The Secrets of Rosa Lee (20 page)

Sloan rested his hand on her shoulder and knelt to eye level. “He died a few days after being admitted. He must have already been dead by the time they arrived.”

M
icah joined the committee at the Rogers sisters' house after he put his son to bed. He'd spent the day entertaining Logan and Jimmy at the school picnic, which had turned inside to a noisy gym once the rain had started. Logan had played so hard, he'd fallen asleep in the car on the ride home. Micah had carried him inside and tucked him in bed, checked with Mrs. Mac and had headed back out in the rain.

When he saw the message on his phone, Micah knew he had to join the group. It might not be an official meeting at the Rogers sisters' home on Saturday night, but Micah had a feeling he needed to be there.

The others filled him in on their find—the poster, the rocking horse, the letters—while Ada May insisted he eat supper. Micah was surprised to learn they hadn't opened Rosa Lee's letters to Fuller.

“What do you think, morally, Reverend?” Beth Ann asked. “Is it all right to open mail to a dead person, from a dead person?”

Micah tried to swallow the driest meat loaf he'd ever had in his life. Ada May apologized, explaining that the others had finished off the gravy earlier. Micah understood why. He felt like he was eating grease-soaked sawdust.

“Well?” Beth Ann leaned forward, tired of waiting for him to finish chewing.

“I think it's all right,” Micah managed to say as he grabbed his tea.

The tall man someone had introduced as Sloan McCormick grinned at Micah, then down at the empty plate. Micah swore he saw admiration in the man's eyes.

“Thanks for the meal.” Micah handed over his plate.

“Would you like some more?” Ada May asked.

McCormick coughed down a laugh.

“No, thank you,” Micah answered. “I don't think I could eat another bite.”

While Beth Ann cleared the table and carefully wiped off the plastic tablecloth, the others gathered round. With all the committee present, they might as well have a meeting.

Somehow during the week they'd become a family, totally accepting of one another. Micah never ceased to be amazed at how fast folks in this part of the country bonded. Maybe it was the pioneer spirit still running in their blood.

Sloan, though he didn't join them at the table, had picked up a fax earlier that gave all the details of Fuller's death. He laid it on the table like an offering and walked back to the living area. Apparently, Fuller Crane had had no living relatives. Several other cowboys who'd rodeoed with him had covered the bill for his funeral. His saddle and horse had been auctioned off to pay the hospital.

“That's so sad.” Beth Ann looked near tears. “When you think that he had Rosa Lee who loved him. She must have not known how badly he'd been hurt or surely she'd have made the trip to see him.”

“We don't know that she loved him,” Ada May pointed out.

“Then why'd she keep the letters and the poster?” Beth Ann patted the pack. “She loved him. I'm sure of it.”

“It's time,” Sidney interrupted the argument. “We have to open the letters.”

One by one she carefully slit the envelopes open with a dinner knife. Each letter looked as if it had been hastily written and they all said the same thing.
Come back for me.

Sidney passed the yellowed paper. No
Dear Fuller.
No signature at the end. Only four words on a page. One letter each day he lived.

The members all fell silent, heartbroken over a love affair that had died seventy years before.

Finally, Billy pushed back his chair. “She stood him up once and then changed her mind.”

“She must not have known how badly he was hurt,” Beth Ann mumbled.

Lora walked to the edge of the living room and handed Sloan one of the letters.

Sloan thanked her. “It's possible Rosa Lee didn't know how bad the injuries were,” he agreed with Beth Ann. “I rodeoed a few seasons in my wild and crazy days. I saw men with broken bones be helped to stand and limp out of the arena with the announcer yelling about how lucky they were not to be hurt. You
cowboy up
and take the pain, then you collapse behind the chutes.”

“Even the paper probably listed him as recovering,” Lora added. “They wouldn't have wanted bad press. It wouldn't have been good for the rodeo, or the town.”

