A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek (13 page)

“I wouldn't count on it. I've found people always ask the awkward questions.”

“Well, at least no one knows me except your mother. And you'll have to tell her the truth, so no one will be disappointed when the wedding doesn't come off.”

“What about me? Maybe I would be disappointed.”

No, Jenny thought to herself. She couldn't help this man get out of his trouble. “Fine. Be that way. If you're not going to take any of this seriously, you can just be on that list. It'll serve you right. Forget I even offered to help.”

“I don't want you to pretend to be engaged to me.”

Jenny blinked back a tear. “Of course not.”

The Jeep stopped. Robert turned off the ignition. The radio stopped. The hum of the heater stopped.

“I just don't want to have any pretending between us,” Robert said quietly.

Jenny nodded. She put her hands up again to feel her hair. The static from when she pulled the wool scarf off made her hair fly. She tried to press her hair down. She should have worn her hairnet after all.

“Especially not to just feed the tabloids some story,” Robert added. He opened the driver's door. “Now, if it was your sister doing the writing, that would be one thing.”

“She'd never write about an engagement that wasn't true!”

A cold wind edged around the partially open driver's door. Robert turned to look at Jenny. “Then she should stick to selling pudding. Or move to another paper.”

“She's just getting experience. It's not easy starting a career when you don't have connections.”

“I know.”

“She just needs a break.”

Now this was the Jenny he knew. Her color had returned when she defended her younger sister. She no longer reached for a hairnet that wasn't there. Her eyes flashed.

“We'll give her one.”

Jenny looked up at Robert. He looked serious.

“The next big thing that happens, it's all hers,” Robert declared. “And if nothing happens on its own, I'll make some news.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe I could invite the Queen Mother to tea with a group of Elvis impersonators. Give your sister an exclusive press invitation.”

“You know the Queen Mother?”

Robert nodded. “I even know the world's best Elvis impersonator. He's better than the King.”

“And the Queen Mother would come if you invited her?” Jenny was stunned.

“Well, I'd probably need to rent a suite at some fancy London hotel—she doesn't travel much—but I could do that. Maybe invite the queen, too. Has your sister ever been to London?”

Jenny shook her head. She'd gone on a drive with a magician. What would he pull out of his hat next?

“Have you ever been to London?”

Jenny shook her head.

Robert nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Then it's settled. You and your sister will both come.”

Robert liked the dazed look in Jenny's eyes. It had occurred to him last night that his surprise of boxes of food might disappoint her. He knew it would disappoint most of the other women he'd dated in his life. Now he knew he had London in his pocket just in case.

“To London? To meet the queen?”

“And the Queen Mother if you want.” Robert congratulated himself. He was making progress.

Jenny looked at the dirt on the windshield again. What did one say to an invitation like that? “The guitar music was sweet. Thanks for arranging it.”

Robert started to whistle. “My pleasure. And now for the other surprise—it's not much. But you need to let me come help you out of the Jeep before we go see it.”

Robert fully opened the driver's door and stepped out. Jenny watched him walk around the front of the vehicle. That's when she noticed that the white outside was uneven. A wide piece of land had been scraped clean of snow. Probably yesterday. There was a dusting of white snow on it now, but the layers of snow that sat on the ground around it had all been scraped off the land and pushed to the side of an area. The scraped strip could be a runway for a plane.

The runway wasn't the only thing unusual beside Robert's small plane. There was a large white tarp—or maybe a parachute—that was draped over a lumpy pile of what looked like boxes next to the plane.

Robert opened Jenny's door with a bow. “The surprise awaits. Permit me to help you down.”

Jenny had borrowed an old pair of Mrs. Hargrove's snow boots this morning. Then Jenny had pulled the bottoms of her gray sweatpants down over the tops of the snow boots and she'd wrapped a very old black wool jacket on before tying a beige scarf around her head.

Jenny knew she looked fat as a snow bunny and as uncoordinated as a church mouse. But Robert looked up at her like she was royalty.

“The surprise is in the boxes,” Robert said.

Jenny gave him her mittened hand and swung around. “You didn't need to actually get me a surprise. I thought the surprise was something to look at.”

“Well, the first step is to look at the boxes,” Robert pointed out as he helped her down from the Jeep. “I had a pilot I know make a special drop for me.”

In Robert's mind, he had planned to kiss Jenny when she stepped out of the Jeep. But he didn't. She was looking skittish and he didn't want to scare her off.

The air was damp and heavy with the promise of snow. Gray clouds hung in the sky. Jenny tightened the scarf around her neck.

