Dream Of Driving Off A Cliff
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“You can’t leave me, not yet,” Ben said. He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m going crazy here.”
She leaned against the side of the buggy and stared out at the rolling hills of Wyoming. The sky was blue with puffy white clouds. It looked peaceful enough from where they were, but she knew that wasn’t true. There had been a bank robbery in Cheyenne only days before.
And now there’d been another one two towns over. She didn’t know if it was a coincidence or whether someone was targeting banks.
“How long do I have to wait?” Ben asked quietly.
He turned her to face him. His eyes held hers and he searched for some sign of understanding. But she couldn’t tell him how much longer she would stay in Laramie because she didn’t know herself.
Ben’s lips brushed hers as he kissed her. He tasted like whiskey—and something more. Something dark and sinful. He lowered his head until their noses touched and then gently pushed her back into the seat so she could see the road ahead.
He watched her intently as he moved closer to her. Then his hand cupped her cheek. His thumb traced her lower lip. Her body reacted instantly and her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes and waited for what happened next.
His other hand slid down her neck, across her shoulder, and rested on her thigh. He ran his fingers along the seam between her dress and the material beneath it. Then slowly slid them under the hem of her skirt and up her leg.
Her heart thudded in her chest as his fingertips trailed across her skin and teased through the thin material covering her thighs. She felt warm and flushed all over. So very warm and flushed…
The warmth spread quickly through her entire body when he slipped his hands inside her dress. One finger stroked lightly along the lace of her panties, and then she gasped aloud when he lifted her foot and placed it on top of his knee.
She opened her mouth to say no, but her voice wouldn’t work. All she wanted to do was feel his touch again. She wanted him to kiss her again. To take her right here in the buggy. God help her, she even wanted to taste him. Just once, just a little bit, and then she would stop this madness. But first, she needed to feel him touch her. Touch her…
Suddenly his hands disappeared from under her dress. They both jumped at the loud clop of the horses’ hooves and then laughed together as they regained control of themselves.
“We’ll go to town tomorrow morning,” he told her. “There are plenty of things we need.”
And then he smiled. That smile melted her insides. It made her forget about everything except being with him. For just a few minutes anyway.
When he reached for her, she let him pull her closer to him. Their bodies pressed tightly together as their kisses grew deeper and hungrier. He moaned softly as he pushed her legs apart slightly.
Then he broke away and climbed back into the driver’s seat. With a wink, he turned and took back the reins.
For the rest of the day, she sat alone in the buggy staring off toward the horizon. As the sun sank low behind the mountains, she thought about Ben and the way he cared for her. How he seemed to be able to read her mind. And how he never gave up on her.
As she drove home, she remembered what he’d said earlier: I want you to marry me.
She hadn’t responded immediately because she hadn’t known what to say. What did he really expect? Marriage was supposed to be forever; it was sacred and binding. Marriage was also supposed to be an act of love. Yet none of those things applied to the relationship they shared.
Neither of them loved the other. Not truly. Or maybe they did, but it was impossible for either of them to admit that to the other.
Now she knew why. Love was hard work. And neither of them wanted to give up any part of who they were. In fact, they were afraid to change. Because if they changed, they might lose what they already possessed.
They were afraid to fall in love.
But falling in love was easy compared to what came after. Love was always accompanied by pain. If not today, then soon. So why bother getting involved with anyone? Why risk hurting yourself or someone else? Better to keep your distance and watch everyone else hurt. At least then you weren’t responsible for anything. You kept yourself safe.
That’s how she’d lived her life. Safely tucked away. Kept to herself and only allowed people close enough to get hurt. And now, suddenly, she found herself trapped in a situation where she had to trust someone again. The last time she trusted another man, she wound up with nothing but lies and betrayal.
She slowed the buggy to a crawl before turning onto Main Street. Lights glowed in windows, and people strolled the sidewalks. Music drifted out of a saloon, and laughter floated through the air. A band played nearby as families gathered around a bonfire in front of the courthouse.
So much like what she imagined small-town America looked like. And yet, it didn’t look anything like what she’d seen in movies. This wasn’t Hollywood. Life wasn’t like the silver screen. It couldn’t be. Nothing could compare to reality. Real life was messy and unpredictable. People were complicated. Sometimes cruel.
No wonder she preferred reading books to watching television shows or going to the movies. Reading was more real than reality. Fiction was easier to understand. The reality was too difficult to grasp. Too painful…
***
Months passed. Months filled with long days spent working at the ranch, and short nights spent thinking about Ben. About the night she met him. About the night they made love. And how she wished they could make love again.
Every evening after dinner, she pulled one of her books from her saddlebag and settled down in the grassy field behind the barn. She picked up the book she’d been reading, closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of nature surrounding her.
Then she began to read aloud to herself. Her words flowed from the pages of the book to the land around her. She tried to imagine she was the heroine of the story. She tried to imagine what kind of person the heroines were like. Where they came from and where they went afterward. Were they happy? Did they have children? Were their husbands still alive? Was their love everlasting?
