Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (28 page)

Both men’s foreheads wrinkled.

Kate suppressed a smile. “I think she means
blog
.”

“Yes, blob—that’s it.” Dymple placed her free hand on her waist. “I will
blob
the entire world.”

Deputy Ramirez smirked.

“We get the point.” Bernard turned to his partner. “Let’s talk it over in the car.” He aimed a finger at Kate. “Remain where you are.”

As they walked away, Kate squeezed Dymple’s hand. “Thanks for defending me, Dymple. But they can’t change their orders. I’m sorry I sucked you into this mess.”

“God brought you here for a reason, sweetie. I plan to stand by your statue, no matter where this leads.”

“Oh, Dymple …” That was all she could say. Nobody had ever offered to stand by her statue, with or without pigeons.

“If you want, I’ll pray for you right now.”

“Please.” She was definitely in need of prayer.

Dymple set the basket on the ground and took Kate’s hand. Raising both of their hands above their heads, she began to pray. “Master of the universe, amazing Creator of every single thing on this puny planet and beyond, Lover and Redeemer of my dear, sweet friend, Kate Neilson—you know all about everything that’s going on down here, but I’ll tell you, anyway. We are desperate, oh, so desperate for a miracle. Kate is in no condition to go to jail. Besides, you and I both know she’s innocent.”

Kate blinked her eyes open. How did Dymple know that?

Car doors slammed. Kate watched the men walk up the path. Officer Ramirez carried a black case.

Dymple paused, still holding their hands high. “You not only love Kate, Lord, you love these officers, who are just doing their job.”

The men took off their hats and bowed their heads.

“May your Spirit descend on my humble home while they search it.” The timbre of Dymple’s voice became fuller, deeper, the crackle nearly a rumble. “Fill their hearts with courage to do the right thing, to be men of integrity, knowing you see and judge their every movement, their every action.” She cleared her throat. “In your most worthy, holy, awesome name, I pray. Amen.”

Amused by Dymple’s God-is-watching-you tactic, Kate grinned and whispered, “Amen.”

The officers shot each other side-glances as they replaced their caps.

Dymple lowered their arms. “What’s the verdict, gentlemen?”

Kate winced.
Verdict.
Not a word she enjoyed hearing.

Bernard glowered at Dymple. “The sheriff said house arrest is permissible until the case goes to trial.”

Kate expelled the breath she’d held captive.

Dymple folded her arms. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Deputy Ramirez cleared his throat. “House arrest means we’ll limit where she goes and how often she leaves this place. That is, if you’re willing to keep her here, Miss Forbes. Plus …” He knelt on the ground, opened the case he carried, and pulled out a black strap. “We’ll attach this monitor to her ankle to track—”

Dymple interrupted. “Stop right there, young man. Kate can stay here as long as she needs. And we’ll comply with the house-arrest rules. But you are
not
, I repeat—
not
putting that thing on her leg. She just suffered a severe injury and won’t be going
anywhere
unless I drive her. I’ll take her to church and to town for doctor visits and shopping. If anything else comes up, I’ll call the department to get persimmons.”

Kate tapped her arm. “Permission.”

“Permission.”

Bernard huffed. “Those are not our orders.”

Dymple scowled at the men. “They’re
my
orders. Sheriff Gilmer, who’s also a personal friend, can call me for clarification.”

The men looked at each other.

Kate felt invisible, even though she was the subject of the discussion. She also felt dizzy. “If you don’t mind, I need to lie down.”

The men jumped to attention and helped her to a nearby bench.

Dymple brought a pillow from the house. She placed it under Kate’s head before turning to the men. “Do you plan to do the searching or the arresting first?”

Bernard answered. “How about you ladies relax out here while we go through the house. When we’re finished, we’ll read Miss Neilson her rights and do the paperwork.”

They started toward the door, but Dymple raised her hand. “One more thing. Not a hint of Kate’s arrest will be leaked to the public.”

Bernard frowned. “The newspaper always calls us—”

“Not
one word
, Bernie, not even to the Duncans, or I will consider my privacy violated, which could become embarrassing for the Sheriff’s Department and risky for your paycheck.”

