Desperado Lawman Read online

  “Why don’t you take your son to the truck?” Hawkins had been watching his friends’ efforts to extract Connor from the sedan, but now he turned to her. “As soon as Van and Daniel get your husband settled in the pickup’s cargo bed, we’ll be on our way.” He frowned. “The hospital in Gallup’s out of the question, if your husband’s condition is as serious as you say. But there’s a clinic in Last Chance. That’s only fifty minutes’ drive from—”

  “He said you were a lifesaver.” Tess’s voice trembled. “All I see is a man giving orders and not lifting a finger himself. Why aren’t you helping your friends bring him up?”

  Feeling Joey press closer to her, she put an arm around him and with her other hand she dashed the sudden moisture from her eyes. “He’s not my husband. I’ve only known him for a few hours. But even those few hours were enough to convince me he deserved better from a man he seemed to think was his friend.”

  “A friend?” Hawkins looked confused. “Do I know—”

  He’d taken a step toward her. The gravel shifted slightly under his foot, and the next moment he lurched forward, only his quick grab at her shoulder saving him from falling. He released her with a swift apology and steadied himself.

  Shame burned through Tess. She knew what he was going to tell her before he spoke.

  “My days of scrambling up hills ended in Vietnam, I’m afraid,” he said hoarsely. “These—” he rapped his knuckles on a jeans-clad thigh, which gave off a hollow sound “—these aren’t the legs the good Lord issued me. They get me around, but on a surface like this I really should use a cane.”

  “I’m sorry. Virg—” She bit her lip. “Connor didn’t tell me that part.”

  “Connor?” In the harsh illumination from the truck’s headlights Hawkins’s features froze. “Virgil Connor?”

  “Steady, now, steady. Haul yourself up there, Doc.”

  The corners of the tarp had been lashed to long two-by-fours. Beside Del, Bird lowered the lengths of wood he was holding almost to the ground as with a grunt Van Zane hoisted his end over the lip of the rise and set it down. The doctor began to clamber up the bank unimpeded.

  “He’s still alive, but just barely,” Bird said in a low tone. “Ma’am, your boy don’t need to see his daddy like this. You get along to the pickup and we’ll take care of your man.”

  “He’s not her husband,” Del informed him tightly. “He’s Virgil Connor. He used to be one of my boys. He was trying to get back to the ranch, apparently.”

  His tone was harsh. Wrenching her gaze from Connor’s still features, Tess saw the older man’s jaw work soundlessly, saw the sudden gleam of anguish in his eyes. Van Zane picked up his ends of the makeshift stretcher.

  “Connor’s not going to live long enough to get him to the clinic at Last Chance, Van.” Del lifted his gaze to the doctor’s frowning face. “We’re taking him home. We’re taking him to the Double B.”

  “But the man needs—”

  “The man needs blood, I know.” Hawkins’s voice was a whiplash. “And he’s going to get it—in a person-to-person transfusion in the kitchen of the Double B. Don’t tell me it’s impossible, Van, because I’ve seen you do it in the field.”

  He smiled tightly. “Hear me and hear me good, old buddy. Even if I have to stand over you with my service revolver while you operate, Virgil Connor’s going to live. You’re going to pull him through, dammit—and that’s an order.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Your ex-Double B bad boy is damned lucky his blood group’s Type AB, which makes him what we call a universal recipient,” Van Zane grunted four hours later in the ranch’s kitchen. “Luckier still that you remembered that from the year he spent here. He’s going to make it, so if you’ve got that service revolver close at hand, Hawkins, you can lock it up again.”

  From her position on an old-fashioned daybed a few feet away, Tess had been alternating between nibbles of cookie and sips from the mug of tea Del had given her. When he’d offered the refreshment twenty minutes earlier she’d declined, wanting only to close her eyes and pull the daybed’s crocheted throw up to her chin, but he hadn’t taken no for an answer.

  “Doctor’s orders,” he’d instructed her. “As Daniel put it, you’re not much bigger’n half a minute, and you donated more than your share of what’s now pumping through Virgil’s veins. Tea and cookies and rest is prescribed. How’s your—”

  He’d stopped abruptly. A hint of color had risen under the weatherbeaten tan of his face.