Robert picked up one end of the parachute and pulled it off of the boxes. Ten industrial-size boxes stood in the middle of the tangle of cords. Two other smaller boxes were on one side of the pile.

Robert reached inside his coat for the pocket knife he'd brought. Those two smaller boxes might be the roses, he thought. He had only been able to leave a message with the pilot making the delivery. But the man must have added the roses at the last minute. Those two boxes sure didn't match the others.

“Let's start here.” Robert ran his knife down the tape holding one of the smaller boxes together.

Robert had his mind on red roses and that was the only excuse he had for not looking at the box more closely. He'd opened the edge of the box, before he saw what it was. White lace started to spill out of the box. “That's not roses.”

Jenny looked more closely at the box. A small tag was taped to the top of it. It was an airline baggage sticker that had been routed to the Billings airport.

Robert opened the box further. There were no roses hidden in the lace.

“That must be Laurel's dress,” Jenny finally said. “The one she brought with her for the wedding.”

“What the—” Robert looked into the box more closely. Jenny was right.

“The pilot must have stopped at the Billings airport.”

“Well, she'll just have to take the dress back with her.” Robert closed the flap on the box. “It was a fool stunt to bring one with her anyway.”

“Would have been good for pictures, though.” Jenny stepped closer to the boxes. The air was cold enough to make gray puffs around her when she breathed. She rubbed her hands together even in the mittens. “I've got to give her credit for thinking of that.”

“Oh, Laurel can plan all right.”

Robert looked over at Jenny. She was crouched down by the boxes. She was wrapped up in scarves and mittens. Her nose was red and her cheeks were white. What hair wasn't covered with a wool scarf fell every which way. She was adorable. “Wish I'd thought of pictures.”

Jenny looked up at him. The sun fell on her and she smiled.

“I should have brought a camera with me. My mother probably still has one or two of those disposable ones,” Robert said.

Jenny chuckled. “Not if those kids are around her. I heard two of them at the dance asking her for another camera. She said she'd given them all out. And no wonder, they way those kids were shooting pictures. Heaven only knows why they were taking so many pictures of us.”

Robert didn't say anything. He and half of the Dry Creek population knew why the kids were taking pictures of him and Jenny. He was relieved that Jenny still didn't know.

“We'll just set Laurel's boxes aside.” Robert pushed them to the side of the stack. “We've got some other boxes to open.”

“I
t's Romaine. The good kind.” Jenny sat in the snow and hugged the lettuce. “You even had it packed in something so it would stay cold but wouldn't freeze. I can't wait. We'll have salad.”

“With vine-ripened tomatoes,” Robert couldn't help adding.

“And an avocado,” Jenny added in supreme contentment. “Two avocados in fact.”

Robert congratulated himself. He'd given women emeralds and rubies before and gotten less enthusiastic thanks.

“I'm sorry the roses didn't make it.” The pilot had apparently not gotten the message Robert had left, but it didn't matter. Jenny was happy with her salad.

“And you have stuff for tacos. The kids will thank you.”

Jenny forgave Robert any of his faults. He had thought of her and the kids, too. He'd remembered her craving for a romaine salad. Her sister was right. This man was special.

“I'm not so sure the kids are going to thank me. I've got some caviar stuck in those boxes someplace. My mother told me she wanted to expand the kids' horizons a little further. I'm not so sure about it myself. I think she might have pushed them to the limit with the lobsters. I told her she could tell the kids what she'd ordered for them.” He shook his head. “I don't want to be responsible when they hear they have to eat caviar.”

Jenny smiled. “The boys will love her.”

Robert lifted an eyebrow. “You think?”

Jenny nodded. “They'll sneak the caviar off their plates and use it for ice fishing. After all, it's just fish eggs. I heard some of them worrying about what they could use for bait. They can't dig for worms in the frozen dirt around here.”

“Fishing. Really? I think I have some fish hooks in my plane.”

Robert stood up and held out a hand to Jenny as he continued. “Why don't we go see? Besides, it would be good to get out of the cold for a little bit and warm up. The plane has a heater I can turn on.”

“You're sure you have enough fuel?”

“I have plenty of fuel. I could get back to Seattle and have some to spare.”

The step into the plane was a high one, but once inside Jenny was glad she'd moved. The plane formed a cozy cocoon around the cockpit, partially because the sun shone in through the windows and heated the space enough so that it was very comfortable—especially if one was wrapped in wool like Jenny was.

