himself upright with his back against the trunk of a tall pine. His shirt was stained dark and his right arm hung limp at his side. In his left hand was J.J.’s Glock. He waved the Glock at J.J. and made a jerking motion toward the meadow with his head.

J.J. got the message. Go get her. I’ll cover you.

He nodded. Ran in a crouch around the front of his truck and headed for Rachel, who was still bent over in the middle of the barbed wire fence. He got to her about the same time Delacorte’s goon did.

The goon halted and leveled his gun at J.J., who was wishing he’d unholstered his backup Glock before dashing to Rachel’s rescue. It was the kind of rookie mistake that could cost a man his life. And was about to cost him his.

In the next fraction of a second, he saw the goon’s gun go flying out of his hands. The man screamed and grabbed his thigh, and went down with blood squirting from a bullet hole in his pants leg.

Thanks, Sage. I always knew you’d be a good man to have on my side in a fight.

Out in the meadow, the other two gunmen had opened fire. J.J. grabbed Rachel and hauled her out of the fence, ignoring the sounds of ripping cloth. He had her almost back to the cover of his truck when he felt his right leg go out from under him. He caught hold of the front bumper to keep from going down, all but threw Rachel behind the front tire, then dove headfirst after her. He couldn’t feel his right foot, but was afraid to look at it, pretty sure he wasn’t going to like what he saw.

“You’re hurt,” Rachel confirmed. She was on her knees beside him, her cheeks streaked with tears and dust. Her eyes, he saw, were glassy with shock.

J.J. grunted. He was too busy trying to get his backup Glock out of the holster on his wounded leg to reply.

Sam Malone was making his way along the creek, heading toward the old ranch house, when he saw the black chopper beating its way up the canyon. He watched it hover over the meadow, then drop out of sight behind the barn.

“Don’t much like the look of that, Ol’ Paint,” he said to the horse, who twitched his ears in reply. Sam urged the painted horse into a gallop.

Keeping the barns between himself and whatever was going on out in his meadow, he didn’t see the gunmen get out of the chopper and head for his house. He didn’t see Sage go dashing up the lane. But he heard the sound of gunfire. That was when he pulled up in the shelter of the corrals and unbuckled the leather flap that held his hunting rifle in its saddle holster. The rifle was a favorite of his, a nice old Winchester bolt-action-not fancy, but it would do the job. He loaded a magazine, threw the bolt a couple of times, then laid the rifle across his lap and said, “Let’s go, Paint.”

He came out of the shelter of the barn unnoticed, and saw Rachel come running down the driveway, yelling and waving her arms. He saw her stoop down to climb through the fence. He saw the sheriff’s pickup truck go barreling along the lane, screech to a halt, and the sheriff jump out and run to Rachel. He let out a cackle of approval.

Then he saw the guy closest to the fence go down, and the two out in the meadow raise their guns. He saw J.J. grab Rachel and run for his truck in a hail of gunfire. And he saw him go down. He didn’t see Sage, not then. But rage filled him.

I’m not letting those hoodlums hurt our granddaughter, Elizabeth!

A breeze skirled through the corral, raising dust. It brought a whisper. What do you think you can do to stop it, old man?

“I may be old, but I can still ride, and I can still shoot!”

He looped the reins around the saddle horn, shouldered the Winchester, dug his heels into the painted horse’s sides and said, “Come on, Paint!”

Once clear of the corral fences, Sam Malone gave a blood-curdling yell, and horse and rider went hurtling across the meadow toward the advancing gunmen, Sam firing the rifle as he rode.

The two gunmen never saw them coming.

It was Rachel’s nightmare playing out in broad daylight.

Gunfire, the smell of blood and gasoline…but I’m lying in dust and trampled grass, not wet and grimy pavement. No gleaming asphalt and flashing lights. The sun is hot on my scalp. I see Nicky’s bloody hand as he pulls up his pants leg and unbuckles-no, not Nicky. It’s J.J. who unbuckles the gun from his ankle, which is bloody and turned the wrong way.

Or is it?

Everything was chaos, happening either in slow motion or too fast to take in.

Crouched down beside J.J. with her hands over her ears in a vain attempt to drown out the gunshots, Rachel heard a terrible sound. A blood-curdling yell that stirred the hair on the back of her neck. She’d heard that sound before. She’d heard it in those old western movies she’d watched with her grandmother.

Impossible. And yet.

It was an Indian war cry, straight out of Old Hollywood, if not actual history.

