Although he tended to blame Maggie for refusing to marry him, his decision to go had not been totally her fault. His grandparents’ negative attitudes had also contributed. Looking back, he could see that Ira had already been showing signs of dementia then. Signs he’d managed to hide behind irrational anger and bluster.
Could Maggie’s notion about the Crawfords be right? Flint shook his head decisively. No. Shirttail relatives were unconcerned. And Ira? Flint couldn’t wrap his mind around that concept no matter how ill the old man was.
The wildlife compound seemed awfully quiet once the others were gone. Flint kept a close eye on their surroundings as well as staying near Mark. It was satisfying to see how intelligent and inquisitive the boy was and flattering to be the recipient of a long string of questions, usually followed by “Why?”
Maggie was closing the last pen when Flint approached her. “Chores done?”
“For now.” She eyed the darkening sky. “If it snows I may need to add more bedding, but I don’t want to jump the gun.”
“Speaking of guns,” Flint said, smiling slightly, “when do you want your first lesson?”
Her momentary hesitation was expected. So was the deep sigh. “I don’t know. All that running around and worry really tired me out.”
“I know. How about an afternoon snack?” He eyed Mark. “Then Wolfie can watch cartoons with his favorite friend.”
“While we go out in the yard to shoot. Great idea. I have apples in the fridge and cookies in the cupboard.”
“Not to worry,” Flint said, smiling. “When I picked up the pizza I bought dessert. It’s out in my truck.”
Maggie rolled her eyes while Mark jumped up and down and cheered. “Don’t tell me. You got those sticky, frosted dough things that are a nutritional disaster.”
“Yup. We can talk about healthy food another day. Right now it’s empty calorie time.”
“You’re spoiling us.”
His smile grew to a face-splitting grin. “I hope so.”
Although she led the way into the kitchen, he could tell she wasn’t enthusiastic. Was she sorry she’d asked him to stay? Was she afraid of shooting? If she was truly as weary as she was acting, perhaps it would be best to postpone her lesson.
“Mark and I will wash up while you go get our dessert,” Maggie told him. “Coffee, too?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Flint started through the house heading for the front door. He and the sheriff had both checked all the rooms, but that wasn’t enough to generate calm. Or peace. And if he felt uneasy in that old house, how must Maggie feel, particularly at night when she was alone?
Not exactly alone, he added, stepping up the pace to get back to her ASAP. She had the dog to help keep watch and a boy—his boy—to keep safe. The burden of being a single parent must be immense. No wonder she seemed uptight much of the time.
Something about his truck seemed off. Flint frowned as he reached to open the door. Once inside, he could tell what was wrong when he moved aside his notebook and the pen rolled away.
He circled the vehicle with the box of sticky bread in his hands. Two of his tires had been flattened. Closer inspection showed no damage, and he hoped a simple airing-up would fix the problem.
Flint jogged back to the house and ducked in the door, slamming it behind him.
“What’s wrong?”
He’d hoped to hide his anxiety. He’d failed. One look at Maggie and he knew she had sensed a problem. “Flat tires on my truck,” he said. “Unless you have an air compressor, I’m going to need to call a tow truck.”
“No. Sorry. What happened to them?”
“Looks like a vandal let the air out on the side opposite the house, where we couldn’t see him doing it,” Flint said. He set the confection box in the center of the kitchen table.
Maggie was frowning as she brought their drinks and placed a glass of milk in front of her son. “That’s illogical.”
“Why?” Realizing who he sounded like, he winked at the child.
“Because. If somebody wants to get rid of you, why would they try to make you stay?” She arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t mess with your own tires, did you?”
“And strand myself? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Okay. I had to ask.”
“No, you didn’t.” He willed her to understand that his motives were pure. “You and I need to make a pact to be nothing but truthful with each other. There’s already been too much held back, too much misunderstanding. That ends right now.” He offered his hand. “Agreed?”
Hesitating, Maggie stared at his hand for what seemed like hours before she reached for it and said, “Agreed.”
Flint had meant to merely shake on their mutual promise, but the moment his hand touched Maggie’s, all previous notions fled like a startled covey of quail.
Their gazes met. Held. Flint tried to read her thoughts and found himself drowning in waves of emotion. She began to tremble. He covered their clasped hands with his other, drawing on the warmth of her delicate fingers and yearning to wrap her in a long embrace.
Do it, his heart urged. Just do it. Did he dare? Was it too soon, or would any time be wrong? Flint knew Maggie loved their son and had once loved him, or so she’d said. If he was going to honor their pledge, perhaps now was the time to begin airing the truth.
What was the truth? he asked himself. Did he love her the same way he used to? No. They had both changed too much over time. So, was that a problem? Perhaps. And what about her feelings? If she was still struggling to forgive him, despite her mother’s confession about destroying his letters, was she ready to discuss possibilities for a shared future? Sharing parental responsibility was one thing. Recommitting to each other was decidedly different.
“Mama?” Mark whined. “I’m hungry.”
That was enough to break into Flint’s spinning, soaring thoughts and bring him back down to earth. He released his hold just as Maggie jerked her hand away.