Micah nodded. He couldn't help but wonder if Fuller had lived, would he have followed Rosa Lee's request? Did he want her enough to fight whatever trouble kept her from being there the first time? Apparently she offered no
explanation. Did he love her enough to swallow his pride and come asking again?

“Well, we know what happened between them.” Ada May rubbed at one eye. “Or what didn't. But that still doesn't explain why, as an old woman, she kept a rocking horse hidden away.”

“I don't think we should have left it,” Lora said suddenly. “I don't think it's safe.”

“It's been there for years, dear,” Beth Ann said, comforting her.

“I feel the same,” Billy added. “I'm not sure one more storm wouldn't take the roof down. It might be wise to get it out of there.”

“I could keep it at my house,” Sidney suggested. “Until we decide what to do with it.”

Billy stood. “The rain's slowed some. I'll go get it.”

“I'll go with you,” Sloan said. “We can put it in the back of my pickup. I've got a tarp and ropes to secure it.”

“I don't need—” Billy started.

“You'll need someone to hold the light while you carry it down those dark stairs,” Sloan offered.

Billy nodded once.

A second after Ada May stood and offered everyone pie, Micah decided he'd better accompany the other men. He'd had all he wanted of her cooking. He grabbed the old blankets Beth Ann offered to pad the horse and followed the others.

As the men walked to Sloan's truck, Billy kidded Micah about the meat loaf. By the time they were at the Altman place, all three were laughing at how many men Ada May must have poisoned before she perfected her recipe. She might not be just an old maid—she might be a serial killer.

Micah liked the way Sloan let Billy take the lead and didn't try to step in and run the show just because he was
twice the kid's age. He wasn't sure how he felt about the stranger, but the man seemed to want to help. He hadn't said a word about what they should do with the house. If he planned to sway the committee, he was taking his time going about it.

Billy unlocked the house and the three men headed upstairs, their arms loaded down with supplies. A loud clap of thunder shook the house and they all slowed. The eves creaked, teasing them all into worry.

“Storm doesn't sound like it's over.” Sloan moved forward with the light. “Taking the rocking horse out is probably a good idea.”

Billy shoved open the old door. “The house has withstood storms for years.” The door protested as it had before, then opened.

Sloan flashed the beam of the flashlight on the toy. Micah was surprised at the size. He'd expected something small that a toddler would ride, but this white ghost horse stood three feet tall with bowed polished wood boards for rocking that made the toy almost five feet long.

Sloan moved the light slowly down the body of the animal in all its carved glory. “Even in the thirties this must have cost dearly,” he said.

“Maybe it's older than that.” Billy brushed his hand over the mane. “Maybe the old man bought it for Rosa Lee when she was born. That would explain why she couldn't part with it.”

“If so, she never played on it,” Micah guessed. “Not a chip of paint has been rubbed off.”

“We'd better get it loaded before the next round of rain hits.” Billy tossed one of the blankets Beth Ann had insisted on sending. “We'll wrap it up before heading downstairs. I'd hate to bump it against a wall and damage the toy after Rosa Lee took such good care of it all these years.”

They wrapped the horse carefully, first in blankets and then a drop cloth spattered with dried paint. Finally, Billy sealed it with duct tape to hold everything together. Micah and Billy lifted the horse while Sloan walked backward shining the light just ahead of them.

They made it to the front door before another clap of thunder announced more rain. Sloan backed ahead of them. He'd pulled the pickup close, into the mud that had once been a yard. Micah and Billy took the steps one at a time, protective of their cargo.

The rain fell so fast it stung Micah's face, but he didn't dare hurry.

Lightning flashed as they slid the toy beneath the tarp in Sloan's truck. Micah thought he caught the blink of another pickup parked thirty feet away at the street. A moment later, a popping sound blended with the noise of the storm. Like short thunder, it came in rapid fire.

Sloan swung around, pointing the light toward the street before cutting it.

The popping sound came again, muted firecrackers in the rain.

Billy dropped behind the truck, then grabbed Micah, jerking him so hard, his side caught the corner of the pickup before he tumbled in the mud. “Get down!” Billy yelled. “That's gunfire.”

