Now and Always Read online

  Maybe Warren was like Katie, content to wait until Mrs. Right came along, though rumor also had it he’d been involved in a pretty nasty breakup prior to leaving the Big Apple.

  Katie didn’t have time to brood about her own lack of social life, much less Warren Tate’s. Taking care of Grandpops until he died took time, then establishing the shelter … She glanced at her watch. “Oh, granny’s skirts! I was due at the airport fifteen minutes ago!”

  Warren turned to look at her. “New guest?”

  Katie nodded. Everyone around knew that she took in battered women, but the town kept the information to themselves. Little Bush was a close-knit community, loyal to a fault, and the Addisons had been part of the community as far back as anyone remembered. It wasn’t a large community, though it had grown since Katie graduated from high school. A couple of factories had moved in, and a few hometown boys made good, investing time and money into the community. Quite a few mom-and-pop businesses had sprung up, and the chamber of commerce boasted a healthy number of members. The town still had most of the original buildings, reminders that Little Bush was an old town with roots going back a long way. But there was still a hint of wildness, a feel of the frontier that outsiders sometimes found intimidating. If they wanted something more, Sundance and Gillette were a short drive away, and Cody, if you really wanted an outing.

  Katie’s Grandpops, old man Addison as the locals called him, was a crusty Little Bush councilman before he died six years ago. Paul and Willa Addison, Katie’s maternal grandparents, had raised Katie from an infant when their daughter had been shot and killed by her jealous husband.

  Because of the abuse in her background, if mistreated women needed protection, Katie gave it, and Little Bush enforced it. Katie had been young, but she still remembered her mother’s dying screams. They had been seared into her memory, and she vowed she would protect helpless women — with her own life if necessary — when she grew up.

  Katie’s thoughts returned to Warren. “What happens to the surviving animals?” She stepped back, allowing an emergency worker to pass.

  He shook his head. “Overheard someone speculate they were on their way to the slaughterhouse.”

  Katie’s jaw dropped. Slaughterhouse! She knew these things happened, but … slaughterhouse?

  “Why?”

  “Why? Greed, of course.”

  Katie had heard that animal byproducts was a huge business, but to see evidence of the cruelty turned her stomach. Sure, she was accused of taking in every stray that wandered her way, and if her house and yard were any indication of her being a pushover, she couldn’t argue with the accusation. But horses, innocent animals, on their way to becoming glue or paste, or whatever they did with them, appalled her.

  “How can they do that? The survivors. Where will they go? Who is going to take care of them till they heal?”

  Warren shrugged. “If the rumors are true, they’ll continue to their destination. If not, then I really don’t know. Maybe they’ll go to the humane society. I can’t really say.”

  “I want them.”

  Warren glanced over. “You want them?”

  “Yes. I want them if all that awaits them is the slaughterhouse. Who do I talk to?”

  He shook his head, a grin shadowing the corners of his mouth. His clean-shaven features hadn’t changed much over the years; his youthful complexion had cleared, but faded acne scars still shadowed his cheeks. Wall Street’s pressure had done a job on him, folks said. Made him cynical. Sick of life. He pretty much stayed to himself, only going into town for groceries and supplies every couple of weeks.

  He shifted. “I see the years haven’t changed you.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning you’re still a bleeding-heart trying to take care of the whole world.”

  Katie shrugged. “And that’s a bad thing?” That was most people’s problem; because they couldn’t take care of everything, they quit trying to take care of the things they could. Katie believed one person’s efforts, regardless of how puny, made a difference, and she tried to live her life accordingly.

  Katie’s cell phone rang and she punched the on button. “Yes, this is Katie. Oh. Hi. Yes, I meant to call you this morning about the feed bill. I’ll have the payment to you by morning — yes, in the morning. No later, Sue.” Katie flashed a lame grin in Warren’s direction. “Yeah, can’t really talk now. Thanks for calling.” She clicked the off button and resumed the conversation with Warren without missing a beat. “I really have to go. Who do I see about getting the animals?”