  “How’s my butt?” Tess had supplied, past the point of shyness. “It feels better than it did with an inch of steel splinter in it. That must have happened during the explosion.”

  She’d seen Del’s blank look. “Of Connor’s car,” she’d supplied. “That was after those two phony agents tried to kill him. It’s all tied up with Joey and why we couldn’t go to a hospital and the fact that no one can know we’re here, Del.”

  “No one’s going to know,” he’d assured her. “Daniel’s back at the scene of the accident right now towing the car so no local deputy sees it and runs a check on the plates. I want to hear the whole story, but it can wait. You lie there and take it easy, sweetheart.”

  He’d squeezed her hand with the same gentleness he’d shown Joey when the nine-year-old had refused to be taken to one of the upstairs bedrooms and had insisted on bedding down on the living room couch. Tess knew the young boy’s desire to stay close was based on his fear of the monsters he dreamed about.

  Two real monsters had come terrifyingly close to taking Connor’s life tonight, she thought now as the screen door that led from the kitchen to the verandah opened and Daniel Bird entered. Answering Del’s glance of inquiry with a quick thumbs-up sign, Bird joined his friends at the massive pine table. As Del and Van Zale brought Daniel up to speed on Connor’s status, Tess noted the easy interaction between them.

  If not for Del’s decisive actions, Daniel’s help and Van Zane’s expertise, Connor would have died. As soon as they’d reached the ranch, Van and Daniel had transported Connor to the house. Joey had accompanied Del to a supply room attached to the nearby horse barn—Tess had gathered that Appaloosas were raised on the property—and she herself had been ordered by Van Zane to spread blankets on the floor next to the kitchen table.

  “Good light, plenty of room and running water,” the retired surgeon had muttered as he and Daniel transferred an unconscious Connor to the thick pile of blankets. “I’ve seen worse operating conditions. Hop up on the table, sweet-pea.”

  Just as he and Del had addressed Joey as “champ” and “tiger” and each other as “buddy,” they’d seemed equally at ease tossing casual endearments her way. Tess had hesitated.

  “I don’t mind taking the floor,” she’d protested. “Surely it’s better for Connor to have the table?”

  Van Zane had been in the process of cutting through Connor’s suit jacket with a pair of scissors. He’d completed his task before glancing at her.

  “Now’s as good a time as any to explain to you how the procedure’s going to work,” he said, not unkindly. “Since this is a pretty primitive setup for a transfusion, I’m going to be relying on gravity to get your blood into this big fella. I’ll be taking it from your brachial artery—that’s the one at the front of your arm—and letting it flow into one of his veins,” he’d added. “Arteries pump with a stronger pressure. We don’t want the blood flowing the wrong way.”

  He’d pursed his lips. “It’s not going to be a big ball of fun for you,” he’d admitted gruffly. “But you’re our best shot. Del’s out of the question. So am I, naturally. Daniel had a couple of beer at dinner after the rodeo we attended, and unless Connor needs more blood than you can spare, I’d rather not take the chance of using his tonight. Maybe in a few hours, if I have to.”

  Joey had burst in at that point, obviously sent ahead by the slower-moving Del. With a smile and a word of praise, Van Zane had taken some supplies from him.

  “Were thes
e used on horses?” Joey had asked, his tone a mixture of mild disapproval and keen interest.

  The surgeon had grinned, and Tess had mustered a smile. “They’re for horses,” she’d informed him. “Foals, actually, which is why they’re not too big to use on people. But they’re all in sealed packages, see? Del said he keeps transfusion lines and sutures and needles in case of emergencies when he can’t get the vet out in time.”

  Del had entered the room then, and with a nod at Van Zane, Daniel had lured Joey out of the kitchen with a casual reference to a litter of puppies residing in a box on the verandah. Tess had lain back on the table, suddenly nervous, and she’d felt Del’s hand wrapping around her own.