Micah gripped his ribs in pain as he heard the pickup door open and Sloan swear. The truck blocked his view of Sloan and Micah realized the tall man was without any barrier between himself and whoever fired.

In the silence between thunderclaps there was no mistaking the sound of a shotgun being racked, ready to fire. “Come on out and play, whoever you are!” Sloan shouted. “But you better be popping more than a twenty-two.”

In the shadows, Micah looked over the bed of the pickup
to see Sloan standing behind his open door with a shotgun raised to his shoulder.

The shadow of the pickup near the street backed up and burned rubber pulling into the rainy blackness.

Sloan didn't move. “You both all right?” he said as calmly as if they'd just slipped in the mud.

“We're fine,” Billy answered. “You?”

“Looks like two or three bullet holes in my windshield.” Sloan shoved his shotgun back in its place behind his seat. “First time I ever used that gun for anything but scaring coyotes and rattlesnakes around the drilling sites. Nothing better for getting someone's attention than racking a shotgun.”

Micah tried to slow his breathing. He wished he could blame his troubled breathing on his throbbing side but, the truth was, he could never remember being so frightened. He hadn't been raised around guns. He didn't even know what the sound was when he was being fired on. God must have left out survival instincts in him, for even when the other two men had hit the dirt, he'd stood watching.

“You all right, Reverend?” Billy patted him on the back. “Sorry I tossed you so hard. I panicked when I saw you standing there like a target.”

“Apparently, I didn't panic. That was my problem.”

Sloan rounded the back of the truck. “I'm guessing you don't hear many shots fired in your line of work. Those boys meant to bother us, not harm us. Otherwise, I find it hard to believe they missed me.” Sloan closed the tail-gate. “How about we get out of the rain, take this back to Sidney, and go turn in a report to the sheriff?”

Billy swung into the back. “I'll ride with the rocking horse. I don't mind the rain.”

When Micah climbed into the truck, he noticed three
holes about a quarter of an inch wide in the windshield. “Would you have shot at them?” he asked Sloan directly.

“Yes,” Sloan answered. “I'm not interested in turning the other cheek when someone's firing at me.” He drove the truck out of the mud. “My father used to say don't ever pick up a gun unless you're willing to use it.”

“You've used one before,” Micah said.

“After the Gulf War. I went in with one of the big oil companies to help get the fields up and running again. We were ambushed twice by terrorists.”

Micah didn't ask for more details. He wouldn't judge a man when he hadn't walked in his shoes.

Sloan drove through the rain. “Whoever shot at us tonight was trying to frighten us off. The question is why?”

They drove back to the sisters' place in silence. As they walked up to the house, the three agreed the less said to Ada May and Beth Ann, the better. The two old ladies were frightened enough already. If they thought someone living in town meant them harm, they'd probably organize a house-to-house search.

So, Sloan related how someone shot a hole in his windshield while they were parked at the Altman place. He also said he thought it best if he got the horse out of the weather. Micah and Billy quickly agreed that it was time to call it a night.

Micah walked out with Sloan and Sidney. “I don't mind going with you to the station to file the report.”

“No use. We'll file the paperwork and tell them you were there.”

“I think it best if we leave out the rocking horse,” Sidney whispered. “After all, it has nothing to do with the shooting.”

“Agreed,” Sloan said.

“Agreed,” Micah echoed. He could hear the Rogers sis
ters behind him insisting that Billy remove his wet clothes. Micah knew he'd better make his escape while he had the chance. He shook hands with Sloan, said his goodbyes to the professor and ran for his car. He didn't miss the way Sloan put his arm around Sidney as they ran into the rain and toward his pickup.

Micah knew Sloan, as an oilman, had no business hanging around the committee. The mayor would probably be mad if he heard about it, but as far as Micah was concerned, Sloan came with Sidney, nothing more. The minute he crossed the line and tried to talk them into anything, not one person on the committee would hesitate to stop him.

