The Milkmaid Pt. 03

"No, Owen! You burn the house and you won't get the money! It's hidden here somewhere, but you'll never find it! And the boy doesn't have anything to do with this other than defending his home!" she shouted back at him. "They've let me stay here but he doesn't know anything and doesn't mean anything to me! Nothing! He doesn't know who you are and hasn't seen your face. Promise you'll let him go and I'll come out and give you the money."

Realizing what she was saying, I turned to face her, only to see the Model 12 pointed at me.

"I'm so sorry, Nick. I was hoping, so very much, that it wouldn't come to this, that they'd get my Bronco working and that I'd be able to escape before they tracked me down. They must have driven by and seen it at the shop. Now, you've got to go, because if you stay, he'll kill you. Go, out the window, onto the roof. Hide and you'll be safe."

"No, Jessi. You can't—"

"Shut up and do it or I'll shoot you myself, asshole! Do you have any idea how hard it's been pretending to like you so much and not be who I really am? I'm a hostess having to play up to people, sort of like an actress, so I'm used to it in a way. And, yeah, you're a great fuck but you're twenty-one. Almost, anyway. Kids your age are supposed to be a great fuck. Can't you see? I used you but you had to go and be a friend, which is why I have to at least give you a chance. Go and run!"

"Jessi, don't do this."

The Model 12 is a double action revolver, but Jessi cocked the hammer, making the upcoming round single-action. With her finger on the trigger, the slightest pull on the trigger, even a twitch, would fire it at me and kill me. Defeated and realizing she really didn't care about me, I went for Dad's window, opening it.

I reached for the shotgun and the backpack as I started out the window.

"Leave them," she said. "You won't need them. Out the window, Nick, down, and run. Don't stop running, please? We'll be gone in a few and you'll never see Owen or me again."

I went out the window, ran to the end of the porch's roof, and dropped to the ground below.

***

Jessi had been determined to get me out of the room, away from Owen. She'd said some terrible things, but I wasn't sure if she meant what she said or if it was all so she could give herself up to save me. When she told me to run, she'd even said "please" as if she'd meant it. Could she really care that much about me? I didn't know.

But in all that had happened, I knew two things Jessi didn't know. First, tucked in the back of my waistband was Grandpa Earl Buice's 1911 with a full magazine of seven rounds and one in the chamber. Second, I'd fallen in love with her—okay, maybe she did know that part, but she never let me admit it—and, this was the important part, I wasn't going to give her up without one hell of a fight. Making my way to the back of the house, I slipped around the corner.

Looking into the screened porch at the rear, I saw the back door was open, lit up by the security lamp on the pole at the corner of the equipment shed. I was opening the screen door to the porch when a shadow passed the door and a pistol emerged. I dived sideways as it blasted at me, one, two, three, four rounds in rapid succession. I had no idea what the guy was carrying or how many rounds it held so I scooted along on the ground for a few feet before rising up. More rounds came my way leading me to run away, back, away from the house, toward the equipment shed.

Several rounds hit around my feet or near me as I went, faster than I'd run since that last game four years ago where I'd caught the ball, dodged several defenders, and scored the touchdown on a 58-yard play. It was the biggest play of my career and one I swore I'd never forget before having my football-playing days end just minutes later on the third play of our next series of downs.

The rush I'd felt that night was back as I bolted for the corner of the shed with a zig and zag before slipping inside the open front of the shed. The last round fired hit the metal siding and pole next to me just as I entered. I ducked behind the planter, effectively hiding in the shadows, another round ricocheting off the planter's frame.

"I'm coming to get you, kid," said the man as he approached the shed, dropping his empty magazine and loading another. While I wasn't sure, I didn't think it was Owen's voice.

I was moving down the back of the planter, getting ready to move over behind the baler when I heard him hit the slide release, stripping a round from the new magazine and chambering it. I tried to think how many he'd fired earlier and during my sprint, eventually settling on at least thirteen and possibly several more. Now, I knew, I'd have to dodge that many more to escape him again...or I'd have to kill him with only a round or two so I'd still have enough to deal with Owen and save Jessi.