To get to the cockpit, Jenny had needed to crawl through the small cargo space behind the pilot and copilot seats. When they left Seattle, that space had been filled with seafood boxes and boxes from Mrs. Buckwalter's house.

Jenny sat in the copilot seat. The windows were frosted around the edges, but she could see the Big Sheep Mountains straight ahead. A barbed-wire fence was to the left and open space was on the right. Everything was coated with snow.

“Is the heater on?” Jenny asked before she realized it was impossible. But there was a sound that made her think something was running.

Robert looked up. He heard the sound, too. “Someone's coming.”

The two of them stood in the open space of the plane door and watched the pickup drive closer to them. Whoever was driving the pickup was doing a good job of it, but Robert felt a prickle of unease. Something was not right. There were three figures in the cab of the pickup and they were packed tight together. Which made sense. Then he saw it—

“Move back—” Robert swung his arm around to bring Jenny back into the shadow of the plane, but he was too late. He knew what had made him uneasy—that tall, skinny shadow in the window was a rifle.

A voice—Robert recognized the FBI agent's voice—called out. “Anybody home? You've got company. And trouble.”

There wasn't room to maneuver and Jenny couldn't move too far. So Robert did the only thing he could. He stepped in front of her.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered.
Dear Lord, don't let that gun go off.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know. Something with the FBI agent and that woman friend of his.” Robert was looking out the plane door. The three figures got out of the pickup.

“Francis?”

“Uh-huh,” Robert said as he raised his hands slowly until they were clearly in the open. “And our friend Mr. Gossett.”

The old man didn't look drunk this morning. He did look a little crazy though. He was pointing that rifle of his at anyone and everyone. The barrel of it bounced around enough to show that the old man was nervous.

Robert had training in combating terrorist activity and knew an anxious criminal was the most dangerous kind. The old man walking toward him shouldn't be underestimated. Nor should his beat-up old rifle.

“Welcome.” Robert schooled his voice to be calm as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Robert saw that the old man had a much newer pistol in his other hand as well as the rifle. “Nice day for a drive, isn't it?”

Robert noticed that Francis Elkton was wearing a dress and Flint Harris a suit. They huddled together as they walked closer to the plane with Mr. Gossett. They must have been on their way to church.

“Especially for a Sunday drive,” Robert added as he leaned farther toward the opening in the plane. “Give me a minute to come down and I'll join you. Mrs. Hargrove packed us a thermos before we left. I'm sure there's enough coffee for five.”

The thermos was the old-fashioned kind. It might do as a weapon. Or the diversion might be enough. With guns in both hands, however, the old man was dangerous. Robert waited until Jenny had reached the cockpit.

“Don't talk to me about Mrs. Hargrove,” the old man grumbled. He stood in front of the open door on the plane. “Her and her Christian principles and then her not even willing to give me a ride to Billings today. I've been in her car plenty of times. I told her it was important and she doesn't listen to me. The woman just never listens. Worried about the snow, she says. What does she care if she gets stuck anyway? Someone would come looking for her in a blizzard. But me? No, nobody'll come for me. I had to stop them for a ride,” Mr. Gossett pointed to Francis and Flint. “Mrs. Hargrove can go stew in her own coffee. I ain't drinking any of it.”

“No problem. I won't pour a cup for you,” Robert said easily as he held on to the side of the plane and swung down to the ground beside Mr. Gossett. “But maybe you don't mind if the rest of us have a cup.”

The old man grunted. “Don't be too sure about that. I got me some business to get taken care of and I ain't got no time to waste on folks drinking coffee.”

“Maybe Mr. Buckwalter has something stronger that you'd like instead,” Francis suggested as she stepped into the circle. She looked at Robert, desperation edging her eyes. “Mr. Gossett is fond of his alcohol, you know.”

“I could do with a beer,” the old man admitted. “Should have brought me a couple. But I packed too fast.”

No one remarked on the fact that the old man hadn't packed anything at all except for his rifle and the hat on his scrawny head. He hadn't even brought along much of a jacket.

“I don't have—” Robert wished he'd thought to put in some alcohol. He'd trade a whole ship full of the French-imported water that he had brought along right now for a pop-top can of the cheapest beer around.

“I saw some vanilla in those boxes,” Jenny said as she showed herself again in the plane's door.

“I thought—” Robert started to scold Jenny as he turned to look up her.

Jenny lifted her chin and climbed to the ground. “It might be very good actually. It's a big bottle and would make quite a drink. Mrs. Buckwalter only buys pure vanilla—the beans have been soaking in alcohol for some time now.”

