Now and Always (3 page)

“She's with an escort. I'll phone and tell them I'm running late.” Katie turned to thread her way through the onlookers and emergency vehicles. “Oh!” She whirled and cupped her hands to her mouth to be heard above the crowd. “Hey Ben?”

The sheriff was immersed in the rescue efforts, and she had to yell twice before she got his attention. “Yo?”

“If I get permission to take the horses to the ranch, can you haul them for me?” She knew he had all sorts of stock trailers, big and small. She'd had one several years back, but it was out of commission now, and it only hauled one horse.

Katie wasn't surprised when Ben's usual edginess with her flared. “Katie Addison, before you can take care of the world, you'd better take care of yourself!”

“Yada yada! Can you haul my horses?”

Eyes the color of cool summer ponds met hers. Katie held her breath. Even she realized the audacity of her request. Why would this man give her the time of day when she probably wouldn't have reciprocated? But he could easily say no. And he never gave up on asking her for a date. Two weeks ago, they happened to land side by side in stadium bleachers at the local Legion high school ball game, and he tried to entice her, or she supposed. “Want to get a hot dog afterwards?” constituted his idea of a date. She had refused, yet her pride had not kept her from eating half of his bag of popcorn.

Warren trailed Katie. “I'll haul them for you.”

She turned. “You will?”

If he was being polite, the geek-turned-prince was too much of a neighbor to retract the offer. He nodded. “If you manage to get the horses, give me a call.”

“Thanks!” She tossed him a salute, then cupped her hands and called to Ben. “Never mind!”

He barely glanced her way as he continued to divert traffic.

Katie bolted for the jeep. Her guest's plane had landed over thirty minutes ago.

Inside the vehicle, she turned the ignition key, her eyes catching sight of the gold bracelet Grandpops had given her his last Christmas on earth. The thin chain had one tiny charm that read, “Expect a miracle.”

She'd need a miracle to get those horses, but she was going to try like blue blazes to pull it off. How hard could it be? Adopting horses on their way to doom?

Where would she get the money if the owner required cash?

Starting the jeep, she decided she'd see if Ben would help her
locate the horses' owner before she started worrying about finances.

Warren turned and watched Katie drive out of sight. She hadn't changed an iota over the years. Blonde hair still worn in a chin length cut, hazel eyes, taller than most women. She was easily still the prettiest girl in Little Bush, and still determined to save the world. Katie had been the champion of the underdog since kindergarten. He'd admired her for her faith in people back then, but years spent trying to survive in the real world had taught him that very few cared about anything except advancing their own agenda. Apparently Katie Addison hadn't learned that yet. In his opinion, bad choices run in families. Katie's mom and fraternal grandmother had been involved with abusive men — Katie's mom had died at the hands of one, and Katie was determined to keep her private women's shelter open when obviously money was tight.

What did it take to shake her faith? A Wyoming tsunami?

Warren glanced at the disappearing jeep. If it was possible, he'd get those horses for Katie. Not because he had any interest in her personally — he'd had his fill of females, especially independent females, which described Katie Addison to a tee.

But horses were a different story. For horses, he would compromise his convictions to stay far, far away from females. All females.

Two

Katie swerved around a slow-moving pickup, trying to make up time. The airport wasn't equipped to handle large aircraft, but private planes and commuter jets came in regularly. She braked and slid out of the jeep, her leather soled boots clicking on the pavement. It wouldn't be hard to recognize her newest guest. Clara Townsend's face was plastered on Katie's TV screen every day, a dozen times a day. Calm and poised, the politician appeared level headed, confident, and a far cry from most guests at the shelter. Why would a woman with Clara's apparent intelligence put up with an abusive husband, and how had she managed to avoid the knowledge going public? The violence could be a recent occurrence, maybe even a onetime incident. Or the abuse could just now be surfacing.

Understandably, the knowledge that Neil Townsend was a wife batterer would affect the election. People expected a woman to be tough enough and hard enough to make it in a male-dominated world. The scandal of the abuse and potential divorce could very well cost Mrs. Townsend the election. Katie had seen Clara's husband, a former campaign advisor, on TV and didn't care for him. He was a fat cat, flashing a large diamond pinkie ring. Television lights reflected off his shaven head, and he snarled and snapped at anyone who crossed him. He reminded Katie of a sleazy pit bull. How could a woman like Clara, a respected senator, put up with the man? No, not man. Katie refused to classify men in general with an abuser. There were too many good men in the world, but a few tarnished the name.

Katie strode into the terminal searching for a woman with flame red hair wearing a power suit. No one immediately met that description or resembled Clara Townsend. Had Clara and her escort grown tired of waiting for her and left, or had they actually come in the first place? Katie's eyes skimmed the near-empty terminal. She didn't want to inquire if Mrs. Townsend's private plane had arrived, since her presence in Little Bush was to remain quiet — and she was probably traveling incognito. Katie stifled a sigh of exasperation and glanced at her watch again. Where was she? Tottie would hold supper only so long.

A slender female with long black hair approached, followed by a couple of casually dressed men wearing dark glasses. Katie noted the ugly green bruises on both sides of the woman's oval-shaped face, injuries that makeup failed to conceal. The politician paused in front of her, removing a pair of jewel-rimmed sunglasses.

Katie suddenly remembered her appearance. She'd been dashing around in smoke, helping to free the horses, and climbing through wreckage. She smelled of smoke, sweat, and blood. A smear of black grease marred the once pristine surface of her white shirt.

The woman's eyes narrowed. “Addison?”

Katie nodded. “I'm Katie Addison.”