“Me, too, honey,” she said, fussing with a napkin before tucking it into the neck of Mark’s shirt. “You still have your Sunday clothes on and I don’t want you to get them all sticky.”
“Aw, Mama.”
Flint had to smile. His son was not merely a typical boy; he was the kind of kid who looked so cute while misbehaving that it was going to be hard to discipline him properly. “Don’t argue with your mother,” Flint said, trying to keep a straight face despite Mark’s pout. “She’s boss.”
“Uh-uh. I’m the man of the house.”
A fleeting glance at Maggie told him she’d put that idea in the boy’s head. “Men are a bit taller and older,” Flint said to him gently. “Kind of like me. When you get as big as I am, then you can be the man of the house.” Lack of verbal contradiction from Maggie gave him the courage to add, “In the meantime, I’ll help. Okay?”
Mark had time for only “Okay” before he stuck the sticky bread in his mouth and began to chew.
“You think I was wrong, don’t you?” she asked.
“It’s not my place to judge. I just think that’s a heavy responsibility for a little guy, that’s all. Let him be a kid, Maggie. Don’t try to make him grow up too fast.”
“There you go again,” she countered, hands fisted on her hips. “First you tell me I’m doing a good job, then you turn around and criticize.”
“Truth, remember?” Judging by the way she rolled her eyes and tossed her head, she’d had enough truth for a while.
“You stay here and watch your... Mark. I’m going to go change for my shooting lesson.”
“Fine by me.” Sliding into a chair next to the boy, Flint helped himself to sticky bread. Maggie was right. It was all sugar and carbs. Oh, well. Once in a while wasn’t going to hurt. Mark was obviously enjoying his treat, so buying the stuff had been a good idea. Sort o
f.
He was at the kitchen sink, wetting a paper towel to clean the boy’s hands, when he heard Maggie shout.
“Flint! Come here.”
Milk spilled when he scooped up Mark and took him along. There was no sign of Maggie in the first bedroom, but he could tell it was hers from the dress left lying on the bed. “Where are you?”
“Mark’s room.”
With the child tucked behind him, Flint led the way into the room. It looked ransacked, but that wasn’t new. It had looked that way when he and the sheriff checked it and were assured it was usually messy.
“What’s wrong?”
“The window.”
Flint bent to peer at it. “It looks okay.”
Maggie pointed with a shaky finger. “The glass does. The screen is missing.”
“Maybe it just fell out. This is an old house.”
“Yes, it is,” Maggie replied. “It’s so old that most of the windows stick after being repainted so many times and the screens are so warped they’re nailed in.”
“Somebody pulled nails to get it off?” His pulse had been rapid when she called to him. Now his heart felt as if it might pound through the walls of his chest any moment. “We should call Harlan.”
“No. Not again. Don’t you see? The more often I report a minor crime, the more fed up he and his men are going to get. Pretty soon they won’t even want to make a run out here, let alone do it in a hurry. I think that’s part of the stalker’s plan.”
“That’s paranoid.”
“Only if nobody is after me.”
Flint nodded and added, “Us. After us.”
For once he wished Maggie would argue.
FOURTEEN
Maggie surprised herself as a marksman but only did well when Flint loaded and cocked the handgun for her. Otherwise, she felt inept and unsure.
“I can see it’s going to take more practice before I’m proficient,” she said.
“Afraid so. Which makes my decision easier.”
Looking at him from the side, she knew she was scowling and made no effort to stop. “What decision?”
“The one I made when I found my tires flattened. I’m staying.”
If he hadn’t held up a hand to silence her, she would have interrupted before he added, “I’ll bunk on the floor in Mark’s room. You won’t even notice me.”
That’ll be the day. “No way. When is the tow truck coming to put air in your tires?”
“Sometime before dark tonight. I told him to take his time so we’d have a chance to shoot before he got here and interrupted us. You did want a lesson, didn’t you?”
“You know I did.” Frustration with everything made her grumpy. “I’m surprised you were willing to stand in the yard with me, especially after you made me wear your bulletproof vest.”
“I’ve been thinking—” he began.
Maggie interrupted. “So have I, and I’ve come to the conclusion that whoever is causing all the trouble has blown plenty of chances to do serious harm. Maybe they don’t really want to hurt anybody.”
“Maybe. I still don’t intend to leave my son unprotected until this mystery is solved.”
She started to say, He’s my son, then stopped herself. Flint had a perfect right to act on Mark’s behalf. What she didn’t like acknowledging was the relief she felt knowing he was going to stay close by.
“All right.” Thinking of the logistics, Maggie smiled. “Um, would you like me to get some blankets and make you a pallet on the floor or will you just bunk with Wolfie?”
“I carry a sleeping bag and camping equipment in my truck. I’ll make do on my own.”
“Okay.” She’d expected more of a quip out of him but decided there was nothing wrong with being serious. She knew how scared she’d been during the other attacks and had only resorted to humor this time to lighten her own mood. “What will we tell Mark?”
“I don’t know. What do you usually tell him when you have company?”
