A Gentleman for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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СКАЧАТЬ “I’d better check and see what’s happening.”

      The thud of a basketball sounded as it hit the wire hoop in the main, gymlike room of the center, but no one even looked as the ball circled the hoop before slowly dropping through the basket. The two teenage boys, who had been shooting baskets, had their backs to the hoop. They stood frozen, half-crouched, undecided about whether to run or to hit the floor as the front door slammed open.

      Sylvia scanned the big room in a glance. The air was humid; it’d been raining off and on all day. Sometimes the weather made everyone short-tempered. But it wasn’t the weather today. She saw the two boys in the middle of the floor and three or four girls sitting on the edge of the floor where they’d been gossiping.

      All of the kids were staring at the front door. And she couldn’t blame them. A large figure was shouldering its way inside. If they were anywhere else, Sylvia would say it was a bear. Or Bigfoot. But then she saw that the figure had two parts. John was slung over the shoulder of a man as big as a mountain. She could already hear the squeal of rubber as a car screeched to a stop outside.

      The man turned to face the room and Sylvia drew in her breath. That gray Stetson. It couldn’t be anyone but— No, she wasn’t mistaken. She’d know that arrogant masculinity anywhere. The question was—“What are you doing here?”

      Sylvia meant to have the question come out strong, but it must have been little more than a whisper. In any event, Garth didn’t seem to hear her. Instead he bowed down in a graceful arc to let John roll off his back and, at the same time, uncoiled a massive bullwhip from his shoulder.

      Sylvia cleared her throat and tried again. “What are—”

      This time she had his attention. She knew it with the first word out of her mouth. His eyes swung to her and he took a step toward her. He dipped his hat and his eyes were in the shadows again. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was feeling shy. “I—ah—”

      He never finished his sentence. The first bullet shattered the glass in the window beside the door. Garth didn’t wait to see what the second bullet would hit.

      “Everybody down,” he bellowed as he dropped the whip and took another step toward her.

      Sylvia looked around to be sure everyone was obeying. She was going to slide down when she knew the kids were all right. But that wasn’t soon enough for Garth.

      He sprinted to her side and in one fluid movement wrapped his body around her before rolling with her to the floor. Sylvia braced herself to hit the floor, but Garth twisted his body so that he took the impact. He landed on his back with Sylvia resting on his chest. Then he quickly somersaulted so that Sylvia was enclosed inside his arms.

      Sylvia froze. She forgot all about the bullets that might be flying overhead. She hadn’t been this close to a man since that day her ex-husband had threatened her—she pushed the very suggestion from her mind. She couldn’t afford to think of that now. She had to concentrate on breathing. If she could only keep breathing.

      Garth felt Sylvia stiffen. Good Lord, she’s been shot!

      Garth turned to his side. He ran his hands quickly down Sylvia’s back. What was she doing wearing a sweater? Blood would soak into a sweater. Her breathing seemed fainter and fainter. And he didn’t like the fluttering heartbeat. She felt like a frightened bird. He wondered if shock was setting in. He needed to find the bullet hole.

      He slipped his hand under her sweater. If she was limb shot, they could deal with that later. But if the bullet had hit her internal organs he needed to act fast. His hand slid over the smoothness of her back. Her muscles tensed and her breathing stopped. He’d run his hand up and down her back twice before he convinced himself there was no blood.

      “Where does it hurt?” he demanded.

      A warm ember settled in his stomach. Her skin was softer than sunshine on a spring day. The faint scent of peaches was reaching his nostrils, too, and he noticed her hair. Luxurious strands of midnight-black hair were nestled near his neck. For a moment, he forgot why she lay curled inside his arms. It was enough that she was there.

      “Ummmph.” A muffled noise came from near Garth’s heart and he realized Sylvia was trying to talk.

      “Oh, excuse me—I didn’t—” Garth pulled away from Sylvia. Her skin was white. He felt a sudden surge of anger at the thugs outside that had frightened Sylvia. “I shouldn’t have led them here. They frightened you.”

      “No, you did,” Sylvia answered automatically. One of the things she’d been taught in her battered-wife course ten years ago was to be honest. “You frightened me.”

      Sylvia took a deep breath and looked up at Garth Elkton, at least as nearly up as she could. He still had her half-encased in his arms and she saw more of his chin than his eyes. She took another breath. Calmness was the key. “You need to let me go now.”

      Give a directive, Sylvia reminded herself. Be calm. Expect them to obey. Keep your mind focused. Count to ten. One. Sylvia stared at Garth’s neck. Two. She saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. She saw faint strands of hair curled around his shirt collar. Three. Remember to breathe.

      The skin around his collar was a little lighter than the tan on his face. He obviously got his tan the hard way instead of in a tanning booth. Another breath. Then she smelled him. He smelled of wet wool from his jacket, and forest pine. She breathed in again for the sheer pleasure of it. He smelled like Christmas and reminded her of Dry Creek. She’d thought about him often since she’d left that little town in Montana. More accurately, she hadn’t thought about him as much as she’d dreamed about him. Little secret segments of sleep that left her restless when she woke in the morning.

      His arms loosened around her. “I was only—” Garth protested as he moved away from her. He untwined his leg from around hers.

      “I know,” Sylvia said quickly. She didn’t need to be so prickly. He couldn’t know about her problems with men. Or those unwanted dreams. “You meant well.”

      Garth wasn’t sure what he had meant. But he sure hadn’t meant to frighten her.

      “I was only—” Garth had rehearsed this line in his head and he had to spit it out. “I mean since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d return your earring.”

      “Earring?”

      “In Dry Creek. You lost an earring,” Garth patted his shirt pocket until he found the little bit of metal. He fumbled inside his pocket and brought out the earring.

      “Would you look at that!” The voice came from the far side of the room and bounced off all of the walls. Even the kids instinctively turned toward Mrs. Buckwalter. “He not only saved your life, he returned your jewelry. What a gentleman—and a hero!”

      “Well, no, I,” Garth protested as he handed the earring to Sylvia, “I wouldn’t say that….”

      Mrs. Buckwalter walked toward Garth and Sylvia like a general chasing away a retreating foe. Her tweed suit bristled with command. “You certainly are, young man, and I’ll hear no more about it.” Mrs. Buckwalter stood in the center of the room and looked down at Garth’s Stetson. A small smile softened her mouth as she picked up the hat. “Quite the gentleman. A fine example of chivalry if I’ve ever seen one, Mr…?”

      “Elkton. СКАЧАТЬ