Her Winning Ways by J.M. Bronston (29)

 

She didn’t sleep well that night. Too much excitement, perhaps. Or, more likely, it was the cold shoulder from Bart that had nagged at her through the wee hours. There’d been no chance to talk to him at headquarters, what with the gaggle of reporters outside, yelling questions at her, and the activity inside—the booking of the kidnappers, the recording of her account of events, the department veterinarian checking Lindy’s condition. She’d had barely a glimpse of Bart in the stable, working with the vet and getting Lindy settled in, and it was Max who brought her back to her hotel. His comment, as he held the rear door open for her to get into the car, was the only clue she had.

“Imagine a sweet young girl like you doing what all of us couldn’t.”

He’d given her a big, admiring smile when he said it and she knew it was a compliment but somehow, she felt a chill run through her, like a warning.

For the rest of the ride, he talked only about the super evening they’d had at the theater, he and Chloe and Liz, and he said he felt like he knew a real celebrity, what with Annie’s contest and all the evening’s excitement, and as he left her off at the hotel, he asked to be remembered to Liz. Then he U-turned the squad car around and headed back to headquarters.

So it was almost five a.m. when she finally fell asleep, and it was seven when the phone started ringing.

“I know it’s early!” Mitzi was already on fast forward. “I had to get to you before everyone else does. You’re going to be swamped and Lady Fair and Galliard’s need to keep things under control.”

“Hmmpf ???”

“Aren’t you awake yet? Don’t you know what’s happening?”

“Who is this?”

“Omigod! Wake up, Annie! The Today Show wants an interview. So does Vista from New York. CNN already has the video of you chasing that bald guy. And remember, we already had you scheduled for the GMA taping later today. Wake up, Annie. We have a busy day, busy, busy, it’s going to be crazy, totally slammed. And we have to get you ready.”

Annie stared at the telephone in her hand, as though it was sprouting lollipops. What in the world was going on?

“Call me back in ten minutes. I’m not awake.”

“Ten minutes. That’s all you get.”

She was still staring at the phone when Liz walked in, holding the morning newspaper. Without a word she dropped it onto the bed, rolled her eyes, gave a huge sigh, and turned and walked out of the room, leaving Annie to contemplate the latest news.

“What’s going on?” she asked the empty room. “This is crazy.” She set the paper aside. “I need a shower. I need to wake up.”

Ten minutes later, as she stepped out of the shower, she heard her cell phone ringing. She heard the hotel phone ringing. She heard Liz’s cell phone ringing. She was brushing her hair when Liz walked in, cell phone in hand.

“The Zimmers, from Laramie, are calling.” Ranch people get up early, and Carl and Jennie Zimmer, from the next ranch over, were calling to tease Annie about “showing them city folk a thing or two.”

Annie shook her head. “I’ll try to call them later. I can’t think.”

Liz turned and left the room. Annie heard her saying, “She’s just hardly awake, Jennie. Can she call you later?”

She set her phone on silent. She asked the hotel operator to hold all calls to the room. She picked up the paper and read the hyped-up account of last night’s events—with photos—that made her sound like something out of a western movie. It also made the NYPD sound like Keystone Kops, razzing the “highly trained professionals in blue” for needing to rely on a “pretty young tourist” to get them out of trouble. It was all written in good fun, and wound up taking a more serious tone, praising the department for its good work in controlling unruly street demonstrators like the Buljornia group that was responsible for the events at the United Nations the previous Sunday.

A second column was devoted to Annie herself, highlighting the unlikely coincidence of her being the very lucky winner of the Lady Fair contest, and also being the “damsel in distress” seen in the filmed coverage of the demonstration at the UN. Some biographical information was included, so now the whole world would know Annie Cornell, 26, of Laramie, Wyoming, college librarian, lives on a ranch, etc., etc., with Lady Fair photos that show her looking more glamorous and professionally beautiful than any ordinary woman can possibly be.

“Oh, this is awful!”

She tossed the paper aside and stuck her head under the pillows.

And stayed there until Liz came into the room a few minutes later.

“Annie, don’t be ridiculous. You wanted an adventure. Now you’ve had one. A real adventure. So cheer up, honey. This is the price of fame. You should enjoy it. And someday, you’ll be glad when you can tell your children all about it.”

Annie sat up. Took a couple of deep breaths.

“I know. You’re right. We can go home in a couple of days, and be done with all this craziness.” She started to get dressed.

While the thought slipped through her head:

But not a word about that to Liz.

And Liz thought it best not to tell her at this time that going home to Laramie was probably not going to be the end of “all this.” Her phone hadn’t stopped all morning and there was already talk of welcoming festivities, including brass bands and parades.

“Okay, Liz.” Annie got the phones turned back on. “Let the whirlwind begin.”

 

And, indeed, it was a whirlwind. She was whisked off to Lady Fair’s offices where she was informed that her stay in New York would be extended through Sunday—all expenses paid, of course, for her and Liz. There would be TV appearances in addition to the one already scheduled for Good Morning America, including a full fifteen-minute segment on Vista from New York, and a crew was already on its way to Laramie to get some local reaction and shots of the ranch, the college library, the campus. Lady Fair would do a much longer article, maybe a full profile (they’d already assigned a writer) and Galliard’s was preparing festivities of its own, which would include some sort of lifetime gift—maybe the sable coat she’d admired (what in the world would I do with a sable coat back home?) or a Galliard charge card with a monthly credit, or some such. They were working on it. The mayor’s office was going to award her a citizen’s medal for bravery, honor, and general wonderfulness.

