by Alison Stone
His pulse spiked.
His truck. The one that had been stolen.
Exactly where he had parked it the very first night he had arrived at the bed-and-breakfast when Fox escaped. Was this a message? That he had been watching all along?
He scanned his surroundings. No sign of movement. He slid the switch on his flashlight and lifted it to examine the interior of the cab. The beam of light lit on Brian Fox, head tilted back, eyes closed.
Adrenaline surged through his system.
Zach aimed his gun at the one man he hated most in the world. The man who had destroyed so many lives.
Tucking the flashlight under his arm, he yanked open the door and aimed his gun at Fox’s head. The temptation to pull the trigger and kill the poor excuse for a human being blackened his heart. His hand trembled on the trigger and a voice whispered in his head, That’s not you. Don’t kill him. Take him into custody. He’ll be judged by someone far greater than you.
Swallowing hard, Zach took a step closer and grabbed Fox’s arm. A chill ran down his spine. Fox’s head lolled over. His body was cool.
Zach checked Fox’s pulse. Nothing.
He couldn’t have been dead long.
But he was dead.
Definitely dead.
Zach holstered his gun and stood frozen for a minute, unsure of how to feel.
“It’s all over,” he muttered to himself. “It’s really over.”
He grabbed his phone and called Deputy Gates. “I found Brian Fox. He’s dead.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m across the street from Quail Hollow Bed & Breakfast.”
“I don’t understand. We’ve been patrolling that area.”
“Fox was sitting in the driver’s seat in my truck. The truck was partially hidden by an abandoned buggy.”
“Couldn’t have been there long. We’ve been thorough.” He could hear a rustling. “The log says that a patrol was through there fifteen minutes ago.”
Zach tapped the side of the truck with the palm of his hand. “Well, he’s here now.”
“I’ll follow up on it. But are you sure it’s Brian Fox?”
“Yes, it’s definitely him. No gun blast to the face this time.” He moved back in front of the open truck door. “I know I hit him when he was making his escape.” He turned on his flashlight and saw blood staining his tan T-shirt. “So, either I hit him or someone else did. Either way, the road has ended for Mr. Fox.”
* * *
Heather rolled over and slowly opened her eyes, surprised at how well she had slept. The bed was very comfortable, especially for a guest room. She pushed up on her elbow, testing to see how much pain she was in. The throbbing in her head had dulled and the bruise on her cheek was tender to the touch. But she’d survive.
She pushed back the hand-sewn quilt that someone—maybe Jill, maybe Jill’s mother—had perhaps picked up at an Amish sale. The hardwood floor was cool on her bare feet, reminding her that winter was coming.
She pulled back the room-darkening curtains and stared outside. Clouds cast an eerie glow over the early morning. She reached over and picked up her cell phone on the bedside table—7:17 a.m.
Unease crawled up her spine as she imagined her enraged ex-husband skulking around the woods, determined to find her after learning that she had escaped the inferno, her certain death.
He had failed at controlling her, once again.
Crossing her arms over her oversize T-shirt, she turned away from the window. Curiosity had her moving toward her bedroom door. Surely Zach had returned sometime last night. Did he have news?
She paused at the mirror and smiled. She better take a few minutes to get presentable before she checked to see if her host was awake.
After she got dressed, she went to the kitchen. Zach and his father sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Mr. Walker looked up and smiled. He pushed away from the table and the back of his chair hit the door leading out to the backyard. “Good morning.” He lifted his mug and took a sip, then set it down. “Okay, what kind of eggs would everyone like? I’ll get the bacon on.”
Heather narrowed her gaze. An entirely different mood settled, albeit subtly, into the cozy space, as if a weight had been lifted. Had something happened last night?
Zach stood and pulled out a chair for Heather. “Sit down. My father wouldn’t allow us to help, even if we asked. What kind of eggs would you like?”
Heather lifted her hands, not wanting to be an imposition. “Whatever’s easiest.”
Mr. Walker grabbed the eggs from the fridge and spun around to face them. “Why don’t I make a big batch of scrambled eggs?”
Heather’s stomach grumbled. “Sounds good.”
Zach grabbed a mug and the coffeepot. He set the mug in front of her and smiled. “Cream and sugar are right here.”
“Thank you.” She traced the handle of the plain ceramic mug, then met Zach’s gaze. She almost hated to ask because she feared the answer, but she couldn’t delay any longer. “Any word on the search?”
If she hadn’t looked up from the sugar bowl, she might have missed the quick exchange between father and son. Her heart plummeted. “Do you have news?”
Zach let out a long breath. “Yes, I do.” He seemed to be searching for the right words. Goose bumps blanketed her skin as she anticipated his update.
“Did Brian hurt someone else?” She swallowed around a knot of emotion.
Zach pressed his lips together, then reached across the table to cover her hand. His hand felt warm on hers. Comforting.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Last night I was searching your property—”
“At the bed-and-breakfast?” She couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice.
“Yes. I found my stolen truck parked across the street with Fox at the wheel. He was dead.”
