Free Short Cut to Santa Fe by Medora Sale Page A

with it,” said Gary. “And for chrissake, you’re supposed to be looking for weapons, not feeling her up.”
    His inspection of John was cursory and much faster. “Okay—git back there and sit down.”
    But when John Sanders had moved up the two steps to the passenger area, his way was blocked by two women kneeling on the floor. They were bending over another woman, who appeared to be unconscious. As he moved forward, she opened her eyes and drew a deep, sobbing breath.
    The slight woman with pale brown hair turned to him. “Can you give us a hand?” she asked. “We have to get her onto the backseat. Maybe this gentleman will help you,” she added, pointing to Rick Kelleher, who scrambled at once to his feet. He was considerably shorter than Sanders, with a square, powerful build, black hair, and very blue eyes in a deeply tanned face. He looked strong and hardworking in the physical sense, like a rancher or a construction worker.
    â€œRick Kelleher,” he said, with a fast grin, on and off. “How do we do this?”
    Kelleher seemed a good choice, although John wondered for a minute why she hadn’t picked on the man sitting right beside them, who was a good ten years younger, as tall as Sanders, and considerably heftier, but the woman looked like someone who knew what she was doing.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing up there?” said Wayne nervously. He had somehow acquired a pistol since John had last looked at him, and he was waving it about like a man unsure of what he had found.
    â€œWe’re moving this woman to a more suitable position before she dies of shock,” said the woman. “Any objections? Or would you rather do it yourself?” There was no response. “Right. She has a messy wound in her thigh,” she went on, addressing her remarks to Sanders. “She’s lost a lot of blood. I’ve done what I could but we want to get her back there and lying down as gently as possible. If the three of us pick her up at the same time and move back, keeping her level, we shouldn’t do too much damage. The important thing is to keep her as level as we can.”
    â€œThe three of us?” said John, looking down at her.
    â€œI’m considerably stronger than I look,” she said flatly, “and much more experienced at moving people who are injured than you guys are. Or does either one of you happen to be an ambulance driver?”
    The question was rhetorical and Sanders accepted the rebuke.
    â€œThis lady is red hot,” said Kelleher. “I’ve been watching her.”
    The move was agonizing—not just for Diana Morris, who bore it with so much stoicism that Sanders wasn’t sure how conscious she was—but for the three bearers who felt every jolt and shift in position with her. After they eased her down on the backseat, Jennifer waved them away and crouched beside her patient.
    There was a general shifting of seats. The twins slipped into Diana Morris’s place since it was the only empty double seat. Teresa Suarez crossed the aisle and shifted Kevin Donovan over with a single glance, sitting down beside him and leaving her double seat free for Harriet and John. Everyone was behaving as if one man with a gun wasn’t standing at the front, waving his weapon in the air.
    â€œSit down,” said Wayne, his voice cracking and dying away as he spoke. His hands trembled visibly with the effort of holding his pistol steady.
    â€œWhat my little brother here is trying to say,” said Gary in a soft, reasonable, almost friendly voice, “is that we’ve had enough bullshit from the whole lot of you. Okay—we have our reasons for trying to keep the lady back there alive. At least for now. And it isn’t ’cause we’re afraid of the law, or ’cause we like you folks all that much. Understand? The next person who moves or makes a noise without permission from me is