Flat on her belly, she peered under the truck and knew she must be dreaming. She’d been shot, perhaps, and hadn’t realized it. Now she was delirious, or dying.

Out in the meadow, suspended in heat shimmer, a rider on a painted horse was bearing down on the helicopter and the two remaining gunmen. He rode tall in the saddle, hat gone, white hair and beard blowing in the wind, and as he rode, he was firing a rifle and yelling that hair-raising war cry.

J.J. couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had to look. Dragging himself around the front end of the truck, he managed to get himself into position to see what was happening out there in the meadow. And now that he could see it, he still couldn’t believe it.

From out of nowhere, it seemed, came a horse and rider at full gallop, straight into the face of the two men armed with assault rifles. The man had white hair and a beard, and was riding no-handed, firing a bolt-action rifle and yelling like a banshee. A one-man cavalry charge.

The two gunmen seemed to freeze-in a state of shock, probably. Then they both ran for the chopper. They had barely scrambled aboard before the chopper lifted off. The old man on the horse waited calmly, rifle raised, as the chopper launched into the air. He took careful aim, following the chopper’s flight, and fired. Threw the bolt and fired again. The chopper seemed to hesitate. Then it wobbled, dipped to one side, plunged straight down into the meadow grass and erupted in a ball of flame.

J.J. had ducked instinctively and covered his head when the chopper crashed. When he raised it and looked out on the meadow, at first he couldn’t see anything through the billowing black smoke. Then the smoke finally lifted, and it was clear that both the horse and rider had vanished.

For a moment he just leaned his head back against the bumper, fighting nausea and darkness. He was losing a lot of blood, he knew that. And he had no idea how bad off Sage was. But first, there was Rachel.

She was crying, sobbing, tears pouring down her face like rain. He crawled over to her and when he gathered her into his arms, she kept sobbing, “It was Nicky…it was Nicky…”

“Shh…not Nicky, sweetheart-Carlos,” he croaked. “It was Carlos. But he’s dead. They’re all dead. You’re safe now. You’re safe…”

That was all he remembered.

Everything was the same. It had been exactly four weeks since she’d been there-three since what the newspapers had been calling The Shootout at June Canyon Ranch. Once again, a three-quarter moon hung high in the cloudless sky, extinguishing the stars and casting shadows across the land. And the hound dog named Moonshine kept her vigil on the barren rise in front of the trailer.

Rachel stopped her car-she’d bought a new one, a hybrid, to replace the BMW Nicky had given her-and once again, hesitated before getting out. Not because she was afraid of the dog, who had risen, tail wagging, to greet her. This time, it was the man in front of the trailer she was wary of. She could see him sitting in the folding chair under the string of Christmas lights, his guitar across his lap, watching her. When she saw him set the guitar aside, she opened the door and got out of the car.

Moonshine whined and shifted her feet eagerly. Rachel bent down to hug her and got a lick across her face in welcome. Ah yes, she remembered that tongue. That smell.

Wiping her face with the sleeve of the jacket she’d put on-it could get chilly in the desert, at night, even this late in the spring-she walked toward the trailer, self-conscious under J.J.’s unwavering gaze. He didn’t get up, and when she got closer she saw that he had his bandaged leg propped on an overturned bucket. A pair of crutches leaned against the wooden stairs within easy reach.

“Hello,” he said, nodding.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Rachel said, leaning against the stairs next to the crutches because her legs didn’t feel steady. “I suppose Katie called you.”

He shifted, rocking back so he could look up at her, hands relaxed on the arms of the chair. “Nah,” he said, “I’ve been kind of wondering what was taking you so long.”

There was silence, then, while they looked at each other. Her heart hammered and her mouth had gone dry. She thought he still looked like a Western movie hero-hair still shaggy, beard once again grown beyond fashionable shadow. But there was something different about him…something about his eyes, she decided. He’d lost the cop-look. Tonight, he was just a man.

My man.

“You could have come back to the ranch,” she said in a thickened voice. She was determined not to cry.

“Wanted to give you time.” His voice sounded odd, and she wondered if he, too, was holding back emotions he wasn’t ready to show.

She straightened restlessly. “Time? For what?”

He shrugged. “To heal. Think.”

I don’t need to think. I know what I want, Jethro.

She took a breath. “Speaking of healing, how’s your leg coming along? “It’s…coming along.”

“I heard you’ve had two surgeries on it already.”

He nodded. “Yeah, they’ve got it full of a bunch of rods and pins. I guess next month they’ll be grafting in some bone from somewhere else to replace what the bullet took out.”

“So…how long before…?”