Timbo, I guessed—or was it Bull or Marco?—flipped on his flashlight where I'd entered the shed, moving in slowly with the flashlight in his left hand and his right with the big semi-automatic resting across his left wrist. I think he realized the security light was lighting him up and allowing me to see him just after I saw this, for he emerged from the shed and fired two rounds at the light, breaking the bulb and throwing a spark before the area sank into darkness.

Perhaps surprisingly, I was glad the light was gone, for now I could see him carrying the flashlight as he moved among the equipment, while he couldn't see me except when his light shined directly on me. That gave me options that hadn't been very appealing just seconds earlier. I knew where most of the equipment was, so I moved quietly, reaching a good cover spot before my first move in our most dangerous game.

Timbo swept the light, side to side, before ducking down and sweeping low, trying to see if he could spot me, or maybe my feet or legs, under the equipment. I used that moment to toss an empty oil can from the trash barrel I was hiding behind over him.

It landed with a loud clang and then rolled a short distance across the concrete floor.

The light swirled around, casting odd shadows, and Timbo, perhaps thinking he'd seen something or maybe out of fear, fired.

BANG BANG BANG!

The second can landed about fifteen feet to the left of the first, next to the plow.

Two more shots rang out, with the Tim guy dodging and swirling the light, making it difficult for me to draw a bead on him, much less having a good chance at hitting him. Unfortunately, this time he saw the can and deduced this part of my playbook. A third lob led him to turn the light and search for a few seconds before finding the can. That gave me another idea.

A steel pin used to hook up wagons was in the drawbar of the old Super M Farmall tractor we used for light farm work. I scraped my leg on the bar before I thought about it, so I sent it spinning out the front of the shed some distance down. When it landed it hit on the headed end in the gravel and continued its spin, landing several more feet away before making one last bounce.

To someone unfamiliar with what I'd done, I hoped it would sound like gravel underfoot. Timbo ran out the front of the shed and swung the beam of the light around trying to find me. He didn't waste any rounds this time before apparently seeing the pin and coming back my way, throwing light back into the shed, over and around the equipment. When he walked in front of the Super M tractor, I tossed my last empty oil can a few feet beyond us. Recognizing my previous ploy, he used his flashlight to search the area. Seeing nothing but the can, he paused, starting to look again, but the game had run its course. Squatting on the drawbar of the tractor so he wouldn't see my feet if he searched below with the flashlight, I flipped on the tractor's headlights, leading him to throw up his arm in front of his face as he turned, firing at the lights.

One light shattered to Timbo's onslaught.

Down low behind the tractor's engine and chassis, I fired off a single round, shooting Timbo, still lit up by the single light and unable to see me, in the heart. He looked down, maybe in disbelief as he tried to bring his pistol up for another round, but I was done, shooting him one more time. As soon as he collapsed to the ground, I flipped off the remaining light, hoping that Owen wouldn't be able to tell the difference in the sounds of Timbo's gun and my own from inside the house.

A flash of lightning lit the sky in the west, and the roll of thunder arrived seconds later. It was going to be another stormy night.

***

I put the safety on Timbo's pistol and it went in my waistband. Assuming his magazine had been full to start, he had at least four rounds left, but I was reluctant to try to use his gun without inspecting it in the light. Timbo's flashlight came with me, too, though I didn't want to use it in case Owen was looking.

The first sprinkles of rain were falling as I quietly made my way back toward the house. Since Owen's car was at the road and since he'd entered through the front door, I suspected that he'd go back out the same way, so I moved down the side of the house, taking cover along the side of the big front porch. The porch lights were still on, so they cast my hiding spot in a dark shadow and would allow me to see Owen when he came out with Jessi. I hadn't heard any shots in the house, so I was praying that he hadn't harmed her.

"Timbo, you coming?" yelled Owen when he came out the front door a minute later, pulling Jessi by the hair. "Come on, we've gotta' go!"

He turned to Jessi and said, "If I had time, bitch, I'd let you see your boyfriend's body and his brains scattered all over the place, but since we don't, I'll have Timbo describe it to you in exquisite detail just before we put a bullet in your head...or maybe up your cunt? I know, I promised, but see, you don't have any value as a hostage after he's dead, and besides, we can't have the other girls pulling a stunt like this, so you get to be an example. Say! You'll be more important dead as an example than you ever were alive!"