Bernard rolled his eyes and swatted at a wasp that landed on his cheek.

Dymple lifted an eyebrow. “You obviously prefer I discuss this matter with your boss, which I will do while you nose around my home.”

He grunted and looked at Ramirez. “Let’s get busy.”

Kate pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. Evidently, the former schoolteacher hadn’t lost her touch.

Dymple sat in the wheelchair. “Can I bring you anything? This can’t be easy for you.”

Kate watched clouds float overhead. “I feel surprisingly relaxed, even though I’m petrified I might go back …” She stopped. Being arrested again didn’t mean she had to tell Dymple or anyone else she’d already done time.

She grinned at Dymple. “Because you told me to ‘smoke’ that Bible verse this morning, I just keep telling myself—and God—that he promised to work everything out for good.” She clasped her hands behind her head. “I don’t have a clue how he can bring good out of being arrested and charged with a crime I didn’t commit, but what choice do I have other than to rely on him to take care of me?”

“Christians are not puppets. You have a choice. Just remember, no matter what happens, God is delighted with you.”

“Thank you for reminding me.” She looked at Dymple. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you really friends with the sheriff and the governor? Or were you bluffing?”

“You think I would lie, especially to officers of the law?”

“No, but …”

“After you’ve lived in Wyoming a while, you’ll understand.”

Kate looked away. She wouldn’t be in Wyoming long, unless she ended up in the state pen.

“Wyoming is a big state land-wise, one of the largest in the country. Yet we have the smallest population of all the states, around five hundred thousand residents.”

“Metro Pittsburgh has almost five times that many people.”

“Even though we’re spread out, it’s easy to have friends and relatives in every corner of our square state. One such friend, the governor’s mother, Sylvia, was my roommate when we attended the University of Wyoming a thousand moons ago. We’re still close friends. And Sheriff Gilmer? Let’s just say he knows who his supporters are in Carbon County.”

“You’re amazing, Dymple. I feel privileged to have a friend in high places.”

Dymple slowly rose to her feet.

Kate cringed at the sound of popping joints.

“The only friend in high places that counts …” Dymple straightened. “Is God. Even though he’s above and beyond all, he’s a friend who sticks closer than a brother, because he lives within us. He’s a friend who walks before us, beside us and behind us, a friend who promised to never leave us or turn his back on us. Don’t forget that.”

Kate watched her caretaker hobble into her home. House arrest was not something she looked forward to, but she had much to learn about life and about God. Dymple would be an excellent teacher.

And maybe, just maybe, Mike would visit them again. But he’d been so angry when he left. Would he understand if she called and tried to explain things to him? Could she do it without revealing too much?

Chapter Twenty-Three

MIKE AND CLINT MET
on the road below the bison pasture.

Mike leaned out his window. “The branding is done, thank God. It’s been hanging over my head all spring.”

Clint flicked a grasshopper off the outside mirror of his truck. “Just be glad we don’t have to brand the buffalo.”

“We’ll wish we’d branded them, if we find another hole in the fence today and no bison.” He couldn’t erase the vision of his entire herd wandering through the forest. They’d be impossible to round up.

Clint eyeballed the fence. “Fence looks good from here, but you never know. Want to drive together or separate?”

“Let’s go opposite directions and meet at the top of the hill. If either of us sees a problem, we’ll radio. We should be finished in time for lunch.”

Mike guided his truck close to the fence line. The sunshine felt good on his shoulder. He still hadn’t fixed the window, but today that was okay. He settled in the seat, his right hand reaching for Tramp. Before his fingers hit the vinyl, he remembered his dog—and Kate. He sighed. They’d both been away from the ranch too long.

The good news was that Tramp was on the mend. Dr. Hall had told him yesterday he might be able to reclaim his dog next week. But he’d warned him it would be weeks, maybe months before the collie roamed the ranch again. “To be honest,” the vet had said, “he’ll never be as active and agile as he was before the attack.”