Some evenings, when she finished reading, she stood quietly among the trees. She watched the sky darken, and stars appear. When the moon rose high, she stared at it until it finally disappeared beneath the darkness. Only then did she climb back inside the wagon house to sleep.
One day while she worked outside, a group of cowboys rode past her. They waved. One stopped his horse next to her and leaned over to ask her something.
“You know that old mine shaft?” he asked. “Well, we dug some new tunnels near there, and the place is haunted.”
He paused to take a sip of whiskey. “There are strange lights coming out of the ground and strange noises. We’re not sure what it means.” He smiled. “But we think it has something to do with ghosts.”
She shook her head and laughed. “Ghosts don’t exist,” she told him. “It must just be bats flying around.”
The cowboy chuckled. “Oh, well, if it isn’t a ghost,” he said. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
When he walked away, she continued working, but her thoughts returned to the mysterious lights and noises. How many times had she heard stories of ghosts haunting graveyards and haunted houses? Had she ever even seen such things firsthand? Probably not.
No one in town would talk about ghosts. Maybe no one else believed in them, but she certainly did. Ghosts existed. Otherwise, what was all this nonsense about a curse?
As far as she was concerned, the curse was a figment of her imagination. But if it was real, perhaps it was her own fault for letting her curiosity get the better of her. Curiosity killed the cat. Or so they say. What if it also killed the woman? That would explain everything.
Sometimes, late in the afternoon, she took a break from work to go fishing on the river. Once, she caught a trout, and the fish tasted wonderful fried up with eggs and toast. Afterward, she cleaned the fish and hung it from a hook above the fireplace. As soon as the meat dried, she put it into a basket and placed it in her saddlebags.
During her days off, she spent hours riding around the countryside. The farther west she drove, the more she noticed how different the landscape became. There were fewer trees. More flat land. Fewer hills. The sun seemed brighter here. The air felt thicker. Like a hot breath pressing against her skin.
She never stayed anywhere long enough to get used to the scenery. Instead, she moved on. On her third week in Kansas, she decided to drive south toward Colorado instead of continuing east. She wanted to see more of this part of America before she headed home.
That morning, she woke up early and packed the last few items in her saddlebag. She saddled her horse. Unloaded the wagon bed and strapped the cover onto it. Then she led the horse to the corral. By the time she mounted her horse, she saw several wagons already parked by the side of the road. A man named Dave Williams greeted her.
“Good morning!” he called as he approached. “Where are you headed today?”
“Colorado,” she replied. “My family lives in Denver.”
Dave nodded. “Me, too,” he said. “Heading to Colorado Springs tomorrow. Going to visit my daughter-in-law’s mother. I haven’t seen her since Christmas. It’s nice to meet someone heading in the same direction.”
They talked about their families. Their jobs. Their plans. After he left, she continued driving north.
Once, a herd of buffalo crossed the road ahead of her. Another time, a flock of wild turkeys flew overhead. Herding sheep, she thought. Just like those men who brought their livestock down from Wyoming. And where were these animals going? To market? Perhaps to slaughterhouses?
She wondered why the ranchers didn’t kill the animals themselves. Why did they allow other people to handle it for them? Did they really trust others to do their dirty work? Were the ranchers afraid of getting hurt? Or did they simply not want to spend time killing cattle or sheep? If she knew anything about ranching, she might understand why.
After lunch, she drove through a small mountain range. Clouds formed a blanket of gray across the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain began to fall. At first, it fell gently. But as she climbed higher, the rain grew heavier. Soon, she couldn’t see the road.
Water pooled in front of her, soaking her boots. The windshield wipers sloshed water back and forth. She pulled the wagon to the side of the road, and she tied the horses to a tree branch. Then she ran inside to fetch her hat and jacket.
By the time she stepped outside again, the storm had passed. But the clouds remained heavy. Gray. Dark. Vaguely threatening. The wind picked up, whipping at her hair, tugging at her clothing. In spite of the weather, she enjoyed being outdoors. The fresh air felt good after sitting indoors for so many months.
Her mind wandered as she rode. Thinking of her father. Wondering if he missed her yet. When would he finally decide to come out West? He promised to join her in Montana. Wherever that was. Would he still be alive when she arrived? Would he have died while waiting for his son to arrive? Was he worried about her now? Worried about the danger she’d gotten herself into?
It wasn’t much longer before she reached the base of the mountains. She stopped for a moment. Sat quietly. Let the silence settle over her. This was her favorite part of driving along the road. Watching the landscape change. Seeing new things each day. Each hour.
She loved the vastness of the Rocky Mountains. Loved watching the peaks rise up in the distance, casting long shadows across the valley below.
On one occasion, she came upon a herd of elk grazing near a pond. They watched her approach with great interest. One of the large antelope raised its head, sniffed the air, then stared straight at her. With wide eyes, it lowered its horned head. The rest of the herd followed suit.
A group of deer also stood nearby. They looked at her but showed no sign of fear. Not until she got closer. That’s when they bolted away. As quickly as possible. Too frightened to look back. Too terrified to run fast enough.
