“Winnie,” the outside voice cooed. “Are you still with me?”
I turned back to find a familiar face hovering outside my broken window. The man from my cider shop crouched low over his boots, peering into the ruined truck. “Nod if you can hear me.”
I nodded.
“Good. You’re going to be okay this time,” he said. “Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing that won’t heal. It’s your boyfriend who’ll hurt the longest. Bruised egos take time.” He chuckled at the remark. “I need you to pass along a message for me, okay?”
I blinked through fresh hot tears, unable to nod or respond. Too horrified by the truth of what had happened to form words. Samuel Keller had attacked us, and we’d never seen him coming.
Nowhere was safe. Not home or work.
Not even while I was moving along the county road at fifty miles per hour.
With Colton at my side.
“I want you to tell Sheriff Wise that I did this,” he said coldly, the inflection of his voice scraping ice shards down my spine. “I want you to tell him I won’t stop coming for you until he stops hunting me. Tell him this is his last warning, and if I have to act again, the next time your truck rolls it will be over a cliff.”
Colton groaned and cursed, the word coming slow and slurred. Apparently he’d woken in time to hear the message I wasn’t sure I could’ve passed on.
The next time Samuel Keller struck at me, I wouldn’t survive.
Colton unlatched his seat belt and fell onto the ceiling with a thud and a curse. He kicked the door open and crawled into the grass. A moment later, he was on his feet, running wildly toward the truck that had sent us rolling. Its blinding lights drew back, then spun away as our assailant piloted his vehicle back onto the road.
Colton fired his weapon as the truck roared away.
I released my safety belt and broke into sobs as I crashed onto the ceiling then crawled out through the shattered window. I knew. Even before I saw. The truck’s frame was twisted, the metal mangled and bent.
I’d survived Samuel Keller’s attack tonight, but Grampy’s truck had become a casualty.
Along with my heart.
Chapter Twenty-one
It was after midnight when we finally made it home from the hospital.
Colton collapsed onto my couch with a groan of pain. “I still don’t have my car.”
Thankfully, Owen had seen our headlights shining in the darkness on his way to visit Granny and stopped to help. He’d gone to fetch her when the ambulance arrived, then drove her to the hospital to be with me. They’d delivered Colton and me back to my place, and neither of us had thought to complain. His car was usually here.
“Just sit,” I said, carrying two bottles of water to the seat beside him. “Drink this and be still. You shouldn’t drive anyway after whatever they put in our IVs for pain.” I knew it was powerful stuff because I didn’t give two hoots what anyone thought of him sleeping it off here.
“How did I let that happen?” he asked, cracking open his water and looking utterly disgusted. The tone and expression nearly broke my heart.
“You didn’t let anything happen. You can’t control people,” I said, sounding a lot like his brother. “You’re not all-seeing or all-knowing. You’re just a guy with too much responsibility on his shoulders, and you’ll be miserable forever if you go around thinking it’s all on you to handle alone.”
He flicked a weary gaze to me, then set the water aside. “Isn’t it? I’m the sheriff. I swore an oath to serve and protect the citizens of this county, and I’m doing a downright awful job. I should be fired. I brought a cop-killing maniac to Blossom Valley. I’m not a protector. I’m a menace.”
“You’re human,” I said, “and you absolutely did not bring Samuel Keller here. That’s absurd. It’s like saying you caused him to kill your partner or run us off the road. It’s just not true.”
Colton pulled his gaze away and dropped his head forward. He braced his elbows against his knees and locked shaky fingers at the back of his neck. His silence said what he wouldn’t.
“It is not your fault.” I scooted closer and set a gentle palm against his broad back. “I can see you think it is, but honey, it’s just not.”
He released the grip on his neck, but didn’t lift his head or face me. “He killed my partner, and now he’s trying to kill you. What if I can’t stop him?”