And the NYPD had arranged for a special presentation by the Police Pipe Band in full regalia, kilts and all.

Through all the rush and attention, while she tried to keep track of everything and at the same time remember to be appropriately excited and gracious while feeling totally upended, there was the dark undertone that ran beneath everything: Why haven’t I heard from Bart?

She wasn’t altogether surprised to realize his silence mattered to her more than all the attention. Not after the night she’d had, kept awake by his all too apparent rejection, wondering why she cared, wondering what his behavior meant, telling herself it was of no concern to her, seesawing back and forth between “he’s just a cute guy I met on a trip to New York” and “I thought we had something special happening,” back and forth between scolding herself and feeling sorry for herself, and either way, unable to put it all aside and just, for goodness’ sake, go to sleep!

It was late afternoon before they were all done preparing her, and she was still asking herself the same question.

“Where is he?”

 

Bart had spent a miserable day at headquarters. Like Annie, he’d hardly slept that night, and from the time he reported in that morning, the guys had been ribbing him. He knew it was all in good fun and he’d never let them know they were really getting to him, so he swallowed his pride and went along with the banter.

“Yeah, she really is something, that girl. I’m going to have to take some roping lessons from her.”

“And tracking, too. Bet some Arapaho friend must have taught her.”

“Maybe she’s part Arapaho herself.”

“Not with that hair.”

“Yeah. If that girl belonged to any tribe, it would be the Golden Angels. Right, Bart?”

“Right.” Bart kept up the big smile. “Angels is right. Just a sweet little angel brought Lindy back home safe and sound.”

Then he went into Captain Simon’s office and begged off any duty assignment for a couple of days. Claimed Lindy needed a rest and reacclimation after all the excitement and stress.

“Yeah, sure. Take a couple of days.” And after Bart had closed the door behind him, the captain added, “And just a wee little slip of a thing she was, too. Who’d a thought.”

 

Hours later, while the squad was out on assignment, Bart was still sitting with Lindy.

“Dammit. It’s not like I wouldn’t have found you myself, without her help.”

Lindy apparently didn’t buy that.

“We were getting close to finding those guys. And that would have been the end of it.”

Lindy chose to eat some of his special feed.

“And the nerve of them, putting you in a box like that. Those clowns. Who’d have thought they’d do such a thing.”

Lindy snuffled a little.

“Well, yeah. Okay. Annie did.”

Lindy was no comfort and Bart was feeling that everyone was against him.

He was still there at three thirty in the afternoon when the morning shift returned and the evening squad went out. He busied himself with currying Lindy, as though Lindy needed any more attention than he’d already had, and he allowed the bantering of his buddies to swirl around him, knowing they’d all be gone soon and he could go back to his ruminations about Annie, her fearless exploit, her courage, her skill in figuring it all out, her sudden fame, and trying unsuccessfully to figure out how to get out of the hole of humiliation he’d fallen into. Not that the guys really seemed to think less of him; it was just the usual kidding, no malice. And as for the media, well, that would all be yesterday’s news soon.

“It’s just that I thought I was going to be the one to take care of her. Protect her. Show her around, see that she was safe. I felt like such a—well, I don’t know—I guess I felt like a big shot. Yeah, like she was such an innocent, helpless little thing. Where did I ever get such an idea? I know, Lindy. I should call her and apologize. But I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

Lindy stepped to the other side of the stall and turned his head away from him. He felt sure Lindy was disgusted with him. He really was being a jerk, and he knew it. And he couldn’t stop himself.

So when his phone alerted him to an incoming message, and when the ID showed it was Annie texting him, he closed his eyes for about twenty heartbeats, bracing himself for—for what? Some more razzing? Maybe some gloating about how she told him so? How he should have listened to her? How big city, street savvy, macho guys don’t really have all the answers? How a “little librarian” from a small western town could show up the whole NYPD?

Well, he had to have some backbone. So he took a couple of deep breaths and read her text.

That was her whole message.

He felt his heart bang around in his chest. He was ashamed of how his thinking had turned so poisonous. Of course. That’s the kind of thing she would say. She wasn’t a girl to rub a guy’s nose in his own foolishness. How do you stay mad at someone you want desperately to be with? But still—

He managed to get that much out. He felt like a ten-year-old, being coaxed to smile when he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t like the feeling. He didn’t seem to be liking any of his feelings since yesterday.

A minute or two went by, and then her answer came back.

He thought long and hard, deciding on his response and composing his message carefully.

No answer came for about half an hour and he started to imagine—what? —what does a guy start imagining when he thinks a girl is preparing to reject him? He found a thousand explanations for her silence. And another thousand for why he didn’t care. Plus some more for why he was being a fool to think she’d be interested in him. And then he swung back the other way.

“But she texted me first,” he told Lindy.

If a horse could roll his eyes, Lindy would have been rolling his.

And when her message finally came back, Bart’s heart jumped again.

He knew he was headed for another sleepless night. But what the hell.

 

And Annie, for her part, was still trying to catch her breath, after a day of being on the edge of a cyclone and trying to find her way to a quiet center. And somehow, she imagined Bart waiting in that quiet center. And she couldn’t imagine why it mattered so much to her, because he could be such a horse’s ass!