This had to be Lindsey.
She was shivering. He registered what felt like pajamas under his palm, not the winter coat she needed on a night like tonight.
"What are you doing over here?" This late. No way Jilly knew she was in his house.
The girl didn't make a peep.
Had he read things wrong? Was she cowering at his feet? So scared of him that she was trembling?
Something ugly settled in the pit of his stomach.
He worked to gentle his voice. "Is everything okay at your house—at Jilly's house?"
He didn't smell any hint of smoke, though fire was only one of the disasters that ran through his mind.
The girl still didn't speak, and he tried to tamp down his frustration at the limitations of his blindness. Was she completely terrified of him?
"I can't see you," he told her. "You're going to have to give me something here."
"Meow."
Had she—?
She'd just meowed at him.
And he experienced a visceral memory of being seven years old and hiding in his closet with the door closed. Panic had filled him up like an overinflated balloon, closing off his chest until he'd barely been able to breathe. And he'd sat completely still and silent on a pile of clothes and shoes he'd been supposed to put away. Believing with all his might that, if his mom couldn't find him, then what she had to say couldn't be true.
"Okay." He pushed away the memory but couldn't push away how shaken he felt in its wake. "Okay."
Action. He needed to do something.
The door was still open, and neither one of them was getting any warmer standing here. He reached for the wall hook where he kept several coats. He grabbed the first thing his hand touched—a sheepskin lined coat—and bent to wrap it around the girl. It engulfed her completely, and then some.
"Little kitty, can you do this?" He felt the weight of her attention snap to him. "Can you meow once for yes and twice for no?"
There was a slight pause and then, "Meow."
Yes.
Okay. This was going to work.
"Little kitty, is there an emergency at Jilly's house?"
"Meow meow."
No.
He didn't acknowledge the beat of relief.
"Do you know what an emergency is?"
"Meow." This time he could hear a soft resignation in her tone.
Satisfied that he didn't need to dial 911, he took a moment to steady his breaths and grab the next nearest coat from its hook. He shrugged it on, letting its weight settle over him. It felt like a straight north wind was slicing through his open back door, but he didn't want to trap her inside.
"Did your brothers do something to you? Pick on you?"
"Meow meow." No.
He fumbled for the sneakers lined up on the rug in the corner of the mudroom. It wasn't ideal to put them on bare feet, but it was better than having his feet exposed.
"Did you have a bad dream?"
He was wracking his brain for reasons the girl would've hiked across the field, down the hill, and all the way to his house.
"Meow." So soft that he barely heard her.
A nightmare.
What could've frightened the girl so badly that she'd come over here? He didn't ask. He knew from experience that sometimes nightmares were real.
"Does Jilly know you came over here?"
He knew the soft two meows were coming, but he needed to be sure.
"You didn't want to wake her up?"
"Meow meow."
"Would she be angry if you woke her up?"
He waited, but no answer came. Maybe Lindsey didn't know. How long had she been with Jilly?
"You have to go back home," he said softly.
"Meow," came the whisper.
He was going to have to walk her home. She wasn't his problem, but she was on his doorstep.
He was already exhausted. And he didn't want to face Jilly again when he was already off-kilter. He could still hear the soft gasp she'd tried to swallow when she'd flipped on the light and seen his face.
But it didn’t look like he had a choice.
"Is it okay if I walk with you?"
"Meow." Still resigned.
"I just made some tea. Do you want some hot chocolate to drink on the way?"
"Meow!"
"Stay here. Don't move."
He left her in the mudroom. He had enough hot water still in the kettle to make one cup of cocoa.
By touch, he found a small travel mug at the very back of the upper cabinet. Mom had forgotten it several visits ago.
The hot chocolate was harder to find. He knew he had a half of a box left, only because he hadn't wanted to throw it away...
He found it on the top shelf, labelled in Braille.
He quickly poured the hot water over the powdered mix and stirred it up. Smacked the lid on and returned to find Lindsey huddled on the floor where he'd left her.
"You can wear my coat for now," he told her. "Do you have shoes on?"
"Meow."
He ushered her outside, grabbing his cane before he closed the door behind them.
The cold air was bracing. When he took his daily walk, it was always in the opposite direction, following a cow path down to the pond. He'd become familiar with every tree and bump on the path.
But heading toward Jilly's house was setting off into the unknown.
"Can you show me the way?" he asked. "You'll have to hold onto my wrist.” Held it out. “Here."
"Meow." Yes.
Her hand wasn't big enough to curl around his wrist, and holding hands was too intimate—she didn't know him.
He improvised. "Can you grab the sleeve of my coat? That'll work."
It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.
He heard her slurp the hot chocolate as they began walking. Noah tapped his cane on the ground ahead of himself, on the opposite side of each step. His O & M—orientation and mobility—skills were excellent, but it gave him a sense of relief to have the girl attached to him. To know she wasn’t going to wander off in the darkness.
They followed the gravel driveway for several hundred yards. Instead of taking it all the way to the road, Lindsey tugged on his sleeve, asking him to turn off the driveway into the grass. Ah. It was only a few steps before his cane clanged against a metal... gate?