“Clara Townsend.” She flicked a gloved hand in the men's directions, and they picked up a half dozen bags.

This poor woman looked nothing like the suave, polished Senator Townsend Katie saw on the national news every night.

The woman lifted a dark, bruised brow. “You're late.”

“I . . . there was an accident.”

Townsend brushed the explanation aside. “My time is valuable. In the future, be prompt.” She stepped ahead of Katie and headed toward the exit door.

Speechless, Katie viewed the stack of bags occupying the men's arms. “Mrs. Townsend . . . I . . . your room . . . The shelter can't accommodate that much luggage. One bag. House rule. You'll have laundry facilities . . .” Her words trailed off as she hurriedly fell into step with the entourage that wasn't listening to her. She might as well be a vending machine offering bags of trans fat.

“I never go anywhere without a complete wardrobe.” Townsend shoved her way through the glass doorway and outside to the parking lot, where she paused.

“You do now.” Katie stopped beside her, appalled at her manners. She didn't want to cause trouble or bring unnecessary stress to the politician, but rules were rules. Besides, Tot-tie would have fits if Katie let this woman drag in six bags, and if Tottie wasn't happy, nobody was happy. House rule number one.

“You'll have to clear that with my people.” Clara's eyes searched the parking area. “Where's my transportation?”

Katie scooted around the baggage-toting men. This was turning ugly.
Way to go, Katie. Alienate a guest first thing. Real
diplomatic.
She inclined her head to the jeep sitting on the first row. Her lips firmed. She towered above the petite politician who was wearing three-inch boots. Katie felt like a giraffe in flats with an attitude. “One bag, Mrs. Townsend. House rule.”

The woman's tone was anything but compliant. “Surely you're not serious.”

“Yes, ma'am. I surely am.” Katie flashed a smile. Judge Amy would throttle her if she failed to protect this woman, but she had a feeling the woman was going to be hard to control.

Clara stared at her for a full minute before heaving a sigh of disgust. “All right, one stinking bag.”

Well, it doesn't have to be stinking, Mrs. Townsend.

The men began to organize her bags into one full of the essentials, and Clara, lips pursed, snapped, “I will require a private room and bath.”

Katie bit back a snort.
Yeah, right
. The shelter women were going to love this one. They'd eat Townsend alive, especially Meg. Young, tough Meg, fresh off the streets, single and pregnant, could hold her own with anyone except the boyfriend who'd beat her so badly he'd put her in the hospital for a long stay. By now the entourage reached the jeep, and Clara peeled off the black wig, leaving her natural short-cropped, flame red hair standing in spikes. She glanced at Katie, her eyes daring her to say something. “It's hot and it itches. But it served its purpose. No one noticed me.”

Why, not a living soul in Little Bush — a town of three hundred — would think anything was amiss if they spotted two strange men wearing dark glasses and juggling six designer bags between them, stepping out of a private jet with a large
T
emblazoned on the tail stabilizer. “To err on caution's side, I'm going to ask you to wear the wig until we reach the shelter.”

The woman didn't like the order, but Katie was relieved when the politician put the wig back on. The men loaded her bag in the jeep and stepped back.

Clara stared out the window as Katie wheeled out of the parking lot and headed back to the shelter. “How far are we from civilization?”

“This is as civilized as it gets.” Katie drew a deep, appreciative
breath and nearly choked on the smell of smoke coming through the open window. “Fresh air and wide open spaces.”

The woman turned to stare at her. “You're kidding, right? What do we do to keep from going mad?”

Katie made a right turn onto the highway. “We have books and television, hiking trails, and of course, I encourage our guests to help with chores. Make their beds, help with laundry, kitchen work.”

Clara snorted. “In your dreams.”

Katie mentally sighed and shifted into third gear. How far off was that election? Less than four weeks? Thank you, Lord. Until tonight Katie had been undecided in the Senate race, but her mind was suddenly crystal clear. She couldn't remember offhand the name of Clara's opponent, but whoever it was, he or she had just gained another vote.

Katie Addison's.

Three

Well, then those people just need to acquire a taste for soy products!” Katie slammed down the receiver, seething. Oh, Ben was glad to help, only he was taking his own good time locating the horses' owner.

“Whoever owns those animals are making a hefty profit,” he'd pointed out with the aplomb of a terrorist. “You really think they'd give them to you instead of selling them for meat?”

That's when she'd said the European market needed to acquire a taste for soy products, which made Ben snort.

Taking a deep breath, Katie drummed her fingernails on the counter, Grandpops's voice ringing in her head. “It's a crying shame, just a crying shame.” Life's setbacks were either the government's fault or a crying shame with him. Katie must have gotten her faith from Grandmoms. She never recalled a time when Willa complained about anything. Everything was just fine. Really good. Couldn't be better, happier, or healthier. The roof could be caving in and she'd be praising the good Lord for rain. The day they buried Grandpops, she was stricken with grief, but she commented several times about what a pretty day it was for December. Wouldn't get many more of these, she predicted, until spring. Then she blew her nose and wiped her red eyes and lived another four years before she joined Grandpops in heaven.

Those beautiful horses had been on their way to a slaughterhouse. Katie cringed to think what would have happened if she hadn't come along when she did.

She sat and started snapping green beans. Rules and regulations — the world was full of them. She snapped a bean and tossed it into the pot. What harm would it do to take the four surviving horses and nurse them back to health? Once the animals' health was restored — if it could be restored, local children could come to the house and ride on Sunday afternoons —
no, think clearly, Katie. You run enough risk by giving
private riding lessons. You can't invite more outsiders here because
of the women, but you could nurse the horses back to health and
place them in a rehabilitation farm.