  “You’ve got room for four near-dead horses?”

  “I’ve got a barn and pasture. I’ll make room.”

  Shaking his head, Warren focused on the activity. “I haven’t acquired injured horses on their way to the slaughterhouse, but I suppose if I was planning on it, I’d start by consulting Ben O’Keefe. Most likely he can trace the owner’s name, maybe talk to the people at USDA or the humane society.”

  “Ben?” Her eyes tracked the sheriff, busy trying to redirect traffic. “You think he’d help?” Not likely. She and Ben had been at sword’s point since the night all those years ago when he’d failed to show up for their high school prom. The man had stood her up. She didn’t hold grudges, but neither had she necessarily treated him cordially since that humiliating evening so long ago. She wasn’t sure he would be overly eager to help her, though lately he’d been teasing her about dating. As if she’d date a man she couldn’t trust. She hadn’t stayed single all of her thirty-six years by practicing stupidity. Like Warren, she’d known Ben most of her life, but the two boys — at least at the time they were boys — were as different as rain and fire. Warren, though a nerd, had always been kind, courteous, with dark complexion and dark eyes, while Ben had rugged features, ruddy complexion, and unruly curly red hair. Feisty features — maddening features when she was sitting in a prom gown waiting for the man to show up. Warren’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You’d have to pay the person who owns them something, I suppose — though if they’re injured enough, he might pay you to take them off his hands.”

  Katie shrugged and scribbled down the information on a notepad. “Thanks, Warren. Good to see you back.”

  “No problem.” He tipped his Stetson. “I suppose your lady guest has an escort with her?”

  Ah yes, this woman would have high security. Katie had been reluctant to take this particular case. She wouldn’t have if a college schoolmate-turned-judge hadn’t pleaded with her to give the woman temporary shelter and anonymity, the latter being of utmost importance. Elections were coming up, and if word spread that the party candidate was married to a wife beater, the party could lose a Senate seat. Katie’s shelter only held three — no more than four women at the most, and with this celebrity arrival the house was full.

  “She’s with an escort. I’ll phone and tell them I’m running late.” Katie turned to thread her way through the onlookers and emergency vehicles. “Oh!” She whirled and cupped her hands to her mouth to be heard above the crowd. “Hey Ben?”

  The sheriff was immersed in the rescue efforts, and she had to yell twice before she got his attention. “Yo?”

  “If I get permission to take the horses to the ranch, can you haul them for me?” She knew he had all sorts of stock trailers, big and small. She’d had one several years back, but it was out of commission now, and it only hauled one horse.

  Katie wasn’t surprised when Ben’s usual edginess with her flared. “Katie Addison, before you can take care of the world, you’d better take care of yourself!”

  “Yada yada! Can you haul my horses?”

  Eyes the color of cool summer ponds met hers. Katie held her breath. Even she realized the audacity of her request. Why would this man give her the time of day when she probably wouldn’t have reciprocated? But he could easily say no. And he never gave up on asking her for a date. Two weeks ago, they happened to land side by side in stadium bleachers at the local Legion high school ball
game, and he tried to entice her, or she supposed. “Want to get a hot dog afterwards?” constituted his idea of a date. She had refused, yet her pride had not kept her from eating half of his bag of popcorn.

  Warren trailed Katie. “I’ll haul them for you.”

  She turned. “You will?”

  If he was being polite, the geek-turned-prince was too much of a neighbor to retract the offer. He nodded. “If you manage to get the horses, give me a call.”

  “Thanks!” She tossed him a salute, then cupped her hands and called to Ben. “Never mind!”

  He barely glanced her way as he continued to divert traffic.

  Katie bolted for the jeep. Her guest’s plane had landed over thirty minutes ago.

  Inside the vehicle, she turned the ignition key, her eyes catching sight of the gold bracelet Grandpops had given her his last Christmas on earth. The thin chain had one tiny charm that read, “Expect a miracle.”