“Well, goodness, girl, there's no reason to waste good alcohol on beans soaking it up,” Mr. Gossett said as he used his rifle to gesture to Jenny. “Go get it for me. Me and your man here—” the old man pointed his gun at Robert “—we've got business to discuss in the meantime.”

Robert smiled in relief. There for a second he thought the rifle barrel would follow Jenny. He shifted his position so it was even farther from the others. The rifle barrel followed.

“What can I do for you?” Robert asked politely, although he was almost certain he knew. The FBI was looking for the local informant who had tipped off the rustlers and, unless Robert missed his guess, the informant stood before him now as nervous as he deserved to be for betraying all the people of Dry Creek.

“I need me a plane ride.”

Robert nodded like the request was reasonable. He kept his suspicions off his face and out of his voice. Let the man ask for what Robert knew he wanted. “Lots of people like to take a spin up in the air. I'd be happy to take you up for a few minutes.” Robert turned and lightly slapped his hand against the side of his plane. “Nothing like a plane ride.”

“A few minutes won't do it. I need to get me to another town. Maybe even across the border into Canada. I need to get out of Dry Creek one way or another. I'm what you might call a fugitive.”

Well, the old man wasn't shy about laying his cards on the table. Robert took that as a good sign.

“The border won't work then.” Robert calculated how long he could stall the old man. Robert looked up at the sky as though reading the signs of weather. “Not the best day for flying, either. Gusty winds. A blizzard could blow up. You wouldn't want to be in the air then. Maybe you'd be better off going tomorrow instead. I could drive you somewhere tomorrow personally. Keep your feet on the ground that way.”

The old man snorted. “By tomorrow I'll be arrested and my feet won't care where they are. I think I'll take my chances with getting to Canada.”

“Canada?” Robert stalled. “I don't know.”

“That's where people always run to,” the old man persisted stubbornly. “They say they're going across the border and they do. That's where I'm going.”

“That's the Mexican border they're talking about,” Robert confirmed patiently as he shifted his feet again. He wanted to keep the old man's attention, and Robert figured the best way to do that was to fidget enough to keep the rifle focused on him. “But I don't have enough fuel to fly that far. And there's no point in flying across the Canadian border. There might be more paperwork to ship you back, but they'd do it all the same. You wouldn't be solving any problems that way.”

“I don't want to go to jail,” the old man said stubbornly. “I can't stand them small cells they have.”

“Claustrophobic, huh?”

“Clausta' who?” Mr. Gossett squinted at Robert. “No need to get fancy in the word department. It was only cows missing anyway. Not like anyone around here was killed or anything.”

Robert bit his tongue before he could remind the old man that Glory Beckett had almost died because of the rustling business the old man had treated so lightly. The fact that no one had died yet was only because of God's grace. The old man in front of him surely couldn't take any credit for that.

“The plane's got enough fuel to fly to someplace like Fargo, North Dakota, or we could head into Billings if you'd like.” Robert said the destinations clearly and turned so his voice would carry clearly to the others. If he was flying anyone anywhere he wanted it to be only one or two choices and for those choices to be heard by everyone around.

“I'll take Fargo. Let's all get inside.”

“You don't mean everyone, I'm sure.” Robert was sure of no such thing, but he nodded calmly and then added as an afterthought, “Taking everyone will slow us down. Plus, the fuel will last longer if the plane is lighter.” Robert measured the old man with his eyes. “I'd say you're about one hundred seventy pounds?”

Mr. Gossett nodded.

“I'll go with you to fly this thing, but you don't need the others.”

The old man pondered a moment. “I'll need a hostage.”

“That would be me,” the FBI agent stepped forward.

Robert nodded slightly. Yes, if Flint and he got Mr. Gossett up in the air, they could handle him.

The old man snorted. “I don't think so. I'll take her.” He jerked his head at Jenny who was just returning with a large bottle of vanilla in her hand. “She's a skinny little thing. Can't weigh much.”

“You don't need her,” Robert protested. “I've got fuel enough to fly three men.”

“It's not just about weight,” the FBI agent added. “In case something goes wrong, I can talk to the authorities for you.”

“Nothing had better go wrong.”

The agent shrugged. “You never know.”

“You speak fancy enough, don't you?” the old man demanded of Jenny as he held out his hand for the vanilla bottle.

Silently Jenny gave him the bottle as she shrugged.

“Well, it doesn't need to be all that fancy. She can talk for me,” Mr. Gossett insisted as he slipped the bottle into the pocket of his coat. “Now, you two men see that all of the boxes are out of that plane. I don't want any unnecessary weight holding us back.”