“The only overnight company I’ve had is when I was sick and Mom stayed with us a few days.” Maggie pulled a face. “I suppose I should call and talk to her, but I get so mad when I think about what she did, I doubt I could be civil.”
“Then take your time. Work through it,” Flint said. He picked up the gun she’d been using, dropped the clip out and levered the last shell from the chamber before handing it to her.
“I need to lock this up somewhere.”
“Yes. For now, I’ll keep the ammo so it’s separate from the gun until we get you a lockbox. No matter how well behaved you think a kid is, they’re curious.”
“Especially ours,” she said, surprised when expressing shared parenthood felt right. Clearly, Flint noticed, because she saw him pause for a moment before going to his truck to stash the ammo and get his sleeping bag. By the time he tossed the roll on his shoulder and turned back to face her, however, there was no sign of uneasiness.
Except for mine, she mused, disgusted with herself. Her life had had other confusing and trying events that she’d managed beautifully, at least in the long run. Since Flint had returned, nothing had been simple or clear-cut. Not only were her nerves frayed, but her emotional condition was reduced to a rubble of its former sturdiness.
In silent prayer for wisdom and peace, she followed Flint back into the house and locked the door behind them. This night promised to be the longest, most difficult of her life, yet if enduring it would safeguard her little boy, she’d hang in there. No matter what.
And no matter how much rumor and innuendo she had to endure in the future, she added. Sadly, there was nothing romantic left between her and Flint—and she trusted him implicitly—so she wasn’t worried on that score. She’d kept her chin up as an unwed mother. She could stand strong again.
The only aspect that truly bothered her was the nasty names some of the other kids had called poor Mark. He might not know what they’d meant yet, but it wouldn’t be long before one of those bigger boys explained it to him.
All she could do was love him unconditionally and teach him that he was a gift from God. Which he was. People made mistakes, but their heavenly Father never did. He’d given her a beautiful son and she was blessed. Period.
The natural progression of that affirmation of faith led her to think of Flint Crawford; not as he once was but as the man he’d become. If God had sent him back to her to help protect Mark, fine.
On the other hand, if there was more to his abrupt arrival in Serenity, she was going to have to come to terms with a lot of things, not the least of which was her own heart. The two of them were burdened with enough excess baggage to fill the cargo hold of a passenger jet.
And, if she was assuming correctly, at least one of those theoretical bags had the potential to be deadly. She didn’t know what was worse, worrying about an attack or wondering if they’d escape once it occurred.
* * *
“One day at a time,” Flint said amiably after she’d mentioned her concerns. “Don’t borrow trouble. Tomorrow, when it’s daylight, I’ll poke around outside and see what clues I can turn up. It’s possible those old nails holding the screen just rusted away.”
“All at once? On only his window?”
Flint lifted his shoulders and struck a nonchalant pose. At least he thought he did. If Maggie hadn’t reacted so strongly initially, he’d have been happier. Saying, “Relax. I’ve got this,” didn’t help a whole lot, and her nervousness was rubbing off on him.
“Why don’t you keep chilling on the couch while I bring in extra wood for the fireplace?” he said. “The weather’s supposed to turn tonight.”
“I have plenty of wood inside,” she argued. “I can take care of myself.”
“Without my help.”
“Look. I’m sorry. It’s just that
every time you offer to do something like that it makes me feel as if you think I’m not capable.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know. Coping by myself, I guess. Mom was dead set against my taking this job and moving out here. She kept nagging me about getting stuck in the middle of nowhere. I still doubt she believes I’ll succeed.”
“Is that why you’re out here? You’re escaping?”
To his relief, Maggie smiled slightly and shook her head. “Not primarily. I went to school to be a vet tech, but there weren’t any local jobs and I needed to stay near Mom. When Abigail Dodd offered me a chance to work with wild animals and a house to live in, I jumped at the offer.” She spread her arms wide and leaned against the back of the sofa while Mark’s head rested in her lap and the dog lay at her feet.
“Gotcha.” Flint wished he could find something constructive to do other than just watch TV or tend the fire. Being idle gave him too much time to think. About Maggie. About his son. Amazingly, he already loved that kid.
What about the boy’s mama? Flint asked himself. Did he love her, too? Maybe. Probably. Just not the way he had as a teenager. The feelings he now had for Maggie were different. Deeper. Surer. With a lot less immediacy and a lot more patience. If he asked her to elope today and she refused, he’d find another solution. A better one.
But first things first. They had to stick together for the common good and solve the puzzle of who was causing them so much grief. Until recently there had been no direct threat to Mark, but that had changed. Maggie had surprised a prowler in the boy’s room and now a window screen was down. Either aspect deserved extra concern.
Flint stuck his pistol in the waistband of his dress pants and pulled his heavier work jacket on over his sport coat before adding a hat. “I’m going to patrol the yard. Be back in a few minutes.”
She stiffened. “Why? Did you hear something?”
“No. It just makes sense to look around out there. You never know. I might stumble on another prowler.”
“Be careful.”
Mimicking a salute, he smiled down on his dozing son. “I will. You take care of him.”
Dangerous Legacy Page 13