  She’d need a miracle to get those horses, but she was going to try like blue blazes to pull it off. How hard could it be? Adopting horses on their way to doom?

  Where would she get the money if the owner required cash?

  Starting the jeep, she decided she’d see if Ben would help her locate the horses’ owner before she started worrying about finances.

  Warren turned and watched Katie drive out of sight. She hadn’t changed an iota over the years. Blonde hair still worn in a chin length cut, hazel eyes, taller than most women. She was easily still the prettiest girl in Little Bush, and still determined to save the world. Katie had been the champion of the underdog since kindergarten. He’d admired her for her faith in people back then, but years spent trying to survive in the real world had taught him that very few cared about anything except advancing their own agenda. Apparently Katie Addison hadn’t learned that yet. In his opinion, bad choices run in families. Katie’s mom and fraternal grandmother had been involved with abusive men — Katie’s mom had died at the hands of one, and Katie was determined to keep her private women’s shelter open when obviously money was tight.

  What did it take to shake her faith? A Wyoming tsunami?

  Warren glanced at the disappearing jeep. If it was possible, he’d get those horses for Katie. Not because he had any interest in her personally — he’d had his fill of females, especially independent females, which described Katie Addison to a tee.

  But horses were a different story. For horses, he would compromise his convictions to stay far, far away from females. All females.

  Two

  Katie swerved around a slow-moving pickup, trying to make up time. The airport wasn’t equipped to handle large aircraft, but private planes and commuter jets came in regularly. She braked and slid out of the jeep, her leather soled boots clicking on the pavement. It wouldn’t be hard to recognize her newest guest. Clara Townsend’s face was plastered on Katie’s TV screen every day, a dozen times a day. Calm and poised, the politician appeared level headed, confident, and a far cry from most guests at the shelter. Why would a woman with Clara’s apparent intelligence put up with an abusive husband, and how had she managed to avoid the knowledge going public? The violence could be a recent occurrence, maybe even a onetime incident. Or the abuse could just now be surfacing.

  Understandably, the knowledge that Neil Townsend was a wife batterer would affect the election. People expected a woman to be tough enough and hard enough to make it in a male-dominated world. The scandal of the abuse and potential divorce could very well cost Mrs. Townsend the election. Katie had seen Clara’s husband, a former campaign advisor, on TV and didn’t care for him. He was a fat cat, flashing a large diamond pinkie ring. Television lights reflected off his shaven head, and he snarled and snapped at anyone who crossed him. He reminded Katie of a sleazy pit bull. How could a woman like Clara, a respected senator, put up with the man? No, not man. Katie refused to classify men in general with an abuser. There were too many good men in the world, but a few tarnished the name.

  Katie strode into the terminal searching for a woman with flame red hair wearing a power suit. No one immediately met that description or resembled Clara Townsend. Had Clara and her escort grown tired of waiting for her and left, or had they actually come in the first place? Katie’s eyes skimmed the near-empty terminal. She didn’t want to inquire if Mrs. Townsend’s private plane had arrived, since her presence in Little Bush was to remain quiet — and she was probably traveling incognito. Katie stifled a sigh of exasperation and glanced at her watch again. Where was she? Tottie would hold supper only so long.

  A slender female with long black hair approached, followed by a couple of casually dressed men wearing dark glasses. Katie noted the ugly green bruises on both sides of the woman’s oval-shaped face, injuries that makeup failed to conceal. The politician paused in front of her, removing a pair of jewel-rimmed sunglasses.

  Katie suddenly remembered her appearance. She’d been dashing around in smoke, helping to free the horses, and climbing through wreckage. She smelled of smoke, sweat, and blood. A smear of black grease marred the once pristine surface of her white shirt.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Addison?”

  Katie nodded. “I’m Katie Addison.”

  “Clara Townsend.” She flicked a gloved hand in the men’s directions, and they picked up a half dozen bags.