“Before I’m back on two feet? At least ten months, they tell me. But hey-at least I’ve still got two. There was some doubt about that, for a while.” She could see the white shine of his grin.

Her own smile struggled, and died half-born.

“How’s Sage doing?” J.J. asked.

“Good.” She sat down on the next to bottom step and leaned her cheek on one hand. “His was a flesh wound-bullet went right through his shoulder. No broken bones. He’ll have a couple of gnarly scars, but otherwise he’s pretty much healed.”

“Glad to hear it.” There was a long pause, and then in a hardened voice, “You know Carlos is dead.”

She sucked in a breath and let it out. “I know. I heard.” The DNA report on the bodies recovered from the wreckage of the helicopter had finally come in. The bodies had officially been identified as those of Carlos Delacorte, two of his bodyguards, and the pilot.

“The third gunman survived,” J.J. said. “I hear he’s been singing like a bird to the U.S. Attorney. They tell me Delacorte’s organization is folding like a house of cards.”

Rachel nodded. The silence came again.

J.J. cleared his throat. “How’s Sean?”

She straightened up with a smile. “He’s great. Growing like a weed, as they say.” She paused. “He’s at Katie’s. She’s keeping him for the night.”

“For the night?”

She turned her head to look at him. “That’s what I said.” And she managed to hold the look through another long silence.

His voice came softly. “Rachel, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

She shifted impatiently. “I’m a fairly intelligent woman, Jethro. I like to think that when I make a mistake, I learn from it. So I don’t make the same one again. I made a doozy of one with Nicholas, and as a result I think I’ve learned how to tell a good man from a bad one.” She covered her face with her hands, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Nicky was a bad man-I know that, now. He lied to me, J.J. I tried to tell you-that day. When it all happened.” She jerked in a breath. “It was Nicky. That’s one of the reasons I came. To tell you that…you have your witness. I remembered. It was when I saw you take your gun off of your ankle, I remembered Nicky did the same thing that night. He shoved me down behind the Dumpster, then he took a gun out of his ankle holster and started shooting. He killed them, J.J. My husband killed those two agents. I saw him do it. So…you can close your case. I hope-”

She broke off and looked away, swallowing tears. I hope it gets you your job back. I hope you get what you want, Jethro. I really do.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Rachel stood up and brushed at the seat of her pants. His voice came again, buried in gravel now.

“Was that the only reason you came?” He paused, and when she didn’t answer, prompted, “You said Katie’s got Sean for the night.”

“Yes, I did.” She closed her eyes, then abruptly turned back to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Shoot. Oops-sorry, bad choice of words.” His teeth flashed white again. “Go ahead-ask.”

She blurted it out all in a rush, which was the only way she could. “Was that the only reason you stayed with me…took care of me…looked after me? Josie said you were in love with me. I sort of started to believe her. Then…you told me I was just a witness to the murders, and-”

“I never said just.”

Her heart skipped, then seemed to stop. Holding her breath, she said, “Then I have to know. Now that Carlos’s empire is collapsing…now that you have your witness…is there any other reason for me to stay?”

He looked at her for a long time, his face somber in the festive glow of the Christmas lights. Her heartbeats counted off the seconds. Then, “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

She hitched a shoulder. “Say it, or show me.”

“Can’t very well show you if you’re way over there.”

She drew a shaking breath and felt a smile a-borning. “I don’t think that chair will hold both of us.”

“Then hand me those crutches, dammit. I think I’ve waited for you long enough.”

With a sobbing laugh, she thrust the crutches at him. Then he was upright, and she was pushing past impediments-bucket, crutches, chair-to get to him. With his back braced against the stair railing, he pulled her into his arms.

Words came, stumbling over each other, tangled in hot breaths and frantic kisses.

“I did, didn’t I? Wait…long enough-”

“Yes-yes-I just got the doctor’s blessing this morning. That’s why I didn’t come sooner. I wanted-”

“You could have come sooner. I’d have waited. It’s not just sex I want from you.”

“That’s what Josie said-she thought it was romantic. I couldn’t believe-”

“Believe it…”

She felt his mouth quiver. He pulled back and touched his own face. “I haven’t shaved-”

Small evidences of vulnerability that made her heart ache and grow too big for her chest. Tears she’d been trying so hard not to shed welled up and ran down her cheeks as she reached up to lay her hand on his. “Don’t,” she whispered brokenly, “you’re fine the way you are. I’m not exactly at my best, either, you know. I’m still fat, my stomach’s flabby, I have stretch marks and my breasts leak…”

“You’re kidding, right?” He held her face between his two hands and gazed down at her as if he were King Midas and she was made of pure gold. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He kissed her then, the way he’d always wanted to, cherishing her with his mouth, telling her that way how he felt because he couldn’t seem to do it with words. And then somehow the words came anyway, more easily than he could have imagined. “I love you, Rachel. God, how I do love you.”

