Page 12 of Wanted by the Lawman

The dog brought the toy back obediently and Zander was ready to throw it again when he saw something suspicious. In the neighboring yard’s shed he saw the glow of a flashlight. The property had been empty since Agnus Makelti had passed away. Snapping his fingers, the dog ran inside. Zander hurried to grab his gun and pulled on his old, dirty work boots that he kept sitting next to the door for when he fed the horses.

“Come on, girl,” he said to Susie-Q.

The snow was now coming down hard as he reached the dilapidated wooden fence that separated the properties, he wished he’d thought enough to put on a coat. The chambray checked shirt and jeans didn’t help much against the below freezing index chill. His balls were about the size of walnuts, never good for a man in any situation.

Gun held in both hands, aimed at the ground, he pulled off several slabs of the rotten boards and slowly slogged his way across the snow-covered property toward the shed. The light still feathered across the window and he heard faint thuds of things being tossed around inside of the dilapidated building. Was it being ransacked? What would anyone find in a building being held together by a splinter and a nail?

Once he found out who drug his ass out into the cold, wet snow he’d throw a pair of cuffs on them and they’d pay. He had plans…maybe not anything more than dropping onto the couch cushion, eating his cheese and cookies, and drinking his beer. This being the first night he’d been home to relax in a damn week, he selfishly wanted to watch a movie.

Slowly approaching the outbuilding, he could barely see the silhouette of the burglar through the cracks in the glass window.

“Shit!” a soft voice muttered from inside.

Stepping around to the open door with Susie-Q growling at his feet, Zander lifted his gun. “Don’t move!”

~~~**~~~

Arguing with herself on exactly why she moved to Crooked Creek, Wyoming, Wynn never did come up with a suitable answer outside of owning a house there, if it could be called such. The state was so damn cold that even Frosty would jump the first train out. She’d forgotten to pack herself snow boots and winter clothing because her insane ex-boyfriend handcuffed her and fell asleep blocking her closet door. After spending most of the day cleaning on hands and knees, scrubbing floors and cabinets, washing linens and bleaching walls, she’d gotten the bright idea to go to the gas station to use the pay phone. She managed to grab a few grocery items, but she hadn’t planned on running into the cocky cowboy, although a good-looking cocky cowboy he was. Who did he think he was coming onto her so openly? Did she look like the little woman needing a brawny man? Grr.

She had been dog-tired and ready to call it a night, but there was no way in hell she could sleep without some sort of heat in the house. She’d tinkered with the antique furnace for hours only to find out that it was broken on one of the coldest days of the year. Perfect.

Thankfully, every room in the house had a fireplace, but the problem remained, fireplaces needed wood to burn and after finding only a handful of kindling, she’d run out. With no axe and without the beard and brawn of a woodsman, she was running out of options so she wouldn’t freeze to death. Backed into a frigid corner, she decided the best place to find wood was in the shed—or rather, the shed itself. She even found an old axe in the dilapidated shack. Clearly though, she didn’t think ahead. Her tennis shoes and socks were soaked as well as the jeans she wore. And she’d fallen twice in the snow. Nice. Her nose felt cold enough to crack and her fingers were purple. Thankfully, she’d found a balaclava left over from her grandmother’s things that kept her face and ears from frostbite and an oversized sweatshirt from the clothes she’d packed helped keep her warmer. The shed had been ramshackle twenty years ago when she’d visited, but now it had more holes in the wood than a piece of Swiss cheese.

And the flashlight blinked, threatening to die.

Bouncing the bum flashlight against her palm, she hoped the battery lasted for a few more minutes. She’d found a loose board in the flooring, pulled up several dry rotted slabs just as soon as she heard the words, “Don’t move!”

What the hell?

Swiveling on her heels, she blinked against the light being shone in her eyes.

“Hands up!” the person bellowed.

Doing as he demanded, she blinked, trying to make out the tall, large shadow on the other side of the flashlight. Several thoughts flashed through her head. Had Rory found her already? No way. He could barely follow the directions being navigated by a GPS let alone actually read a map to find his way through the mountain ranges of Wyoming. Crooked Creek was so small on a map, one would easily mistake it as a speck of dirt and brush it off. She also bargained he’d get nowhere in his luxurious Cadillac on the snow-covered roads that were probably a sheet of ice now. She’d been sensible enough to rent an SUV at the airport, thankful for the kind man behind the counter who’d agreed to allow her to rent one without a credit card. It took a chunk of her money, but how else would she have gotten to the small town?

“Lift your hands higher!” the voice shouted.

The last thing she’d do is allow another man to boss her around. “Wait just a minute. I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m not lifting my hands,” she lowered them in rebellion, but not entirely. Sure, she’d never been good at being told what to do, but if this was one of Rory’s hired men coming to get her, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. The slabs of wood were right at her feet and if she managed to get her hands on one....

“I won’t tell you again. Now drop the flashlight and lift your hands. My dog is dangerous. You might get bit.”

The dog whimpered.

She almost laughed.

“I live here.” Her voice trembled a bit. She didn’t like having a gun pointed at her. Who knew what nutcase had his finger on the trigger. Someone who dared come onto her property and hold her at gunpoint, that’s who.

The man’s raw chuckle made the hairs on her neck stand. “Good try, but this place has been empty for over a year. I’d know if someone lived here considering I live next door.”

There was something about his voice… “Wait. You sound familiar. Are you the cowboy who asked to show me around Crooked Creek?”

After a good measure of hesitation, he said, “You’re trespassing. Get your hands up where I can see them.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she reached up and dragged the hat from her head. “It is you. The cookie man. And I am Wynn, the granddaughter of Agnus Makelti who left me her house.”

“Sunofawitch. What the hell?” The words dripped off his lips like a tire losing air.

“Sorry, I didn’t send out a town memo saying that I was moving in, but it was sort of last minute. Think you could lower the gun? I don’t trust my life to a frozen, trigger finger.”

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