by Sharon Sala
“Thank you for taking care of me,” she said.
Wyatt leaned over and softly kissed her cheek. “It’s my pleasure,” he whispered. “Now see if you can get some sleep.”
She frowned. “I don’t want to sleep. It’s too late in the day. If I sleep now, then I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”
A cocky grin slid across his mouth. “Oh, that’s okay,” he said. “I can think of a few other things we might do instead.”
In spite of her pain, she laughed. And at his insistence, rolled over and closed her eyes. I do love the way his mind works, she thought.
“To heck with my mind, how about the rest of me?” he asked, and left her grinning.
In spite of Glory’s determination not to sleep, she quickly succumbed, and she was still dozing when Wyatt wandered outside to get some air. It was hard to keep his mind occupied with anything but Glory’s safety, but he knew that he needed to take a break from the tension under which they’d been living.
For a few minutes, he wandered around the immediate vicinity of the cabin, but he was too cautious to go far. For lack of anything better to do, he picked up a stick, headed back to the porch steps and then began to whittle. The activity had nothing to do with creativity. It was a thing to pass the time.
He had a good accumulation of wood chips going when he heard someone coming through the brush. For the first time since his arrival, he looked up with interest, not fear. When Edward Lee came ambling out of the trees, Wyatt stood up.
“Ma said I could bring you some cookies.” He handed Wyatt the sack before adding, “They’re my favorite kind.”
Wyatt grinned, then opened the sack. “Would you like some?”
Edward Lee looked back over his shoulder. His father was right behind him, walking with the ease of a man who’s at peace with himself, and comfortable with the presence of the rifle he had slung on his shoulder.
“Daddy, Wyatt says I can have some of his cookies.”
Liam Fowler grinned. “Then I suppose you’d better have some, son.”
A wide smile spread across Edward Lee’s face as he thrust his hand into the sack and came up with two cookies, one for each hand, then set about eating them.
“Had yourself any more trouble?” Liam asked.
Wyatt shook his head. “No, and I suspect that’s thanks to you and your friends.”
Liam nodded and absently stroked his beard, rearranging the thick, black curls without care for appearance.
“What puzzles me is why Glory is suffering with this,” he said.
“She has a theory,” Wyatt said. “It came from something that Anders Conway said. He said that a lot of people are afraid of her.”
Liam nodded. “That’s true. It’s a shame, but it’s a fact. Lots of people fear what they don’t understand.”
“Are you afraid of her?” Wyatt asked.
Liam smiled, then looked down at his son. “No more than I’m afraid of Edward Lee. So, what’s she getting at, anyway?”
“Not too long after I arrived, she had a vision. She saw someone hiding evidence of a terrible crime. But she only saw it in her mind. She believes that whoever committed this crime is afraid that, because of her gift, she will be able to point the finger at him, so to speak. And that he’s trying to get rid of her to keep his secret safe.”
Liam frowned. “It sounds ugly, but it makes a lot of sense. I’ve known that girl since the day she was born. Rafe Dixon was one of my best friends. I’ve seen grown men say prayers when she crosses their paths, just because she has the sight.”
Wyatt shook his head in disbelief.
With cookies gone, Edward Lee’s attention wandered. “Wyatt, where’s my Mornin’ Glory?” he asked, interrupting the seriousness of their conversation.
“She’s taking a nap.” As soon as he said it, he sympathized with the disappointment on the young man’s face.
And then the door behind him suddenly opened, and Edward Lee bounded to his feet.
“Mornin’ Glory! You woke up!” Delight was rich on his face as he threw his arms around her neck, hugging and grinning broadly as she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.
“I thought I heard voices,” she said, smiling easily at Liam and his son.
“Ma sent cookies,” Edward Lee said.
Wyatt hid a grin. He could see where this was going and handed Glory the sack.
“They’re my favorites,” Edward Lee reminded her.
Glory laughed. “How many have you already had?”
“Only two,” he said.
“Then maybe you could have two more?”
Liam laughed aloud at his boy’s ingenious method of begging.
“Don’t eat them all, boy!” he prodded. “Ma’s got a whole cookie jar full saved for you at home.”
Edward Lee nodded and chewed, unable to answer for the cookie in his mouth.
“Would you like to come inside?” Glory asked. “I could make a pot of coffee.”
Liam smiled, and brushed his hand against the side of her cheek in a gentle, but testing gesture.
“No, thank you, girl. I just stopped by to say hello. We’d best be gettin’ on home before my boy eats all of your food.” And then he cast a long approving glance at Wyatt before tipping his hat to them both.
“You be careful now, you hear?”
Wyatt nodded. “Same to you, friend. Same to you.”
When they were gone, Glory waited for Wyatt to say something, anything, to break the tension of the look he was giving her. But when he remained silent, she took the initiative.
“What?” she asked.
“I told Liam about your theory.”
Her face lost all expression. She wouldn’t allow herself to care if Edward Lee’s father doubted her.
“So?” she asked.
“He said it made sense.”
The tension in her body slowly disappeared as she dropped down to the porch steps and dug in the sack for a cookie.