She laughed, giddy with a kind of happiness she’d thought she’d never know. “And I love you. And…can we go inside now?”

Getting up the stairs and into the trailer was goofy and clumsy and exhilarating and frustrating, and by the time they were safely inside the trailer’s tiny bedroom, they were both out of breath and half-mad with desire. They stood beside the bed, kissing and touching each other, laughing, tugging ineptly at buttons and clothing like giddy teenagers.

J.J.’s shirt went first. He shucked it off and let it drop to the floor, then put his hands on Rachel’s shoulders. His body shuddered and he exhaled softly as she leaned into him, and he felt her wet cheek lay sweetly on his chest. Stroking her back, feeling her full breasts pillowed against him, he closed his eyes and for just one moment felt a wave of pure terror.

She’s so vulnerable…I can’t hurt her. How can I do this? What if I screw it up?

“Rachel…honey,” he whispered brokenly, “do you want me to turn off the light?”

He felt her sigh. Then she lifted her head and looked up at him, lips already swollen, eyes shining bright and shook her head. “This is me,” she said, with a shrug so simple and sweet it made his heart ache. “I think you’d better see what you’re getting.”

Silently laughing, filled with pain and emotions too overwhelming to bear, he kissed each eyelid…then her mouth. Then he lifted his head, and made it a point to look only into her eyes while he undressed her, trying to tell her without words that he knew exactly what he was getting, and that the way he felt about her had very little to do with her body or her face, as lovely as they were. When she was naked, he folded her into his arms, all but overcome by the feel of her body against him, and whispered, “I wish…”

But he couldn’t finish it. He would have to get better at this business of sharing his innermost thoughts, hopes and desires, he supposed. He planned on spending the rest of his life learning how.

She helped him take off his pants and one shoe and sock, and they laid each other down on the bed, the giddiness and laughter done with now, touching with gentleness and care, exploring each other’s body’s with tenderness and wonder. Time ceased to have any meaning for him; his only reality was her mouth, her hands, the soft, sweet mystery of her body. They body he’d seen in such different circumstances, and yet, had no knowledge of at all. He felt he could go on like this forever, if that was what she wanted, just touching…exploring…letting her do the same.

Then…he knew he couldn’t. Not now.

As if she felt his urgency, without his having to ask her, she slid over him and astride his body with a kind of innate grace he realized he’d seen before. And he found it was intensely erotic, remembering the way she’d mounted the black appaloosa and ridden like the wind…

Looking down into his eyes, Rachel saw them darken with heat and passion, and felt a surge of power and confidence such as she’d never felt in her life before. She eased herself onto him and felt him thrust deep, deep inside her, and wanted to throw back her head and shout with purest joy. Instead, she drew a shaken breath, looked down at the man she’d somehow come to love more than life, twined her fingers with his and whispered his name. “Jethro…”

In the humid darkness, Rachel stirred against his side.

“Will you come back with me?” she murmured.

He kissed her damp hair. “To the ranch, you mean?”

He felt her nod. “Since you’re on leave anyway…”

He laughed softly. “Oh, yes, I’d like to come back. For one thing, I’d really, really like to meet the guy. I've never seen anything like it-outside the movies, anyway.”

She sat up in the bed, her shadow tall beside him. “What guy? What are you talking about?”

He raised himself on one elbow. “Don’t tell me you missed it. The one-man cavalry charge?”

She went very still. “You mean…you saw him, too?” Her breath left her in a rush. “I thought I imagined him. I thought-being in shock and all-I thought I’d conjured him from all those old movies I saw when I was little. That, and the old man I saw at the creek-I thought it was him, you know, mixed up somehow with John Wayne.” There was a rustling as she settled back into the curve of his body. “I guess it really was him-the old man, I mean, not John Wayne. I wonder who he is. I’ll have to ask Josie-I’m sure she must know. We need to thank him for saving our lives.”

“You mean…you really don’t know?” J.J.’s voice was hushed with wonder. “You still haven’t met him?”

“Know…what? Met who?”

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Sweetheart, I don’t know how to break this to you, but that old man, the one who saved your life and probably mine and Sage’s as well-that was your grandpa, darlin’. Sierra Sam Malone.”