  “Virgil still have an attitude problem?” he’d said, his eyes on hers. Tess had felt the coolness of an alcohol swab, and then Van Zane’s deft fingers holding her upper arm. As if to take both her mind and his off what was happening, Del had continued. “When I first met him that boy was one of the angriest street fighters that ever got sent to the Double B.”

  The pain had been acute, and she’d sunk her teeth into her bottom lip before she could help herself. When she opened her eyes again she saw Del’s steady gaze still on her.

  It had been on her throughout the whole procedure, Tess recalled, taking a final sip of her tea. It had been on her when she’d allowed him and Van Zane to help her to the couch, and it had darkened with concern when the surgeon had frowningly noted her limp.

  She preferred not to remember what had come next, she thought with chagrin. While Daniel had kept watch over Connor in the spare room, Van Zane had whisked her back onto the pine table and had tended to her ignominious wound.

  You were right, Connor, she thought, letting both her weariness and the low voices of the three friends at the table wash over her. You said the Double B was where a person went when they came to the end of the line, and you were right. I don’t know who these men are or what Del meant when he said you’d been one of the ranch’s bad boys a long time ago…but I know we’ve reached sanctuary here.

  Sleep claimed her within minutes. And if at some point in her dreams that night a massive gray shape that could have been a man or could have been a wolf loomed up in front of her out of a dark roadway, she was too exhausted to care.

  “WHAT IN THE HELL do you think you’re doing?”

  Hawkins still could peel paint off a wall with that parade-ground voice when he wanted, Connor thought, wincing as a brand-new headache overlaid the seemingly permanent one he’d woken up to this morning. He finished zipping the fly of his pants, and turned to the older man standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

  “Getting up,” he said curtly. “I’ve spent the past thirty-six hours lying flat on my back, and I’ve had enough, Del. What news do you have about the hunt for me and the woman and the kid? And where are they, anyway?”

  “No news yet, and the woman and the kid are down at the corral with Daniel,” his former mentor replied evenly. “If you’re talking about the woman who saved your life and the kid who thinks you walk on water, that is.”

  Del’s gaze lasered his. Connor looked away.

  “I need a shave and a shirt to wear,” he said. “Is there a razor I can use?”

  “Razor’s in the cabinet and I should be able to find some sweatshirts that might fit you.” Del’s tone was still crisp, but his gaze softened somewhat. “You think you screwed up, don’t you? You think there should have been something more you could have done to keep them from this.”

  “To keep them from having to hide out while my area director, a fellow agent and a homeless wacko who’s already killed two people hunt them down? You bet I should have done more,” Connor agreed. “I should have reacted more quickly to those two phony agents. I should have picked up on something that might have given me a clue Jansen was dirty. I should—”

  He stopped. Turning to the night table beside the bed and trying not to lose his balance as he did, he grabbed his watch and began strapping it around his wrist.

  “She was in to see me this morning,” he muttered. “She looked pale. How is she?”

  “Before Van left to catch his flight back to Philadelphia a few hours ago, he checked her over,” Del replied. “He said she still should take it easy, but otherwise she’s fine. Which you would have known if you hadn’t pretended to be asleep when she looked in on you,” he added.

  When Connor remained silent, the older man pushed himself away from the doorway. “I’ll rustle up those sweatshirts. And one last thing.” He nailed Connor with a glance. “When Daniel and I knew John MacLeish, he wasn’t a wacko, he was a damned hero. I’d appreciate it if you remembered that.”

  The frostiness had been back in Hawkins’s tone, Connor thought as he made his way into the bathroom with just enough energy left to brace his hands on the rim of the sink and stand there. Frustration swept through him. At thirty-one a man’s body wasn’t supposed to slow him down, he told himself angrily. It was all very well for Van Zane to tell him he was coming along faster than he had any right to expect after what he’d been through, but he’d already lost a day and a half, dammit. He needed to be back to normal now.

  You think you’ve got it tough? a voice in his head asked. The ex-Marine who just left this room was in his twenties when he stepped on that booby trap and lost his legs. Until a few years ago he was confined to a wheelchair, and never once have you ever heard him complain that life dealt him a bum hand.