He laughed, dragging her along by her hair as they went down the front steps before turning and shouting impatiently, "Timbo! Let's go!"

"Yeah, boss," I grunted hoping it might fool him, but it didn't.

Owen swung around, pulling Jessi in front of him, holding the big pistol to her head. "Come out and drop the gun or I'm going to kill her on a count of three. One!"

Scared to death that he meant it, I didn't know what to do, but I knew if I dropped it, he'd likely kill us both. Unless...

"Two!"

I put my right hand behind my head and came out of the shadows at the side of the house holding the pistol loosely in my left, up high, so he could see it. When I was in the light cast by the porchlights and made sure he could see, I tossed the gun away and put my left hand behind my head, too, as if lacing my fingers together.

"Guess what, Jessi, you little bitch? You get to see your boyfriend's brains scattered like hash browns at the Waffle House after all!"

She screamed and tried to jerk away from Owen, but he was big and far too strong. He yanked at her as he fired the first round, which hit the ground several feet to the side behind me. With her still struggling, he used his grip on her hair to hold her while he hit her head with the gun before throwing her to the ground and turning the pistol back toward me. As he did, his eyes grew wide as he saw my 1911, which had been hidden in my right hand and pointed down behind my head, aimed at him just as we both fired.

I felt a searing pain cut across the outside of my upper arm as Owen dropped to his knees. He'd grazed me, but he was dying. The hate was strong in him, though, and somehow, he was raising the gun for one last shot. My second round hit him dead center, causing him to tip over, dropping the gun before he could take aim and fire. Not taking any chances that he had any last tricks in his dying breaths, I kicked the pistol from his hand as the rainfall increased.

Jessi was dazed from her fall, shaking her head as she sat up, looking around as the rain soaked her hair, washing the blood from the cut on her head down the side of her face. I looked at her, unsure of myself and completely uncertain about her, but the flashing lights of an arriving police car drew my attention. There was no siren, but the roar of the car's big engine drew nearer, turning into the driveway and running across the first part of the yard. Seeing the officer start to get out, I recognized Sheriff Gil Mackenzie from his campaign fliers and frequent photos in the county paper. He was a big, heavyset man and he pulled a big revolver as he crouched behind what cover the car door could provide a man of his bulk.

"Drop the weapon!" he shouted in a strong southern drawl that reminded me of Jackie Gleason's Buford T. Justice.

"Yes, sir!" I said, dropping Grandpa's 1911. I hated to drop it in the rain, but considering how he'd acquired it and his slog across Europe with it decades earlier, a little rain wasn't going to hurt it.

"I'm Nicholas Buice, sir. This is my home and I was the one who called."

He nodded, still holding the revolver on me as he approached. "What happened here?" he asked.

"Drug dealers, I think, invaded our house. They tried to kill us, so we fought back. I think they're all dead, or if not, the fight in them is."

Mackenzie still wasn't certain, so he kept me covered as he glanced at Gant, slumped with his rifle by the tree and barely visible in the porchlight in the falling rain.

"That way," said the sheriff, pointing toward the house.

I walked the way he'd said with him following behind me, but stopped when I heard Jessi cry out, "No! You son-of-a-bitch!"

She was holding Owen's gun, pointing it at me.

"Jessi! No! It's over," I called, but she was shaking her head, the fear still covering her face.

"No, it's not, Nick," she replied as she held the gun pointing my way.

"Drop it, bitch!" called Sheriff Mackenzie.

Lightning struck in the distance and I saw the flash of the gun in Jessi's hands as a searing pain cut into me. Darkness enveloped me...

***

Chapter 7

A weird beeping sound was driving me crazy as I tried to open my eyes. I tried to lift a hand to rub them, but it was too heavy. Something squeezed me for a moment and I tried...

***

Voices...

Excited voices...and beeping.

Incessant beeping...

Something soft brushed my forehead. It was...comforting...

A hand gave my hand a squeeze and I gripped back for a moment before the blackness reclaimed me once more.

***

I moaned softly as I raised my hand and touched my head.

"He's waking up!" said a familiar, though distant voice as beeping continued somewhere in the distance.

"Yes, Mrs. Buice. Please move back so we can check him."