A charge of determination pushed through my veins where terror should have been. My spine stiffened, and I tugged hard on Colton’s shirt, forcing him upright and back against the couch until his eyes caught mine. “Listen here.” The warm and comforting tone I’d been hoping for came out sounding more like my old baseball coach when we were down in the last inning. “This is crazy talk. It’s a bunch of mess, and you don’t have time for it. You’re letting Keller get into your head.” I scooted forward and placed a palm against his cheek. “That’s exactly what he wants, and we’re not giving it to him. We’re going to find that creep, and you’re going to arrest him, or shoot him, I don’t care which right now, though that might change in the morning. Regardless, you’re going to let me help you, even if that just means you promise to come here for dinner and respite once a day so you can refuel. Running yourself down isn’t the answer, it looks more like a form of personal punishment, and you’ve got to stop that. It’s not helping.”
Finished ranting, I leaned against his side and rested my cheek on his chest. “We’re in this together, and we’re going to turn it around. Keller thinks he’s got us scared, but all he’s done is tick us off.”
Colton’s arm fell protectively around me. He tipped his cheek against the top of my head. “You’ve got a nice way of believing in me.”
“It’s ’cause I know you,” I said, “so I also know we’re going to be just fine.”
* * *
I woke to footfalls and hearty whispers in my kitchen. Bright streams of sunlight filtered through the window and onto my face.
Granny and her ladies were covering my countertops in a breakfast spread big enough to feed me for a week. Kenny Rogers and Dolly were circling Granny’s ankles and meowing their best for one little, tiny taste of any of it.
The hot, buttery scent of scrambled eggs and the salty, greasy smell of my beloved bacon, made my mouth water. My stomach sang along with the cats.
I sat upright with a wince, and the previous night returned to me in full force, bringing a deluge of unbidden tears to my eyes.
“Oh, sweetie,” Granny said, taking notice at once and hurrying to my side. “You’re okay now. We made you breakfast. All your favorites.”
“Grampy’s truck,” I said, half-choking on the words.
“Shh, shh, shh,” she sat beside me and curled me close in her arms. “That was just an old truck, baby girl. I don’t care about that, and neither would your grampy. In fact, I wonder if it wasn’t his hand that protected you last night when things could have been so much worse.”
I sobbed freely then, at the thought of Grampy looking out for me from above. I mopped my face with a wad of offered tissues until the tears ran dry, then pulled myself together. “Thanks.”
Granny kissed my head. “You be still. I’ll fix you a plate.”
Granny headed back to the kitchen, and Delilah moved into view. She set some letters and a package on the coffee table. “I brought your mail.”
“Thanks.” I wiped my eyes and nose, then leaned back against the couch. A new thought pulled me up straight, causing my head to ache and spin. “Where’s Colton?” I turned on my knees for a look outside the window. “Did you see him leave?” His cruiser wasn’t there, but it never had been. I’d been driving him to the station when Keller hit us.
“I believe his brother came for him at dawn,” Granny said.
Sue Ellen brought me a cup of coffee, then sat on the chair beside my couch. “My friend Margie works the front desk at the sheriff’s department, and she said a pair of US Marshals arrived just after seven this morning.
They’re hunting that man who ran you off the road last night. She said she’ll do her best to report back anything she hears. She’s not usually one to eavesdrop or gossip, but she says she’ll make an exception this one time, on account of you nearly being killed and all.”
Granny’s face was pale. “Good. Thank her for me.”
The ladies stayed for a long breakfast and plenty of good girl talk. No one said a word about Colton sleeping over, which I appreciated, since I was traumatized enough by last night’s crash without being made to feel I’d done something unseemly on top of it. Delilah told me all about her General Lee actor, whose name was really Dilbert Maloy, and Granny admitted to accepting a formal dinner invite from Owen, something she’d been putting off and dancing around for months. I knew why she was avoiding the date, but I was also certain Grampy would approve. Sue Ellen talked of her husband’s congregation and the wonderful things they were doing in the community. Slowly, I filled my stomach with hot, delicious foods and recharged my batteries with heaping helpings of love, hope, and coffee.