Lindsey let go of him and clambered over the metal structure. His coat rustled a lot, and her shoes squeaked on the metal.
By touch, he moved to one end of the gate. No latch. He crossed to the opposite end and found the chain and closure. No climbing for him. He latched it back carefully. He didn’t know whether Jilly had any farm animals in this pasture.
On the other side, Lindsey took hold of his sleeve again. The ground was different here. His shoes crunched over dirt, tilled in narrow rows. This must've been one of the fields Jilly had been plowing with her tractor.
The ground beneath his feet changed again. More grass. Another field. He got one whiff of sweet hay before he was hit with the stench of manure. Jilly must have horses on the property. There had to be a barn nearby.
And then his cane clanged into something metal. He skirted it. The cane clanged again. A swing set maybe? An older one, like he'd had when he was a kid.
And then, finally, his cane connected with the wooden boards of what must be Jilly's porch.
Everything was silent except for the sounds of his and Lindsey's breathing.
"You go in and go back to bed, okay?" he said.
"Meow."
She pressed the travel mug into his hand. And then his coat. He pretended her silence meant thank you.
He waited until the door opened and closed before carefully turning around.
Now, to head home. Swing set. Plowed field. Gate. Driveway.
Going home meant facing into the biting north wind, and he hurried his steps, cursing Jilly under his breath. Didn't she have a lock for the door? Why didn't she use it?
Of course, he'd been roaming
his neighborhood at about the same age. A locked door had never stopped him.
He missed the gate at first but found the barbed wire fence and followed it several yards until he found the gate. Winter was coming and there were no night noises like there would be during the summer. Only his footsteps crunching in the gravel.
Mom had been nagging him for years to find an apartment near her in the city. She constantly talked about proximity and public transit, but after what had happened with Karla, he wasn’t interested.
He didn't live out here in the boonies because of his blindness. He'd bought the place because the land was a steal and because he wanted to be left alone.
He was content out here. And as long as he was alone, nobody could get hurt.
Except, somehow, Jilly's kids kept finding their way onto his property. This had to stop. Even if Lindsey's visit hadn't been malicious… What had she wanted, anyway? Had she been wandering and gotten lost? In any event, it couldn't happen again.
He had to find a way to enforce the no trespassing signs posted all over his property.
* * *
The doorbell rang as Jilly, hauling a pile of clean laundry, was heading for her downstairs bedroom.
Glad for the interruption, she tossed the laundry on the couch. How could three kids create such a mountain of laundry?
She answered the door and found her sister outside.
Iris was somehow both glowing and a little green.
"Come in—"
Jilly didn't get the words out before Iris was nudging past her and sprinting toward the downstairs bathroom.
Jilly closed the door and went to the laundry. This was normal, right? Iris was twelve weeks along with her first baby, and her morning sickness was turning into family legend.
Jilly got a kind of perverse pleasure out of seeing Iris sick. Her sister had been there every step of the way as Jilly had battled her cancer. Iris had seen Jilly at her worst. Some days, she couldn't get out of bed, couldn't keep any food down, couldn't shower.
All the while, Iris had been cool and collected and beautiful. There were days Jilly hated her.
Now, the shoe was on the other foot. Iris was sick as a dog most mornings. The doctor was aware of the morning sickness, and regular checkups showed the baby was healthy. There was nothing to worry about.
And maybe Jilly's feelings weren't exactly pure, but the cancer had taken so much from her. She didn't quite have it in herself to get past the jealousy. She'd wanted a baby. Someday. Eventually.
The cancer had stolen that dream from her.
She'd folded three of Casey's shirts and knocked several socks to the floor when Iris emerged from the bathroom, one hand pressed against her still-flat stomach.
"All right?" Jilly asked. "There are saltines in the kitchen if you need them."
Iris waved her away. "I'll be fine." But her knuckles were white where she gripped the back of the couch. And she didn't sit, leaving a clear path to the bathroom.
"What's up?" Jilly asked. "The boys okay?"
Iris's husband had twin five-year-old boys from his first marriage. Iris loved them as her own and had been a basket case when they'd gone to kindergarten earlier in the fall.
"Levi and Brandt are fine," Iris said. "I'm here to check on you."
"Why?" Jilly kept her gaze on the small pair of jeans she was folding. "You saw me at church two days ago."
"I'm worried about you." Iris apparently wasn't holding back. "You've changed, and..."
Jilly laughed a little as she picked up a matching pair of socks and rolled them together. "What do you mean?"
"We never see each other anymore."
At the wobble in her sister's voice, Jilly abandoned the laundry. She leaned her hip against the arm of the couch and gave Iris her full attention. "We see each other all the time. We had coffee last week. And we talked on the phone, too."
Iris's lips firmed in a stubborn line.
Jilly tried to hear what she was saying, but she didn't get it. "Maybe I've been a little busy. Things will calm down once the kiddos settle in. We're still adjusting to each other."
Iris's eyes narrowed. "This is what I'm talking about. Last year you moved out."
After their uncle died, Jilly and Iris had lived together in his house. But once Callum was back in the picture, it made sense for Jilly to be the one to leave.
