She gripped Sammy more tightly against her as George took the suitcase from her hand.
“Problems?” George asked.
“Possibly,” Dalton replied. George nodded and straightened his thin, sloped shoulders.
Dalton went out the door, gun drawn, and with every sense he possessed on high alert. The night held the eerie silence that snow-cover produced, a preternatural calm that could be deceptive.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped onto the front porch. The cold air stabbed his lungs as he drew deep, even breaths. He looked both directions, seeing nothing amiss but unwilling to trust that the night shadows held nothing dangerous.
He took several more steps, then turned back to the house, noting dark smoke rolling out of a partially opened basement window. Had George left it open? The old man had a workshop downstairs where he did some woodworking. Had he left his wood-burning tool on, and somehow it had caught fire?
His heart pounded as adrenaline continued to pump through him. He had no idea how big a fire might be burning there, but it was apparent he needed to get the others out of the house as soon as possible.
Looking around once again he saw nothing that indicated any danger. He walked back up to the door and motioned for Janette to follow him as he tried to watch every direction around them.
The gunshot came from the left, the bullet whizzing by Janette’s head as she screamed in terror. Dalton’s body slammed her to the ground, and he hoped that in the process Sammy wasn’t hurt.
“Get down, George,” he yelled at the old man, who had just stepped off the porch. George dove into a snow-bank with the agility of a man one-fourth his age.
Another gunshot exploded in the quiet of the night and the snow next to where Dalton and Janette lay kicked up. The shots had come from the direction of a large oak tree in the distance. Janette screamed again and Sammy’s cries added to the melee.
Dalton’s heart crashed against his ribs and he thought he could feel Janette’s heartbeat through their coats. “I’m going to roll off you and start firing. When I do, run like hell to the truck and get inside. Stay down.” He fumbled in his pocket for his keys and gave them to her. “And if anything happens to me, drive away and don’t look back.”
He didn’t give her time to protest or accept, he rolled off her and began firing at the tree. At the same time he heard the sound of a siren in the distance and knew that somebody had heard the shots and called for help.
When he saw that Janette was safely in the truck, he stopped firing and waited to see if there would be an answering volley.
Nothing.
For a long moment he remained where he was, not moving, but listening…waiting…wondering if the threat still existed or not.
He got up into a crouch as the siren grew louder. Still no answering shots. He had a feeling the shooter had run at the first sound of the siren. He hurried to the driver’s side of the truck and was surprised to see George come burrowing up from the snowdrift and running to throw the suitcase in the back of the truck bed.
Dalton had just backed out of the driveway when Zack’s patrol car came screaming to a halt. “Get down,” he ordered Janette. She bent so she wasn’t visible and Dalton was grateful that at the moment Sammy wasn’t wailing. He rolled down his window as Zack rolled down his.
“Call the fire department, and see to George,” Dalton said. “I’ll be in touch.” As Zack yelled a protest, Dalton pulled out onto the street and sped away from his brother, the house and the quiet, solitary life he’d led.
Thankfully, Janette remained silent as he headed out of town and kept a watchful eye on the street behind him for anyone that might be following.
He needed to think.
Zack was a newly elected sheriff and aware of everyone’s eyes on him. After the disgrace of Jim Ramsey, the last sheriff of Cotter Creek, Zack was proving himself to be a strictly by-the-book kind of lawman.
Dalton believed in rules, but sometimes rules had to be bent, even broken, and he wasn’t convinced that Zack would see things his way.
If Brandon Sinclair had an arrest warrant for Janette, then Dalton feared his brother would feel it necessary to turn her over to him. He wouldn’t want to put himself in the middle of a problem that wasn’t his, especially in bucking the authority of a fellow sheriff.
“Where are we going?” Janette asked, finally breaking the tense silence in the truck as they left the town of Cotter Creek behind.
“A place where you’ll be safe until we can figure things out,” he replied.
Besides, if he did decide to confide in Zack, what could he tell him? That a strange woman had shown up on his doorstep and had initially lied about everything, but finally had told him a story that he believed?
Zack would ask for cold hard facts and Dalton had none. He couldn’t prove that Brandon Sinclair had set the fire tonight or fired the shots. No doubt Sinclair hadn’t used his service weapon; ballistics would probably lead to a dead end. He couldn’t prove that Janette hadn’t stolen money from her employer, although he could attest to the fact that she hadn’t been anywhere near that trailer when it had gone up in flames. Unless Sinclair screwed around with the reported date of the fire.
He didn’t want to put his brother in the untenable position of having to choose between doing his job or supporting Dalton’s decision to break the law by hiding Janette.
He’d talk to Zack, tell him who he thought was responsible for both the fire tonight and the gunfire, but he wouldn’t tell Zack where Janette was hidden away. He wouldn’t give her over to Zack, who might find himself with no alternative than to turn her over to Sinclair.
He cast a quick glance at the woman in the passenger seat. She bounced Sammy in her arms and asked no more questions about where they were going or what they were going to do.
She trusted him.
After two snowbound days together, she trusted that he was taking her someplace where she’d be safe. It shocked him, awed him, and if he were to admit the truth to himself, it scared him more than just a little bit. She was placing not only her life, but also the life of her little boy directly in his hands.
He clenched the steering wheel tightly. He hadn’t signed on for this, had simply offered a woman and her baby shelter from the storm. A tiny spark of anger filled him. He didn’t want this responsibility. Since the debacle with Mary he’d consciously backed away from being involved with anyone, even his family. He didn’t want anyone depending on him, needing him.
He didn’t want the responsibility, but now that he had it, he couldn’t turn his back. Janette had been trapped by the storm, and now he was trapped by her circumstances.
* * *
Janette thought she might be in a mild state of shock. She couldn’t process the fire, the gunshots and now a drive down narrow, slick roads with darkness all around.
She should be terrified, but she wasn’t. She was beyond terror and instead felt only a weary resignation, a stunning knowledge that she was no longer in control of her own life.
She
