At the Crossroads (Buckhorn, Montana #3)(10)

Gene didn’t seem to hear. As he reached the circular booth’s table where Tina sat with her baby and mother, Vi jumped up to stop him.

“Get the hell out of the way, old woman,” the man bellowed, knocking her back into the booth. Tina frantically tried to get Chloe to stop squalling, but the infant seemed to wail even louder.

“You should go to her,” Shirley said, turning to Lars. She had no doubt what the gunman might do if he got his hands on the baby. Lars looked at her as if he misunderstood. “She needs you. Tina and the baby need you. Go!”

“Shirley?” But Lars was already on his feet and rushing toward Tina and the baby as Vi struggled to right herself in the booth.

Gene was reaching for the baby again when Lars rushed up to the booth. “I can quiet her,” he said and stepped between Gene and Tina to hold out his arms for Chloe.

Shirley watched with her heart in her throat. Had she just sent Lars to his death? “Give him the baby, Tina,” she said under her breath like a prayer. The woman was going to get them all killed if she didn’t hand over the screeching child.

“Tina,” she heard Lars say, desperation in his voice as the baby continued to scream. “Give her to me.”

From across the room, Shirley held her breath. She hadn’t seen Lars and Tina together for months. She couldn’t help being curious about their relationship. Had Tina thought he’d marry her once the baby was born? Why stop Lars from getting a paternity test? Because she knew Chloe wasn’t his?

After a few heart-thundering moments, Tina finally handed over the crying baby. The moment the infant was in Lars’s arms, she choked back her sobs and began to still. Shirley couldn’t believe it, even though she’d heard it was true. The baby quit crying. Lars really did have the magic touch.

Tina leaned back in the booth and began to cry, her body racked with sobs of obvious relief. As they began to subside, Shirley heard Tina say through gritted teeth, “Don’t say anything, Mother. Not a word.”

Vi harrumphed but didn’t speak for once.

For a moment, Shirley thought the danger was over, until she realized that Gene was still standing there with his gun pointed at Lars’s back. In the tense silence that followed, the only sound was Tina’s sniffles.

Gene seemed to be making up his mind about shooting Lars. Finally, he growled, “Sit down.”

Lars, the baby in his arms, turned to look at the man. What surprised her was the challenge in Lars’s expression. She saw something that she’d already feared. Lars would die for that baby.

For a moment, the café went deathly quiet as the two men stared each other down. Then Lars slowly sat down in the booth next to Tina. Gene still seemed to consider shooting him but finally lowered the gun with a curse.

As he turned away, Shirley tried to catch her breath. Across the room, Lars was looking down at the now-quiet baby and smiling. Shirley had to look away.

CULHANE FELT HIS pulse drop a notch. He knew this moment of peace wouldn’t last, couldn’t last. He saw Gene run a hand over his face. He looked exhausted and possibly coming off something.

“I heard you have a retired doctor in town?” Gene asked the café crowd in general.

“He died this spring,” someone said, making Gene swear. He no longer looked calm. His nerves were fraying. He looked like a man who could go off at any moment and empty the clip in that gun into anyone who breathed.

“I have some first-aid experience,” said a man with salt and pepper short hair from one of the booths. He was an older, late-fifties or early-sixties gentleman, with an ex-military look. The woman of about the same age who’d been sitting with him grabbed his arm and tried to stop him as he rose to his feet.

“Earl Ray, no,” she said, but he gently peeled her fingers off his forearm.

“It’s okay,” he assured her before turning to Gene. “I’d be happy to help, if I can. I’ve had some experience with gunshot wounds.” As he started to move toward the kitchen, Gene stopped him.

“Not Leo,” he said of the cook. “He’s dead. In the van outside.”

Earl Ray glanced toward the front of the café to the older-model gray van parked outside, his expression resolved. He seemed to know how badly this could end with all these people trapped there with these men. He started toward the front door.

Over his shoulder, he said, “Bessie, it smells like your cinnamon rolls should be coming out of the oven about now. Best see to them. I’ll want one when I come back in.” He sounded so composed that the tension in the room dropped slightly. Clearly, the locals seemed relieved that Earl Ray was taking charge.

The waitress, a girl of no more than fifteen, had dissolved into sobs in the corner of the booth Earl Ray had left. “Turn off the waterworks, Cheri. Now,” the woman Earl Ray had called Bessie said, rising. “Stop now.”

The girl choked back a couple of sobs, her eyes wide with fear.

“Sit here and stay. I mean it. We don’t need your histrionics right now.” She straightened to her full height and looked around at the customers. “Everyone just sit tight. We can get through this.”

Culhane hoped she was right about that as he left the grill to walk back out into the dining area. “What would you like to eat?” he asked Bobby and Eric, who were leaning against the end of an empty booth, their weapons still in their hands.