“Want one?” she asked, and offered it to Wyatt.
He shook his head, then sat down beside her, slinging an arm across her shoulders.
“What I want is for you to be safe and happy. What I don’t know is how to make it happen. This waiting is driving me insane.”
She nodded in agreement, thoughtfully munching the cookie, savoring the spicy taste of cinnamon, oatmeal and raisin. When she was through, she brushed her hands on the sides of her jeans and then studied the toes of her shoes.
Wyatt could tell there was something on her mind, but he didn’t know whether to ask, or wait for her to say it in her own time. Finally, impatience got the better of him and he tugged at her braid to get her attention.
“So are you going to say what’s on your mind, or are you going to leave me hanging?” he asked.
“I think I should go back to the dump.”
Wyatt flinched. He didn’t like to think of what she’d endured before. Putting herself through torment again seemed more punishment than sense.
“But why, honey? You know what it did to you the first time.”
She sighed, then leaned her head against his chest, relishing the comfort of his arms as he pulled her closer.
“Because if I’m right about why someone wants to harm me, then what happened there impacts my safety. When it happened before, I was so shocked by the horror that I pulled out of the vision before it had time to play out.” Her voice deepened in dejection. “I don’t even know, if we go back, that it will happen again, but if it does, maybe I will see something that will give us a face…or a name. As Chief Conway says, something solid to go on.”
“I don’t like it…but I’ll take you.”
She went limp in his arms. “Thank you, Wyatt. Thank you.”
He frowned. “Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “This mess isn’t over.”
Chapter 13
Wyatt was slipping the gun in the back of his jeans as Glory came out of the bedroom. He noticed her look of fear before she had time to hi
de it.
Watching him arm himself to protect her was a shock. She fiddled with the ends of her braid in embarrassment, unnecessarily tucked at the pink T-shirt already in place beneath the waistband of her jeans.
“It’ll be all right,” he promised, as he went to her side. “I won’t take my eyes off you for a second.”
“I know that.” She let him hold her, relaxing against his chest, and focusing on the constant and steady beat of his heart. “It’s just that the sight of that gun reminds me that I’m no longer safe.”
He tilted her chin until she was forced to meet his gaze. “You say the word, and this trip to the dump is off.”
Dread of what lay ahead was overwhelming, but she was firmly convinced that if her life was ever to get back to normal, it hinged upon finding the identity of the man who’d dumped that woman’s body in with the garbage from Larner’s Mill.
“No. I want this to be over with.”
He nodded. “Then let’s get started. The sooner we get there…”
He left the rest of the phrase undone as they started outside.
Glory paused in the doorway, allowing herself one last look at the inside of Granny’s cabin, absorbing the familiarity of its simple decor. The old wooden floors. The papered and painted walls, peeling and faded. The pictures and knickknacks that Faith Dixon had accumulated over her ninety-one years.
Wyatt put his hand on Glory’s shoulder. When she turned, there were tears shimmering across the surface of her eyes. Her pain broke his heart.
“We’ll be back, sweetheart. I swear.”
Glory lifted her chin, then straightened her shoulders and nodded.
“I knew that,” she said softly. “I just needed to remember my people.”
There was nothing else to say as he locked the door behind her. Moments later, they were in the car and on their way down the road. When they passed the site where her home once stood, she frowned at the remaining rubble.
“This place is a mess,” she muttered.
“It will get better,” Wyatt said. “One of these days, everything will be better.”
Glory sighed, then made herself relax. This, too, shall pass.
Wyatt heard her thought and had to restrain a shudder. He hoped to God that he wasn’t destined to be part of her past. He couldn’t imagine a future…his future…without Glory in it.
Bo Marker sat in the midst of the ruins of a late-night run for food that he’d made to a local convenience store. Potato chip crumbs were caught in the fabric of the truck seat, as well as hanging on the front of his shirt and jeans, leaving grease stains wherever they clung. An empty box that once held half a dozen chocolate cupcakes was on the floorboard, and the wadded wrappers from two deli sandwiches lay on the ground where he’d tossed them out the window. An empty liter of soda was on the ground beside them, and a half-empty bottle of the same was tucked safely between his backside and the butt of his gun.
His eyes were red-rimmed; his face itched from a three-day growth of whiskers. But he was determined that this time, he would not miss his chance. So when he heard the familiar sound of a car coming down the mountain, his pulse accelerated. If it was them, he was going to be ready.
He lifted the deer rifle from the seat beside him, angling it until it was pointing out the window. Adjusting the telescopic sight until the crosshairs were in perfect alignment with a tree on the opposite side of the road, he drew a deep breath and took aim at the peak of the hill down which they would come. And when the car topped the hill and started down, he squirmed with pleasure. It was them!
“All right!” he muttered. “Now it’s my turn.”
The speed at which they were traveling allowed him little time for error. He squinted, adjusting the scope as he followed the car’s descent. Now the crosshairs were in alignment with the middle of the driver’s face. The image he had was perfect, right down to the scar on the big man’s face. And then he swung the barrel a few inches to the left, firmly fixing upon the woman in the seat beside the driver.