Exactly the combination I’d needed.
I hugged them each good-bye when Granny couldn’t put off opening the orchard any longer, then I went back to sleep.
I woke for the second time around noon, thankful Delilah had volunteered to run the cider shop for me. I didn’t have it in me today. Instead, I took a hospital-issued ibuprofen the size of my head and chased it with a bottle of water. Then I bumbled into my bathroom for a long, blasting hot shower. I stayed until my skin was pruney and the painful twisted knots of tension in my neck, back, and shoulders had given up the fight. I supposed the pain pill helped.
Forty minutes later, I was dressed, restless, and finishing a reheated second helping from Granny’s breakfast buffet. She’d taken Kenny Rogers and Dolly with her, so I had no one to talk to, and I nearly dove on the phone for company when it rang.
Seeing Dot’s number on the caller ID put an instant smile on my face. “Hello?”
“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Because everyone in town’s talking about that crash, and it’s got me worried about you all over again. Folks say it’s a miracle you both survived without a lengthy hospital stay.”
“I’m fine,” I assured her, “but to be fair, Grampy’s truck was a bit of a tank.” My throat constricted at the correct use of past tense. “They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“True, and speaking of historic vehicles. Since you’re feeling fine, how would you like to take Sally for a spin?” she asked. “Maybe bring a hungry friend some lunch?”
“Of course. Where are you?” Much as I hated the thought of getting behind the wheel again so soon, I needed to get out of the house before I climbed the walls, and it seemed unlikely Samuel Keller would hit me again already. Plus, the marshals were in town now. Surely, he knew that and was hiding under a rock somewhere.
“I’m at the fort,” Dot said as a round of musket fire erupted. “I’m manning two tables, and I left my purse at home.”
I smiled against the receiver. “No problem. Give me thirty minutes.”
Dot had the BE BACK SOON sign up on both tables when I arrived. She’d erected a pop-up chair between Dr. Austin’s wildlife rehabilitation table and an informational /educational table for the national park. “Thank goodness,” she said at the sight of me. “My stomach is making more noise than the Marines invading that fort. I was half-asleep when I left home today. I walked off without my wallet or water jug. Thankfully I had my keys and cell phone. Then again, I guess I couldn’t have gotten here without my keys.” She yawned. “I didn’t get home from the hospital until after midnight. You know that. You were there. How was your night after that?”
“Okay. I slept in today, and Granny made me breakfast. Thanks for keeping me company at the ER. You didn’t have to do that.”
Dot flung an arm around my shoulders. “Of course I did. You were nearly killed. Where else would I be?”
I leaned my head onto her shoulder as we headed for the food trucks. “Colton blames himself for the accident.”
“Of course he does. If brooding were a sport, he’d be a gold medalist, hold the world title, and have a crown. Did you set him straight yet?”
“I tried,” I said. “I haven’t seen or talked to him today, so I don’t know if it took.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath or blame yourself if it didn’t. He seems to be a bit of a hardhead if you ask me.”
I snorted at the truth in her appraisal. Colton’s unyielding pigheadedness was one of the things I respected most about him. As someone who suffered from the same affliction, I knew it was both a blessing and a curse.
Dot and I ordered southwestern grilled chicken salads from the Fork in the Road food truck, then carried them to a quiet picnic table with a little dapple of sunlight to counter the biting wind.
Dot dug into her meal with gusto, moaning and bobbing her head as if she hadn’t had second breakfasts already like I had. She tucked the same hank of wild auburn hair behind her ear every few minutes, but the wind just raked it loose again.
I was thankful I’d thought ahead to braid my ponytails and tug a knit cap down to my ears.
I smiled and nibbled my way through the best parts of my salad, unable to really eat again so soon. Still, there was always room for a little seasoned chicken, sweet corn, black beans, and those brightly colored crunchy strips.
“Let me ask you something,” Dot said, when she took a break on the salad and reached for her water. “Maybe this isn’t the right time, and you’re completely over it, but it’s making me nuts, so I really want to ask.”