I
nside the Rogers sisters' house, Lora couldn't stop laughing. Billy was red with embarrassment, but he couldn't fight both the sisters mothering him. In truth, he was soaked from riding in the back of the truck and muddy from where he had to have fallen while loading the truck.

Lora took pity on him and handed him a quilt as he stepped into the bathroom with both sisters waiting like vultures just outside the door for his clothes.

Minutes later, he passed out his jeans, then his shirt. The sisters hurried off on a mission.

“What about your underwear?” Lora giggled as she heard the shower running.

“I didn't wear any,” he answered. “How about you?”

She rattled the door and wasn't surprised to find it locked. Giving up, she wandered back to the living room and sat so that she could see the bathroom door. She waited.

When he stepped out of the bathroom with the quilt wrapped around him, Lora walked over and poked him for being so personal. She didn't bother to explain, he got the point.

“Let me get this rule straight, Whitman. You can ask about my underwear, but I can't ask about yours?”

“Correct.” She changed the subject. “You didn't wear Beth Ann's robe. She said you could.”

“Very funny.” Billy wrapped the quilt around his waist. “You could have helped me out.”

“No way.” She moved her hand over his finely sculpted shoulder muscles. “The sisters may have wanted you clean, but I want to see your body.” She circled around him. “Very nice.”

“Cut the cracks, Whitman.” He smiled. “If we're going to be friends, you've got to keep it clean.”

She let her hand brush the warm flesh of his chest, surprised at how good it felt. “Beth Ann said for us to make ourselves comfortable on the couch and she'd bring in hot cocoa.”

He kept a tight grip on his quilt covering as he moved to the cluttered living area. She couldn't stop her laughter. What did he think she'd do, tug at the blanket? To her surprise, the thought had crossed her mind.

They fought over pillows on the couch for a while, then settled beside one another. In whispered tones, he filled her in on the shooting.

“My God, Billy,” she cried. “One of you could have been killed.”

He shook his head. “I don't think they were shooting at us. If they were, they were pretty poor shots. But why would anyone want to run us off?”

“Maybe they were just drunk kids out shooting at anything. Half the road signs outside of town have at least one bullet hole in them.”

“I know,” he reasoned. “But you'll not find many on Main—even at the end of it. Sloan's truck was pulled up close to the house, but I don't think they were shooting at the house because I didn't hear any glass breaking.” He
relaxed back. “I think they were trying to send us a message.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

An hour later, while the sisters watched their favorite program about detectives who solve old crimes, Billy fell asleep on the couch. Lora closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder.

“What should we do?” Lora heard Beth Ann whisper a while later.

“Leave them, I guess. They're safe enough here and this is no night to go out in again so late.”

“But he doesn't have any clothes on.”

Ada May huffed. “Well, he doesn't seem to mind and they're not dry yet to put on anyway. I told you we shouldn't have presoaked them.”

“Should we stay up and keep them company? After all, they are two single young people and sweet as Lora is, she is divorced and you know what that means.”

“What?”

“It means she knows a thing or two.”

Lora fought to keep from laughing. They weren't worrying about Billy attacking her. The old dears were worried that she might corrupt him.

“They're not interested in each other that way.” Ada May spoke as if she considered herself an expert on the subject. “Don't be foolish. They treat one another more like brother and sister. We can't stay up any later. We've got church in the morning.”

With that, the sisters moved down the hall turning off lights as they went. Lora cuddled closer to Billy. He opened his arm and pulled her against him, his slow steady breathing warm against the top of her head.

Lora spread her hand across his chest. Even in the shad
ows, she could see that the blanket had slipped revealing one bare thigh.

There was nothing sisterly in the way she looked at Billy Hatcher. She told herself she must be cracking up. He was four years younger. They had nothing in common. Her mother would die if she brought him home. That thought made her smile, but she could never be so cruel as to lead him on just to aggravate her mother.

But he was, she had to admit, one fine-looking man.