Hands played over me and a bright light blinded me in one eye and then the other as I tried to remember where I was. At least Mom was with me. But then I recalled, rather vaguely, that my mother was dead. Yes, cancer had taken her. Maybe a long time had passed and Dad had remarried. What was her name? I couldn't remember.

"Water?" I croaked. "Water."

A straw to my lips allowed me to suck a tiny bit before a voice said, "Just a little, Mrs. Buice. Don't give him much or he may choke. A little at a time. He's well hydrated even though he probably doesn't feel like it."

That voice spoke again, "Easy now, my love. Just a little sip. There, now."

It was Jessi's voice. I opened an eye to see her leaning over me with the cup and straw. Trying to focus, I saw she had a bandage on her forehead and a bruised eye...

Kate...Kate Nelson...

Jessi's eye had healed a bit...

I'd been shot!

And it was Jessi who'd shot me!

It was too much and I crashed, drifting off again.

***

They said I slept almost another twelve hours after that incident before I awoke, this time seeing Jessi sitting up asleep at the side of the bed with her head nested on her hands. She stirred, looking up at me as I moved.

"Jessi? You..you shot me," I rasped, fear rolling through me that she could finish me off in seconds before anyone could stop her and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"No, my love," she said, putting a straw in my mouth and letting me have a tiny sip before pulling it away. "I didn't shoot you. I shot that bastard Mackenzie while he was shooting you. He came to the club at times and was tied in with Owen Bartelli in the drug ring. I didn't have a clue who he was until he showed up at your place and still don't know the exact details, but the police say he let Owen's crew deal drugs in Sturbin and your county for part of the take. The state police were already investigating because of an anonymous call a few days ago and a rental car they recovered with a lot of cash..."

She looked about, surreptitiously, before grinning, and continuing, "and it looks like they've now taken down the whole ring. The DEA got the smugglers in Pensacola, too, and Asshole-former-Sheriff Mackenzie is looking at 25 to life for his part in it."

"I thought you said you shot him."

"I did, but I'd never fired a gun until that night and didn't really know how to aim very well..."

I tried to shake my head in disbelief but it hurt too much. It was a wonder she hadn't accidentally shot me.

Jessi pressed the nurse call button. "He's awake and talking!" she told them.

"We'll be right in, Mrs. Buice."

"Mrs. Buice? Did I miss something?"

"Your dad told them we'd just married so they'd let me in," she whispered. "He brought your mom's wedding ring for me to wear so they'd believe it since they only let immediate family in the intensive care unit. Don't give me away, okay?"

"Thank you, dear. I'd never give you away. Assuming, that is, you said all that shit to Owen and to me and that you sent me out the window with a gun pointed at me to protect me, like I think."

"Of course, my love. I wasn't going to let him kill you and with that big gun poking out the back of your waistband, I hoped you'd come up with a plan to save me, too. If, that is, you loved me nearly as much as I thought."

"I do, Jessi. I love you, and I won't give you away. In fact, I'm keeping you forever, if you'll let me."

"I love you, too, Nick. Forever and always." She gave me a kiss on the forehead just as the nurse came rushing in.

"How's our patient doing?" asked the nurse.

"How long have I been here?" I responded, figuring she could look at all the machines and that infernal heart monitor for my health status.

"Two days, going on three," she replied. "The Sturbin police chief arrived seconds after you were shot and he practically moved heaven and earth to get you life flighted here. And your wife and your father arrived a little while later. Mrs. Buice has been here with you the whole time."

The nurse did her poking and prodding and the doctor arrived just a bit later to do a lot more.

When they were gone, I turned to Jessi. "The shotgun? If you wanted me to get away and to have a chance at rescuing you, why didn't you let me take it?"

"Nick, you'd used the shotgun on them. If you'd taken it with you, they'd have known you were still armed and would've both gone after you. I knew Owen well enough to know that he'd let Timbo do the dirty work if he thought you were unarmed so he could deal with me. I had to make him believe it, so you had to leave the shotgun and the bag."

"So you really did like me after all?"

"Of course, you big dummy. I love you."

Hearing her say the words melted me and brought tears to my eyes.

"I love you, too, Honey. Will you marry me and be Mrs. Buice for real?"

She kissed me, a lot more passionately than the doctor would probably have preferred. "Of course I'll marry you and be Mrs. Buice, Mr. Buice. Eventually."