  This poor woman looked nothing like the suave, polished Senator Townsend Katie saw on the national news every night.

  The woman lifted a dark, bruised brow. “You’re late.”

  “I … there was an accident.”

  Townsend brushed the explanation aside. “My time is valuable. In the future, be prompt.” She stepped ahead of Katie and headed toward the exit door.

  Speechless, Katie viewed the stack of bags occupying the men’s arms. “Mrs. Townsend … I … your room … The shelter can’t accommodate that much luggage. One bag. House rule. You’ll have laundry facilities …” Her words trailed off as she hurriedly fell into step with the entourage that wasn’t listening to her. She might as well be a vending machine offering bags of trans fat.

  “I never go anywhere without a complete wardrobe.” Townsend shoved her way through the glass doorway and outside to the parking lot, where she paused.

  “You do now.” Katie stopped beside her, appalled at her manners. She didn’t want to cause trouble or bring unnecessary stress to the politician, but rules were rules. Besides, Tot-tie would have fits if Katie let this woman drag in six bags, and if Tottie wasn’t happy, nobody was happy. House rule number one.

  “You’ll have to clear that with my people.” Clara’s eyes searched the parking area. “Where’s my transportation?”

  Katie scooted around the baggage-toting men. This was turning ugly. Way to go, Katie. Alienate a guest first thing. Realdiplomatic. She inclined her head to the jeep sitting on the first row. Her lips firmed. She towered above the petite politician who was wearing three-inch boots. Katie felt like a giraffe in flats with an attitude. “One bag, Mrs. Townsend. House rule.”

  The woman’s tone was anything but compliant. “Surely you’re not serious.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I surely am.” Katie flashed a smile. Judge Amy would throttle her if she failed to protect this woman, but she had a feeling the woman was going to be hard to control.

  Clara stared at her for a full minute before heaving a sigh of disgust. “All right, one stinking bag.”

  Well, it doesn’t have to be stinking, Mrs. Townsend.

  The men began to organize her bags into one full of the essentials, and Clara, lips pursed, snapped, “I will require a private room and bath.”

  Katie bit back a snort. Yeah, right. The shelter women were going to love this one. They’d eat Townsend alive, especially Meg. Young, tough Meg, fresh off the streets, single and pregnant, could hold her own with anyone except the boyfriend who’d beat her so badly he’d put her in the hospital for a long stay. By now the entourage reached the jeep, and Clara peeled off the black wig, leaving her natu
ral short-cropped, flame red hair standing in spikes. She glanced at Katie, her eyes daring her to say something. “It’s hot and it itches. But it served its purpose. No one noticed me.”

  Why, not a living soul in Little Bush — a town of three hundred — would think anything was amiss if they spotted two strange men wearing dark glasses and juggling six designer bags between them, stepping out of a private jet with a large T emblazoned on the tail stabilizer. “To err on caution’s side, I’m going to ask you to wear the wig until we reach the shelter.”

  The woman didn’t like the order, but Katie was relieved when the politician put the wig back on. The men loaded her bag in the jeep and stepped back.

  Clara stared out the window as Katie wheeled out of the parking lot and headed back to the shelter. “How far are we from civilization?”

  “This is as civilized as it gets.” Katie drew a deep, appreciative breath and nearly choked on the smell of smoke coming through the open window. “Fresh air and wide open spaces.”

  The woman turned to stare at her. “You’re kidding, right? What do we do to keep from going mad?”

  Katie made a right turn onto the highway. “We have books and television, hiking trails, and of course, I encourage our guests to help with chores. Make their beds, help with laundry, kitchen work.”

  Clara snorted. “In your dreams.”

  Katie mentally sighed and shifted into third gear. How far off was that election? Less than four weeks? Thank you, Lord. Until tonight Katie had been undecided in the Senate race, but her mind was suddenly crystal clear. She couldn’t remember offhand the name of Clara’s opponent, but whoever it was, he or she had just gained another vote.