Lone Star Diary. Darlene Graham

eyes behind his sunglasses looked grim as he looked down, working at something in his hand.

      To her astonishment, he had withdrawn a device that looked like a Palm Pilot, only this had an antenna. He aimed it at the men.

      She looked over his shoulder at the screen as he swiveled slightly to get the vehicles and dark figures in line with a distinctive rock formation. “Nice toy,” she said right by his ear. “A BlackBerry?”

      “Treo. Does more.” Now he was touching the screen with a tiny wand. “Okay. Sent. Let’s go.” He hooked a hand around her arm and tugged her backward with him. But immediately his grip tightened on her arm as he stared in the direction of the men. He raised a hand to hush her.

      The men were shouting now, in Spanish—Greek to Frankie. The fat one had turned around, waving an automatic weapon.

      “By God, Yolonda better connect the dots to that one,” Luke vowed as he quickly snapped some more pictures. The shouting below grew more heated. “Let’s go.” He pocketed the Treo.

      “Don’t you want to wait and see what they’re going to do?”

      “No.” He tugged on her wrist.

      But as they crawled away, echoing off the rock formations came the unmistakable popping sound of gunshots.

      Luke threw Frankie to the ground and covered her with his body.

      Terrified, Frankie smashed her cheek against the gritty earth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luke raising his head. “What happened?” She found her voice reduced to a squeak.

      “Man down,” he informed her in a low growl.

      More shouting caused Luke’s head to slam down beside Frankie’s. His hat was knocked askew and his eyes looked wild behind his sunglasses. “Musta spotted my hat.” His breathing was ragged next to her ear. Beyond the rise the shouting in Spanish grew closer.

      Frankie’s breath caught in her chest. She could barely get her words out. “Are th-they coming?”

      The shouting intensified on the other side of the ridge, unmistakably closer. Luke jerked Frankie to her feet and pulled her along, hurtling down the bank to the river.

      They splashed across at a narrow place and scrambled on hands and knees back up a sandstone wash with Luke hauling her along like a rag doll.

      “Head for the truck.” He pushed her into the cover of trees as gunfire rang out behind them. Frankie was astonished but relieved to see him pull a gun from the back of his belt and return fire.

      She needed no encouragement to keep ahead of him as they ran headlong through the woods, climbing, climbing back to the top of the small rise where they’d parked Luke’s pickup. Luke shoved her fanny up over the rocks, whirling around to return fire three times.

      Frankie’s lungs were burning by the time they got to the top and her little beaded flats were in shreds. When the truck came into view they ran headlong, as the sharp rocks cut into Frankie’s unprotected feet. As she stumbled sideways, Luke jerked her up by the arm, then scooped her into his arms and ran the rest of the way carrying her.

      Frankie clawed at the door handle of the truck, and when she got it open, Luke threw her onto the seat, scrambling in behind her. He moved so fast it seemed he had crawled over her, fired up the engine, slammed it into Reverse, rammed it back into Drive, and barreled away in one unbroken motion.

      Three men charged into the clearing and Frankie threw herself back down on the seat when she saw the fat one raising the automatic weapon to his shoulder.

      The rain of bullets spat against the chassis, sounding like the hail that had once damaged Frankie’s Mercedes when she’d been trapped in a sudden storm in the Austin traffic.

      “Ah, dammit!” Luke cursed as they roared down the rutted road at breakneck speed. “There goes my paint job.”

      Once they’d rounded the curve at the bottom and flown past Robbie’s old house, Frankie raised her head and peeked over the edge of the rear window. Above the cloud of dust raised by the pickup, she could see the Coyotes up on the hill, shrinking to the size of ants as they crabbed back up. “They’re leaving,” she said.

      “No. They’re going for their vehicles to make chase.” Luke sounded calm as he pressed on at full throttle.

      “Those guys…” Frankie was struggling for breath, “shot somebody back there. Why on earth didn’t you arrest them?”

      “Let’s see.” Luke’s neck craned as he looked before executing a squealing turn onto the highway. “Five of them, not counting the one down, o’ course. One of me. Think a Texas Ranger’s badge means anything to those hombres?” His grimace said he found her more than a little naive. “Gotta know when to fold ’em…” His pause said he regretted informing her of this next, “…or end up being the ones down.”

      Once they were speeding down the highway, from the seemingly endless cache of his jacket he produced a cell phone. He punched a button and started barking facts to the sheriff’s dispatcher. After an amazingly detailed description of the Coyotes and their vehicles, he broke off to ask Frankie where the ranch road intersected the highway, then told the dispatcher where the sheriff would be most likely to catch up with the Coyotes. When he was done, he handed the phone to Frankie. “Call your parents.”

      “Are my parents in danger? Their place is over a mile away.”

      “I don’t think it’s your parents’ property that interests these guys. As long as they stay inside, they should be safe. Call them.”

      WHEN THEY GOT BACK to town, Luke drove Frankie back to Robbie’s house so she could change into dry clothes.

      He, too, was soaked from crossing the river. The dampened leather of his boots squeaked as he walked her to the door. He checked his impulse to stare at her curves as she bent to work the old-fashioned key in the lock, but the fact that she was finely made registered anyway. “You sure you’re okay?” he said to compensate for ogling her.

      “Yes. I think so. A little shook up.” Her nervous chattering on the way to town made him think it was more than a little.

      “I’ve never been shot at before.” The lock gave and the door swung open on its creaky hinges. “Would you like to wait inside?”

      Robbie Tellchick’s living room looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. Toys and books and discarded children’s clothes were everywhere. A pile of half-folded laundry obscured the sagging couch. Frankie grabbed up an armful of bibs and onesies and blankies to clear a space so Luke could sit.

      “That’s okay.” He stopped her with a gentle hand, glad to have any excuse to touch her again. “I’ll stand.” He made a futile gesture at his soaked jeans.

      “Of course.” She tucked a strand of bedraggled hair behind one ear. “I’ll only be a sec.” She dashed up the stairs.

      ON THE SHORT DRIVE over to Main Street they fell quiet. The shot of adrenaline that had gotten them through the worst had dissipated, and now they both were processing their narrow escape…and each other.

      He reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly as he studied her face. “I’ll get ’em.”

      Frankie broke her worried silence. “Will I need to go in and talk to the sheriff?”

      “He’ll want to interview you. But I’ll be right by your side.”

      Before she went inside the store, Frankie turned to him with a sudden thought. “You’re not going back out there?”

      His eyes narrowed, as if he were concealing his intentions. “Not right away. Local law enforcement will be all over the place, looking for evidence. I’d appreciate it if you kept this incident to yourself for now. Are you okay with that?”

      “Yes, but shouldn’t we tell Zack?” Her future