"Then you made a sudden decision about fostering these kids. You had no idea what you were getting in to—"
"It wasn't sudden." Jilly felt her face flame as her temper got involved. She'd had to work for months to get certified as a foster mom. So much paperwork. Home visits. Background checks.
It was all worth it. Or it would be.
"I was ready to start a family." And she didn't have to explain herself. She was the older sister. Iris wasn't the boss of her.
Iris studied her a moment but then went on with new determination. "Yeah, but why this way? Why not something more conventional? Meet a guy. Date for a while. Get married."
Get married. The verbal blow hit low in her midsection, and Jilly hadn't been braced for it. Her legs went weak. She locked her knees, thankful the couch kept her from falling.
Iris had been there to pick up the pieces after Eddie had stomped all over her heart soon after her diagnosis. She'd seen the awful scars left by Jilly's surgery. The surgery might've saved her life, but it had also left her a husk of a woman.
Iris was supposed to understand.
But she just kept talking. "A husband, a partner, would make things so much easier for you."
Jilly tried to breathe through the pain. Shards of it shredded her lungs, and she wanted to lash back at her sister.
"Oh, really?" She gulped in a breath. "Is it so easy on you when Callum travels for days at a time and leaves you to take care of the boys?"
"That's not all the time—"
"And what about when the two of you have a disagreement"—Jilly used air quotes, cliché as it was, mostly to bother her sister—"when he thinks you shouldn't be working while you're pregnant? Is that easy?"
Iris bit her lip.
For a brief moment, Jilly experienced a blip of guilt.
Iris had called her the other night, upset, and told her about the fight with Callum in confidence. Maybe it was childish to bring it up now, but Iris was stomping all over Jilly's feelings and didn't seem to care.
Jilly couldn't imagine getting close enough to someone to let them see her scars. She was still self-conscious about wearing shirts that were the least bit clingy, even with a well-fitted padded bra.
Whatever confidence she once had in her beauty as a woman, it was long gone.
She was grateful to be alive. And she wasn't going to wait around to start living the life she wanted. Not when it could be taken away at any time.
Her face was still hot as she went back to the pile of unfolded clothes that had grown considerably smaller. "Let's not argue."
Iris didn't push the issue. "I need a glass of water."
Iris disappeared into the kitchen, and Jilly attacked the remaining laundry with a fervor born from her frustration with her sister.
It wasn't Iris's fault. Her sister would never know what it felt like to be in Jilly's shoes. Mom would've understood. But Mom hadn't survived her bout with cancer.
Iris was slow to return, then stood hesitantly in the doorway with her glass in hand. "Do you... need anything? I was going to ask how things were going but..."
She trailed off and jerked one thumb over her shoulder.
Confused, Jilly shrugged. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Iris's eyes grew wide her. "You haven't looked out back? Out the kitchen window?"
What was she talking about? Jilly strode toward the kitchen, Iris falling back so that she could get through the doorway.
One glance outside, and she instantly saw what her sister had been talking about.
Noah's house had been vandalized. She couldn't see the full message from here. She didn
't have to. In black spray paint were two words. Two crude curse words.
Was the message for her or for Noah?
For her. Because she'd punished them with no TV for a week for their prank. PJ had been repentant. He'd done the small chores she'd asked of him, like putting away the clean dishes, cleaning his room, doing his homework without complaint. Casey had been stubbornly distant.
And now this.
She hadn't even drawn a breath past the one that had lodged painfully in her chest when the phone rang.
An omen?
Hands shaking, she took the phone out of her hip pocket and glanced at the display. It was Aiden, Noah's assistant.
For a minute she flashed hot and then cold. How could he know?
He couldn't, could he?
Aiden's voice wasn't apologetic or embarrassed this time, only cool.
"Miss Tatum, last night, your foster daughter apparently walked over to Noah's house and scratched"—his voice rose in inflection as if he was asking a question—"on his door."
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, making it hard to hear him. "What?"
"Apparently your—"
"I'm sorry. I heard you, I just…"
Lindsey had snuck out and gone to Noah's house?
"What time exactly?"
"He said it was after midnight."
"Midnight?" She could only seem to parrot the young man, as shocked and upset as she was.
"Mr. Miller seemed worried."
Seemed worried. Not said he was worried. Of course he hadn't. I don't want them—or you—on my property. Those were the words Noah had said to her.
"But not worried enough to call himself," she snapped.
What had Lindsey been thinking? The temperature had dropped last night into the low thirties. Jilly hadn't had a chance to get the kids a thick winter coat yet. She's been bundling them in double sweatshirts, relying on the milder temperatures. Not only that, but what if Lindsey had gotten lost? A little girl out on the farm could get into big trouble quickly.
And how had Lindsey snuck out of the house without her hearing?
"Mr. Miller intends to make a trespassing complaint to the sheriff's department."
What? No.
Jilly's eyes darted back to the awful message scrolled on Noah's house.
She'd fully intended to disclose it. Promise to take care of it, though she couldn't erase that it had happened.
Cowgirl Next Door (Sutter's Hollow Book 3) Page 3