  Connor raised his head. In the mirror in front of him was a stubble-jawed man who looked as if he’d just come off a three-day bender. In the mirror was a man who was damned lucky to be alive and in one piece.

  He knew that, just as he knew that Tess Smith was the only reason he was standing here at all. Why hadn’t he wanted to talk to her when she’d come to see him earlier?

  It was partly what Del had guessed, he thought, finding the razor and a can of shave cream in the medicine cabinet. He lathered his face and began shaving. She and Joey were in danger, and he couldn’t help thinking he’d failed them in some way. But that wasn’t all there was to it.

  Even before Van Zane had told him, he’d known that it had been Tess’s blood that had flowed into him, bringing him back from the brink of death. The surgeon hadn’t minced words when describing his condition.

  “Nearest thing to a corpse I’ve ever seen,” he’d said when he’d come to say goodbye this afternoon. “For a few seconds I wasn’t sure if I should continue prepping you or just stick a lily in your hands and be done with it. You were real, real gone, boy. More than halfway across the River Styx and getting ready to step onto the far shore.”

  So there was no way he could have been aware of anything that was going on around him, Connor thought, tapping the razor on the edge of the sink. There was no way, but still he’d known.

  The images had already begun to fade when he’d briefly regained consciousness the first time. Now he could only remember the vaguest scraps of the hallucination or dream or whatever you wanted to call it that he’d had during those long, silent seconds when his life had hung in the balance and the scales that had been rushing down toward the side of oblivion slowly began to tilt back the other way….

  He’d seen a woman with dark braids. Her eyes had been shadowed with sadness, and her lips had moved constantly, although he hadn’t been able to hear what she was saying. Her hands had sketched pictures in the air in front of her, and from her fingertips had flown strands of fine thread.

  He’d seen a young girl lying stiffly on a bed, her eyes squeezed shut. He’d seen the same young girl floating above the bed, her mouth wide open in a soundless scream.

  He’d seen a ragged and endless trail of people walking, a woman looking up as someone appeared by the window of the car she was sitting in, lightning flashing from a black sky into the ground all around him.

  There’d been more, but those images were the only ones that had stayed with him after he’d awoken to find himself in the Double B’s downstairs
bedroom, his shoulder bandaged and the mother of all headaches pounding through his head. Even the headache hadn’t dulled his reaction to the dreams he’d had.

  He’d known instinctively that they hadn’t come from his subconscious. He’d known with equal certainty that they’d come from hers.

  And that was insane, of course, Connor told himself tightly. A bead of scarlet appeared suddenly on the cheek he was shaving, and he swore under his breath. It was insane and illogical and he didn’t accept it. He owed Tess Smith his life, but that didn’t mean he’d somehow caught a glimpse into her soul, because if he had, then it was equally possible that she’d caught a glimpse of—

  “Del asked me to bring these in for—oh, sorry.” She was standing by the bed, a pile of sweatshirts and jeans in her arms. “The door was open. I thought I’d leave them for you.”

  “Thanks.” Connor felt immediately guilty for his inadequate response. Thanks, he thought in disgust. Oh, hey, thanks for driving through the night and nearly being killed in a accident for me. Thanks for getting me to the one place I knew would be safe. And, yeah, thanks for the blood, too.

  No wonder Del had walked out on him. Had he really been stupid enough to ask why Tess had looked a little pale?

  She’d deposited the clothes onto the bed. He stepped out of the bathroom, the razor in his hand dripping shave cream onto the pine plank floor.

  “You saved my life,” he said baldly. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you properly for that, but…”

  At his words she turned back, her hand on the door frame. The trite sentiment died in his throat as those amber-brown eyes waited for him to finish what he’d been saying.

  Straight brows, straight nose. Unsmiling and, for the moment, straight mouth. Despite the tall tales she spun in her job, in her private life she wasn’t a woman who played fast and loose with her convictions, Connor thought slowly. He hadn’t realized that when he’d first met her. Now that he did, it explained why she’d taken such an insane chance as to go on the run with a child whom she felt was in danger.