The nearer they came, the more certain he was that, in seconds, it would be over. His finger was firm upon the trigger, his breathing slow and even. He was counting his money as he squeezed.
When the car came even with his location, he was still scrambling to find the safety he’d forgotten to release. And when the car passed the trees behind which he’d hidden his truck, and then disappeared around the curve in the road beyond, he was cursing at the top of his voice and hammering his rifle against the door in unfettered fury.
“By God, you won’t get away from me this time,” he screamed.
He started his engine, gunning it until blue smoke boiled from the rear exhaust. When he launched himself from the trees and onto the road, he left a wake of overrun bushes and broken limbs behind him.
Potato chips flew, while discarded paper scooted from one side of the floorboard to the other as he followed Wyatt around the curve. The partial bottle of soda tipped over and began to leak upon the seat. Bo couldn’t have cared less. He was on a mission, and this time, there would be no mistakes.
Their ride down the mountain had been silent. Wyatt was concentrating on what lay ahead, and Glory was locked in the past, trying to remember everything she could of what she’d seen before. But when she saw the sign indicating the way to the dump, she tensed.
Wyatt sensed her anxiety, and when he slowed to take the turn, he gave her a quick, sidelong glance. Her face was pale, and her hands were clenched in fists.
“Honey, don’t do this to yourself,” he begged. “Either relax and let whatever comes, come, or just stop it all now.”
“It’s too late to stop,” she said. “It was too late the day Daddy and J.C. died.” Her chin quivered as she tried to get past the pain. “Besides, I can’t stop what I didn’t start. This is someone else’s game. My fear comes from the fact that I don’t know all the rules.”
“Then we’ll just make some rules of our own,” he said, and moments later, came sliding to a halt at the edge of the pit.
For a time, neither moved as they stared down into the morass. Scavengers had dug through part of the dirt covering the latest loads. Bits of garbage were blowing around the bottom, caught in a mini-whirlwind of dust and debris, and the usual assortment of birds were circling and landing with no particular rhythm. Even though the windows on the car were up, the odor of rotting garbage was invasive.
“Here goes nothing,” Glory said, and got out on her side of the car as Wyatt exited on his. When he came around to get her, the gun was in his hand.
“How do you want to work this?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess go back to the place where I was when it happened before.” And when she started walking, Wyatt was right beside her.
She paused, then frowned as she remembered. “No, Wyatt. If this is going to work, then everyone has to be in the same position. You were on the other side of the pit with the truck.”
“Damn it, Glory. I don’t want you out of my sight.”
Smiling, she lifted her hand, caressing the side of his face, and tracing a fingertip down the scar on his cheek.
“Then don’t close your eyes,” she teased.
He groaned, then pulled her into his arms and tasted her smile.
Like Glory, it was warm and light, and Wyatt held her close, demanding a response that was not long in coming.
She bent to him like a leaf to the wind. Absorbing his strength, taking courage from his presence, when he trembled beneath her touch, she knew that she was loved.
The rough squawk of an angry crow disturbed the moment, and brought them back to the task at hand.
Wyatt held her face in his hands, gazing down into those wide, all-seeing eyes, and knew a peace that he’d never known before. His voice was rough and shaky, but he was certain of his feelings. “God in heaven, but I love you, girl.”
“Remember that tonight when we’ve nothing else to do,” Glory said, and tried to laugh through a
n onset of tears.
And then before he could talk himself out of it, he jogged back to the place where he’d parked, then turned and waved, indicating that he was ready for her to proceed.
Glory took a deep breath, said a small prayer and started to walk, trying to remember her frame of mind that day, as well as where she’d been when she stopped and looked back at Wyatt, who’d been standing on the bed of her daddy’s old truck.
The air was thick and muggy, and she wished for a breeze to stir the constant and often overpowering smell that went with this place. As she walked, she tried to let her mind go free, discarding her fears so that she would be receptive to whatever might come.
Long, anxious minutes passed, while Wyatt stood beside the car, watching her as she walked farther and farther away from him. Twice he almost called her back, but each time he resisted, remembering instead why they’d come.
And while he waited for something to happen, he constantly searched the line of trees around the dump. Now that they were off the mountain, he was solely responsible for Glory’s well-being. Just when he feared this might be a wasted effort, she paused, and then her posture changed. He could tell, even from this distance, that she was lost in a world he could not see.
Glory was at the point of believing that this would be a repeat of the day she’d stood in the rubble from her home without seeing any more of the man who’d caused its destruction, when everything shifted before her eyes.
The bright light of morning faded into night. Again, a quarter moon shed a faint ivory glow on the upraised trunk of a big gray sedan. A man stood hunched over the depths of the trunk, and then he straightened and turned. Again, Glory saw the long white bundle he held in his arms.
She shuddered, then moaned in fear—afraid it would stop and afraid that it wouldn’t.
She watched through his eyes as the bundle toppled, end over end, then rolled down the deep embankment before coming to a stop against a mound of dirt. And as before, the wide-eyed but unseeing gaze of a dead woman’s face stared back up at her.