Heather’s hand flew to her chest as a flush of an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint settled on her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “Brian’s dead?” She lifted her watery gaze to him. “Are you sure?”
Zach squeezed her hand. “Yes. I saw the body myself. There’s no mistake this time.”
She nodded slowly, as if in a fog. “It’s over. It’s really over.”
“Yes. It’s over. I wanted to tell you last night, but you were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you.”
“How did he die?”
“Best guess? He succumbed to the wound when I shot him,” Zach said. “I checked with the sheriff’s department that he had been shot, apparently twice. An autopsy will confirm cause of death.”
Heather pulled her hand out from under his and placed each of her hands on either side of her coffee mug, focusing on the warmth flowing off the ceramic. A tear trailed down her cheek.
Zach brushed the tear away. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this.”
Heather nodded again, trying to let the news settle in. “I can go back to the bed-and-breakfast. Get back to my life.” She tilted her head toward him and winced at the pain. “I suppose you’ll be getting back to Buffalo, too.”
Zach smiled but didn’t say anything. Heather didn’t know what to make of it.
Heather felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She glanced up into Mr. Walker’s kind eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Heather’s lips trembled. This man had lost his beautiful daughter and he was comforting her. She reached up and patted his hand. “Thank you for keeping me company last night. It meant a lot to me.”
“It was my pleasure.” He grabbed the pan of eggs from the stove and dished them out. He set three plates down on the table. “I can understand why my son talks so highly of you.”
Zach cleared his throat. “We’re not telling tales out of school, are we?”
Mr. Walker picked up a pi
ece of bacon with his fingers. “I like to be helpful. My son here would be all work and no play...”
Zach laughed. “I’m a grown man. I think I can get my own dates.”
Heather felt her face heat as she moved the eggs around her plate with the fork.
Zach took a sip of his coffee, then set it back down. “Can we just eat and enjoy the peace? We finally don’t have anything to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about.
Heather’s mind flashed to the barn and her canceled reservations at the bed-and-breakfast. She had a lot to take care of—a lot to worry about—but God had seen to it that her biggest concern was no longer a threat.
She scooped up the eggs and couldn’t believe how delicious they were. “These are fantastic. I’m not going to be in a hurry to go anywhere.” Then realizing what she’d said, she quickly backtracked. “I mean...”
Both Walker men laughed. “We know what you mean,” Zach said as he bit into a piece of bacon. “My father really knows how to cook.”
* * *
Shortly after breakfast, Zach had plans to drive Heather home to the bed-and-breakfast. “You’re welcome to stay at the cabin for a few more days to recover. My father loves cooking for you.”
Heather tugged on her seat belt, seeming anxious. “As wonderful as that sounds, I need to get home. To start figuring out what I need to do to have the burned-out barn replaced. I need to reassure those who have future reservations that we’ll be reopening for business soon. I can’t afford to waste any more time. This is peak tourist season. Once winter arrives, business will slow down, maybe even come to a halt.” She dragged a hand through her hair and sighed heavily, sounding weary. “And I can’t put you and your father out any longer.”
“Don’t overdo it. Promise me? You’ve had a concussion.” He wanted to say so much more, but now didn’t seem like the right time. He didn’t want to pressure her.
“I’ll try.” He knew it would be a struggle considering how determined she was to make a success of the bed-and-breakfast.
“I have to get back to Buffalo for work, but I could come back on the weekends and help you with projects.”
Heather shifted in her seat but didn’t say anything. For the first time in a long time, Zach felt an air of awkwardness stretch between them. Something that hadn’t existed between them before. Perhaps he had said too much.
Zach cleared his throat, wanting to backtrack. “I figured you could use some help.”
“I really could, but you have a life, a job, in Buffalo. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. You’ve already done so much.”
Zach knew a brush-off when he heard it, but he also realized Heather had been through an awful lot recently and it wasn’t fair of him to expect her to make any other plans for the future other than getting her bed-and-breakfast up and running.
He slowed and turned into her driveway. His vehicle bobbled over the ruts created by the hardened mud. Sloppy Sam—Zach couldn’t help but smile inside every time he thought of the workman’s nickname—was installing a handmade sign on the front lawn: Quail Hollow Bed & Breakfast.
“Look at that,” Heather said, an air of excitement in her voice. “The sign looks beautiful.” She climbed out of his vehicle and went over to chat with the Amish workman.
Zach parked and got out. He grabbed her overnight bag from the backseat and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Where do you want me to put this?”
“I’ll take it.” Heather held out her hand. “I don’t want to hold you up.”
“No, you need to take it easy. I’ll carry your bag in and put it on the landing upstairs.”
Heather smiled, a genuine smile. The weight of recent events seemed to have lifted and left a light in her eyes. “I won’t argue. Upstairs would be great.” She turned to Sam. “Thank you. The sign looks awesome.” She traced the carved lettering with her index finger. “Just beautiful.”
Sam tipped his broad-brimmed hat. “Denki.”
Heather jogged and caught up with Zach. She slipped ahead of him and reached out to unlock the door to the house, when it swung open. She glanced back at him with a startled expression.