“What?” I grinned, curiosity fully piqued.
“Mrs. Potter accused her husband of having an affair, all while she was the one having an affair of her own. Talk about projecting her own issues onto others.” She widened her eyes and took a swig of water. “That’s crazy, right?”
“I thought the same thing at first,” I admitted. “Like, maybe she really had been skimming cash so she could afford to leave her husband and be with the other guy.”
“And?”
I gave a sad smile. “I don’t know. All I have on the boyfriend is the county his truck is registered in and the fact that he has no priors. Also, he’s got a sturdy frame. He didn’t even drop the firewood when I crashed into him like a clumsy moron.”
“Maybe Mr. Potter’s death was a tandem effort,” Dot said, turning back to her salad. “Love is a powerful thing. So is anger. If Mrs. Potter was falling for the firewood guy and mad at her husband because she thought he was cheating, those things could have become a dangerous cocktail for rash behavior.”
I stopped to truly consider the possibility of Mrs. Potter as a killer. I’d tossed the theory around more than once without ever really taking time to ponder whether she was even capable. “Mr. Potter was hit over the head with a shovel while loading my truck,” I began. “I guess anyone could’ve done that. There’s no reason to assume he was overpowered or that he fought back. Someone shorter and not as strong could easily have administered the fatal blow. Heck, he could’ve even known she was there and just kept working. He had no reason to fear turning his back on his wife.”
Dot dropped her fork and napkin into the empty salad container, then drained her water. “Could’ve been the boyfriend too. No one would’ve recognized him, and Mr. Potter had no reason to think anyone wanted to harm him.”
I nodded thoughtfully, imagining both scenarios and trying to put myself in Mr. Potter’s shoes each time.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wouldn’t go back to the Potters’ house if I was you,” Dot said. “If we’re right, and Mrs. Potter or her boyfriend were behind Mr. Potter’s death, and they now know that you know about their relationship, they have good reason to want you silenced.”
“Pft,” I said, stretching onto my feet. “They’re going to have to get in line.”
“That’s not funny,” Dot said. She offered a small, sad sm
ile. “I’m sorry your life is so insane right now. Remember how dull it used to be?”
“Not really,” I admitted. My life had always felt frantic, filled with work and school and helping around the farm, plus after-school clubs and sports teams in high school and extra hours helping Granny with her food bank distribution as an adult. It wasn’t in my DNA to be idle, so I never had been.
Recently, my busy life had simply become more perilous and less entertaining.
“Walk me back?” Dot asked, tossing her trash into the nearest bin.
I shrugged and snapped the lid onto my salad. I’d have to finish it later when my appetite returned. “After you.”
We wound our way back to the tables, dodging happy families and kids with plastic guns and foam swords. “How’d you do with your table the other day?” she asked. “Get a lot of donations or hunters registered?”
“Quite a few, actually, and I sold a ton of cider to folks who didn’t want a free cup for registering for a license. I made enough that way to send the DNR a check for two hundred dollars.”
Dot lifted her hand to give me a cool high five. “Is it crazy that I feel a little guilty for leaving the table to eat?” she asked as her tables came back into view. “What if someone came by to sponsor a rehabilitating animal while I was off eating salad and concocting theories about things that weren’t my business?”
“You had to eat. People understand that. Besides, if they have a heart like yours, they’ll be back,” I said. “How’s the truffle hog doing?” Images of the poor thing’s severely damaged snout had cropped up in my mind a dozen times since I’d seen the gruesome photographs.
“He’s stable,” she said. “Doc’s got him doped up to keep his activity level low while his snout heals a little more. He’s eating on his own and putting back some of the weight he lost while stuck in that trap. He’s got a lot of big adjustments ahead of him. He’s going to need someone with patience to take him on, and hopefully not someone looking to take him to market. He’s a big boy, but he’s had a hard enough time already.”
The Cider Shop Rules Page 20
