The less the twins knew of that, the better. She also didn’t want them knowing that she was consorting with a lawman. Further discussion of Elray’s slaying might lead to mention of Thatcher, a subject best avoided.
But no sooner had she thought that than Mike said, “Did you hear about your Good Samaritan Mr. Hutton?”
“What about him?”
“Ah, he was talking to the young man when it happened. A second shot missed Hutton by a hair.”
Davy picked up. “But he took off running to the building where the shots came from. Couldn’t be stopped, they said.”
Laurel’s hands had gone clammy. “Who said?” she asked huskily.
“The sheriff’s deputies trying to hold him back, because he wasn’t even armed. But that didn’t stop him sprinting to the bank building. He was mad to catch the shooter. Those there said he never uttered a word, but that the look in his eyes was positively feral.”
“He didn’t catch him?” she asked.
“No,” Mike said. “Lucky for the murdering Johnson.”
Laurel put up a disinterested front, but she couldn’t wait for the twins to be on their way. After they left, she felt more forlorn than she had since Derby’s suicide and Pearl’s death. She’d had no control over either of those life-changing events.
But rather than surrender to feelings of defeat, she had resolved never to be that defenseless against fate again. With sheer determination, she had persevered, had built a life and livelihood for herself.
Now, she felt control of that also slipping away.
Recent events had played out on their own, without her knowledge or oversight. Irv had been wounded. A man had lost his arm. A boy had lost his life. Ernie and Corrine and the stills were unaccounted for. Where had her tight grip on control been when all that was happening?
And when she was with Thatcher? Last night he’d come to her after what surely had been one of the worst experiences of his life. But his concern had been for her, not for himself. She recalled the sorrow in his eyes when he’d told her about his mentor’s death and Elray Johnson’s murder. She also remembered the determination in his demeanor when he’d pinned on the badge.
Some might mistake his reticence for indifference, or a steeliness against emotion, but he felt things more deeply than anybody she’d ever met.
She’d fought her attraction to him every step of the way, but last night she’d been helpless against it. She’d been overtaken by the look and feel of him, the desperation in his voice when he’d said, “Please don’t answer.”
Unlike anything she’d ever experienced, the groundswell of sexual sensation brought on by his caresses had completely undone her. The control had belonged to him, not to her, and that loss of herself had been terrifying.
But also thrilling. If the climb had been that incredible, what would the cresting have felt like? She couldn’t help but wonder, and regret—
“Laurel?”
Nearly jumping out of her skin, she whipped around to find Irv standing behind her and dressed to go out. “You were a million miles away, girl. What were you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Huh. Didn’t look like it to me.” He watched her for a moment. “I threatened to shoot him. If you want me to, I will.”
Ignoring that, she patted her pocket to make certain she had her pistol. “Are you ready?”
* * *
Laurel insisted on driving even though they were taking Irv’s truck. He gave in way too easily, leaving Laurel to believe that even though the bullet wound had closed and healed well enough for him to leave his bed, his arm remained infirm.
He brought Ernie’s map with him, although he claimed to know where his partner had likely relocated their stills. “He showed me the place once, bragged on it being nearly perfect like our other spot.”
“Is it on your property?”
“Barely.” When she shot him a doubtful glance, he added defensively, “Barely counts.”
They drove for half an hour. When they saw a flicker of firelight in the distance, Laurel slowed down. “They may start shooting before they realize it’s us.”
“Honk the horn three times. That’s the signal.”