Other than the elk and deer, she rarely saw wildlife during her drives. Probably because she traveled alone most of the time. No one else bothered to ride along. Everyone seemed busy tending to their own affairs. Fending off bandits and thieves, settling disputes between neighbors, and building fences. Fighting fires.
But she heard plenty of gunshots. Some shots sounded like warning shots. Others sounded like angry ones. Angry at the enemy, perhaps. Other times, she heard shots fired in anger at something completely unrelated—like a neighbor’s dog. Sometimes, she even heard gunfire directed at the sound of thunder.
The next morning, she took a short break at an old log cabin. It sat on the top of a hill. A lone tree stood beside it. Beside it. Not beside it. Close to it. Very close. Almost touching. The trunk of the tree rose high above the roof of the house.
Large branches stretched toward the ground. Thick roots dug deep into the soil. Roots and branches intertwined. Trees. Roofs. Doors. Windows. Everything connected. Like a single organism.
When she returned to the wagon, she noticed two sets of footprints in the dirt. Someone must have been here earlier this morning. While she ate breakfast, someone must have walked around the property. Maybe to check on the condition of the fence, or to tend to some other task. Now, there were only three sets of prints. Two of them belonged to her, and the third set belonged to someone else.
Was it the same person who made the tracks? She didn’t think so. There weren’t any tire marks. Nothing to indicate that anyone had driven the wagon here. Only footprints.
She continued traveling east. For several miles, the trail led through open prairie. Then, the grassy plains gave way to rocky terrain. Tall boulders jutted from the earth. Rocks lay scattered throughout the area. Some were as big as houses.
And some smaller rocks might fit under your arm. All of which could make for a deadly situation if you happened to step on one of them by accident.
She continued riding, taking breaks every few hours. By late afternoon, she turned southward and headed toward Denver.
***
“I’ll tell you what I want,” said Jack, leaning forward on his chair. “You’re going to get me, my wife.”
Shannon studied him. Studied his face, his hands, and his body language. His expression never changed. Didn’t waver. Didn’t show emotion. But his words did. More than once, Shannon thought she caught him smirking. Or grinning. At least, that’s how it appeared to her.
What he really wanted was impossible. Impossible to accomplish. If not for her help, he’d likely still be searching. Looking. Searching again. Hoping to find her.
He’d met her many years ago, in San Francisco. Her first assignment after being hired by Blackstone Detective Agency. She hadn’t known then just how dangerous Jack could be. How ruthless. How cold-blooded. So, she ignored the warning signs. Ignored the fact that he was married. Had a wife. And kids.
She learned too late that Jack was capable of anything. Anything except telling the truth.
After all these years, she knew Jack well. Knew how he thought. What drove him. He’d spent most of his life chasing criminals. Criminals who committed crimes against others. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. Gangsters. Thieves and murderers. People like Jack. People who killed without compunction. Without mercy.
Now, Jack had taken up another hobby: hunting down women. Women who were already dead. In some cases, the woman lived. In other cases, the woman died. Either way, Jack hunted for revenge. Revenge for the loss of his wife. Revenge for the pain inflicted upon his children. Revenge for losing everything. Even revenge for the death of his brother.
Why? Why does he hunt down killers? Does he seek vengeance? Revenge for the deaths of his parents? His brother? Did he ever love his wife? Did he ever care about his children? Was there anyone left alive in his family?
What happened to Jack’s wife?
Where is she now? Is she buried with Jack? Buried somewhere far away from this city? Or is she buried right here in Denver?
A man with no heart. With no conscience. Who would do whatever it takes to get what he wants?
Jack leaned back in his seat. Stared out the window. Took a sip of coffee. Smiled at nothing in particular. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Lane.”
His voice wasn’t loud enough for anyone else to hear. Yet, she heard it clearly. Heard him perfectly clear. Just like she always did when she spoke with him.
For over fifteen years, they worked together. Laughed together. Worked side by side. Learned to trust each other. To respect each other. Both professionally and personally. Neither of us liked the idea of sleeping with the enemy. That meant sharing our bed—and more often than we should—with people we shouldn’t.
Working with Jack was like working with a wolf. A beast. An animal. Dangerous. Powerful. Unpredictable.
And unpredictable is exactly why she chose him for this mission.
If he was going to kill her, he’d done it by now. It wouldn’t matter if she wore an ankle holster or carried a gun concealed under her coat. The moment he got close enough, he’d know where she kept the weapon. And he’d use it to shoot her between the eyes before she could draw.
She didn’t feel threatened. Not anymore. No longer feared. Never felt afraid. As long as he stayed outside of Colorado.
The door opened behind her. “Excuse me.”
She turned around. Saw a young woman enter the office. A young woman wearing a white shirt. White slacks. And a white hat.
Her hair fell below her shoulders. She looked like a girl. Not someone old enough to have a daughter in college. Someone who couldn’t possibly be Jack’s wife.
“This is my daughter, Jessie,” he said.
Jessie glanced at Shannon. Then smiled politely.
“We haven’t met yet,” she said.
“Well, let me introduce you. This is Shannon Lane.”
They shook hands. “Nice meeting you.”
With that, Jessie left the room. Left them alone.
So much for a friendly conversation.
The End