Page 31 of Dusty
The barn door creaked as Dusty pushed it open, revealing a cavernous space filled with dust motes dancing in the shafts of late afternoon sunlight. Empty except for some old farm equipment and stacks of wooden crates in one corner. Dusty led Sharon inside, closing the door behind them.
“Sit here,” he said, arranging a couple of crates to form a makeshift seat. “I’ll check the perimeter, make sure we’re alone.”
Sharon sank onto the crates gratefully, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. “Be careful.”
Dusty nodded, hand resting on his service weapon as he moved to secure their temporary sanctuary. The barn was old but solid, with the main entrance and a smaller door at the back. Good sight lines to the approaching road, but limited exits if things went south.
After confirming they were alone, Dusty pulled out his phone. One bar of service—barely enough, but it would have to do. He dialed the number to the sheriff’s station, since he didn’t know Rafe’s number by memory, tension easing slightly when his friend answered on the second ring.
“Sheriff’s station.”
“Rafe, it’s Dusty.” He leaned against the wall at the back of the barn, hoping he was far enough away that Sharon couldn’t overhear.
“Dusty? You alright?”
“Not exactly,” Dusty replied, keeping his voice low. “We’ve got trouble. Madison’s men found us at the shelter. They definitely mean business. They shot at us, and before you ask, we’re both fine. We got away, but your truck’s dead. We’re holed up in an abandoned barn about an hour northeast of San Antonio.”
He gave Rafe their approximate location, describing the landmarks as best he could.
“Sharon’s okay? You got the evidence?” Rafe asked.
“Both safe, for now,” Dusty confirmed. “But we’re sitting ducks out here, boss. They planted a tracker, must have been when we stopped at the truck stop. I missed it. Can’t believe I didn’t think they’d tagged us. These guys aren’t messing around.”
“Hang tight,” Rafe said, his voice steady and reassuring. “Antonio and Dane are here. We’ll head your way now. Two and a half hours, three hours, tops.”
Dusty sighed. “Do you think we should call the local cops?” He could hear movement and slamming doors, and an engine start. Breathing a sigh of relief, he knew Rafe would get there ASAP. He only hoped nothing else happened before they managed to get there.
“I thought about it, but with Madison’s men on your tail, and his deep pockets, I don’t know who we can trust at this point. Just hang tight, and we’ll get there as fast as we can.”
“Floor it,” Dusty said. “I don’t know how long we’ve got before they pick up our trail again.”
“We’re on our way. Stay alert and keep Sharon safe.”
The call ended, and Dusty pocketed his phone, returning to where Sharon waited. “Rafe’s coming,” he said, settling beside her on the crates. “Bringing reinforcements. It’ll be a couple hours.”
Sharon nodded, her face drawn with fatigue but her eyes still alert, determined. “We can make it that long, right?”
“Right,” Dusty said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He looked at her—really looked at her—and was struck by her resilience. Less than a week ago, she’d been terrified, on the run from her fiancé in Chicago who’d done unspeakable things and had ended up in Shiloh Springs. Now here she was, on the run again, targeted by one of the most dangerous men he’d seen in a while, and yet she was still standing. Still fighting.
Something shifted in his chest as he looked at her, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Was he ready to acknowledge these feelings? They left him conflicted, but he knew that whatever happened, he wasn’t going to walk away from Sharon. She’d become too important to him, even though it hadn’t been nearly long enough to be feeling what he was feeling.
“That was some driving back there.”
Dusty chuckled dryly. “Let’s just say I don’t recommend it as a daily commute.”
They fell into silence, the weight of their situation hanging between them. Three hours suddenly felt like an eternity. Three hours for Madison’s men to pick up their trail again. Three hours alone with Sharon, trying to ignore the pull he felt toward her, a pull that had been there from the moment she’d walked up to hiscruiser that fateful night and he’d driven her into Shiloh Springs, cold, desperate, and alone.
“Dusty,” Sharon said finally, her voice soft but determined. “If we don’t make it out of this—”
“We will,” he cut in, more harshly than he intended. He softened his tone. “We will.”
She reached out, her fingers brushing against his calloused hand. “I need to say this. Just in case.”
Their eyes met, and Dusty felt something shift between them, like a door opening that neither of them could close again.
“These past few days,” she continued, “finding myself in Shiloh Springs, scared out of my mind…you’ve been the one thing keeping me sane. The one person I could trust.”
Dusty swallowed hard, fighting to maintain his composure. “Just doing my job,” he said, but they both knew it was more than that.