Was someone inside?
Zach was about to stop Heather’s entry when Ruthie’s voice rang out. “You’re home!” Heather’s shoulders relaxed at her friend’s greeting.
“I am.” Heather stepped aside to hold the door open, allowing Zach to pass.
“I’ll run this upstairs.” Zach patted her bag and jogged up the stairs. When he came back down, Heather was sitting at the table in the new addition while Ruthie put the kettle on.
“Stay for some tea, Marshal Walker?” There was something very hopeful, almost gleeful, in her tone.
“I should probably go.”
“Don’t run off. Not yet.” Heather glanced at the seat next to hers. “Sit down a minute.”
He sat down at the table, not eager to leave. “Our view isn’t quite the same as it was a few days ago.” In the bright sunshine, the loss of the barn was staggering. Heather seemed to stare at it for a long moment, as if reflecting on how she had almost lost her life in the raging fire.
Ruthie set out two cups of tea and a few cookies. “I’m going to run upstairs and do some cleaning.” She paused in the doorway. “Thanks for keeping my gut friend safe.”
Heather pushed the plate of cookies toward Zach and he waved them off and she laughed in response. “Yeah, I’m not exactly hungry, either. Not after that breakfast your father made us.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their tea. After a stretch, Zach stood up. “I guess I shouldn’t prolong the inevitable.” It seemed they were playing a game of who was going to say goodbye first.
Heather stood up, joining him. She placed her hand on his chest and leaned up on her tippy-toes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll miss you.”
Zach tilted his head back and smiled. “You know where to find me if you need a hand around here.”
“Be careful what you offer.”
“I wouldn’t offer to help if I didn’t mean it.”
Zach cupped her soft cheek, then let his hand drop. He turned to leave before he changed his mind.
FIFTEEN
A few days had passed and Heather was feeling much better. The only outward sign of her injuries was a slight yellowish mark under her eye. Nothing a little makeup wouldn’t cover up.
On her trip to the grocery store, the sun seemed brighter and the air smelled sweeter. She had said more than her share of prayers for Brian’s soul, but now was her time to move on. Thank God that He had protected her and those she cared about.
Picking out the groceries for this weekend’s guests had been a pure pleasure. The bed-and-breakfast had been aired out and was ready for guests. She could finally get on with her life without constantly looking over her shoulder.
As she wandered the aisles, her mind drifted to Zach. She missed him. He had called yesterday to check in on her, but the conversation had been brief. Perhaps neither one of them knew what to say after all they had been through.
His presence here had been part of his job.
That’s all.
He owed her nothing more. Her feelings for him were born out of gratitude.
That’s all.
Heather smiled at the cashier as she paid, then loaded the groceries into her car to head home. She thought of her mother as she drove. Apparently her mind wouldn’t allow her to have a completely worry-free day. She supposed it was her nature. Her mother’s murder had never been solved, but maybe it was time to put her mind at peace and focus on the fact that her mom wasn’t suffering. She was in heaven. She wouldn’t want her eldest daughter to waste any more of her life trying to uncover the evil of the past.
Even though Heather wasn’t Amish, she needed to follow the Amish way in honor of her mot
her and forgive the murderer. Move on.
Brian was gone, that was the most important thing. That part of her past was over. She was safe.
Maybe it was time to let it all rest.
A car’s horn honked behind her. She glanced into her rearview mirror and muttered, “Sorry,” even though he couldn’t hear her. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting at the stop sign. She looked both ways and moved through the intersection.
The car behind her sped up and zipped around her. Heather cringed when she noticed a horse and buggy traveling on the shoulder in the opposite direction. The Amish woman frowned and pulled up on the reins when the car sped past.
It seemed the tranquility the Amish sought was forever being encroached upon by the Englischers. Heather wondered if she was respecting her grandmother’s home by allowing outsiders in.
Her worries fell away when she arrived home and saw the beautiful sign Sloppy Sam had constructed on the front lawn: Quail Hollow Bed & Breakfast. She had to believe her mammy was happy to have family back in her home.
Her proud feelings were replaced by curiosity when she noticed a car parked in the driveway. She wasn’t expecting guests. “Is that Fiona’s car?” she muttered to herself. Had the writer shown up unannounced? Heather didn’t think she was scheduled to stay. Maybe Ruthie had taken the reservation and forgot to mention it. Yet they didn’t take reservations for a weekday.
Heather popped the trunk and grabbed a few of the grocery bags. She’d return for the rest in a few minutes.
When she climbed the steps to the porch, she heard loud voices coming from inside. She set the bags down on the porch and opened the door. Nerves tangled inside her stomach.
Fiona stood with her back to the door. Ruthie was begging Fiona to leave. From her vantage point, Heather couldn’t see Fiona’s face to get a better read on the situation.
“What’s going on?” Heather asked, her mouth growing dry as her nerves buzzed.
Fiona spun around, her face radiating rage. Reflexively, Heather recoiled; her instincts told her to get away. The same instincts that had convinced her it had been time to leave her husband.