Mike stopped the truck and slid across the seat to the passenger door. He stepped out to jiggle a fence post that looked loose. But it felt solid. He removed his hat to let the breeze cool his head. The grass was tall and green this year, the cattle and bison thriving. His dad would have been pleased. The drought years had weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Mike ran his fingers through his hair before returning his hat to his head. But no matter how bad things got, his dad never lost his sense of humor.

Just the thought of his father’s wide grin and contagious laugh made him smile. He climbed back into the truck. If he didn’t get a move on, Clint would be coming down the hill looking for him. Without his dad’s guidance, it was good to have Clint for a foreman. Not only was he smart and dependable, he was a good friend—his best friend.

***

A flock of birds circled above the cemetery, jabbering like a schoolyard full of first graders. Kate watched them, thinking her Aunt Mary would say they were
raising a ruckus
. She should call her great-aunt, but could she tell her she was no longer at the ranch without letting it slip she’d been arrested again?

She eyed Dymple’s Jeep parked next to the deputies’ SUV. The keys hung on a hook just inside the front door. All she had to do was feel alongside the doorframe for the key ring and lift the keys off the hook, something she could do—even from a wheelchair—without the officers noticing. And then …

And then it would be impossible to prove her innocence. Back to square one. The birds swooped up in a massive black cloud and whirled out of sight.

Square one—make good decisions. Contrary to her ingrained instincts, she could not—would not—run this time. Staying put when she had an opportunity to escape imprisonment was even harder than turning herself in to the deputies.

Square two—find a good lawyer, one who could prove somebody else stole the money. Her many appearances in court had taught her the importance of an able attorney, which meant she needed to make money to hire one. And that meant she needed to find a job.

She struggled to sit up and maneuver into the wheelchair. Fatigue washed through her body, and she no longer cared about anything—the arrest, court, prison or the internship. All she wanted was to crawl into bed, burrow down inside the covers and sleep for hours, maybe days.

But she grasped the wheels and rolled them forward, feeling a knowing empathy for Dymple’s constant pain. Her whole body ached. Maybe she’d have a pain pill and a nap after the deputies left.

Back at the patio table, she studied an Internet list of marketing internships in Colorado. Most were with Denver firms. She didn’t want to live in a large city again. But … She sighed.
Beggars can’t be choosers
. She switched to a different program and opened a resume template.

On the other side of the patio door, oven hinges squeaked and cupboard doors slammed. The deputies were certainly thorough. They’d probably want to examine her wheelchair and inspect the cast on her leg.

Before Kate finished typing her name, she realized the futility of sending out applications. She couldn’t drive a car or leave Dymple’s house, let alone the state, for interviews. She didn’t know how long she’d be under arrest or when she’d go to trial. Or if she’d be sent to prison. If she was offered an internship, she wouldn’t be able to tell an employer when she could start.

Oh, well. She’d just have to pray the state assigned a good public defender to her case. She closed the resume and signed into her Facebook account. Maybe she’d write Amy a note instead. It would be nice to communicate with someone who understood what she was going through, someone who’d also contributed to recidivism statistics.

Six messages. That was a surprise. She’d had the account for two months but only friended four people so far. Kate clicked the icon and grinned. The messages were all from Amy. Her friend’s funny missives never failed to make her smile.

The first one read:
Kate, did you ride off into the sunset with the most gorgeous cowboy on earth? I haven’t heard from you in ages!!!
The second added:
Okay. So maybe you got stampeded by a buffalo herd instead. P.S. I hope not!

Kate laughed out loud.

Then:
What’s the deal with the weird e-mails? Did you fall off the wagon?

Kate frowned. What did that mean?

She opened the next message.
Kate, we’ve got to talk. Were you serious when you wrote that you were going to “drain this dump of every cent they have,” and “My bank account is bulging now?” What’s wrong with you? Call me ASAP!

The final two notes made even less sense.
WHERE ARE YOU, KATHERINE JOY NEILSON??? I’ve tried your cell phone and the phone in your cabin. I leave messages, but you don’t return my calls. And what did that last e-mail mean—“diamonds are a girl’s best friend”? Are you engaged? Did you break into a jewelry store? I’m trying not to panic, but I’m really, REALLY worried about you. If this is a joke, I’m not laughing.