by Sharon Sala
As they passed, the buildings seemed to blur one into the other. Glory was lost in thought and on the point of dozing, when the air inside the car suddenly seemed too close. And before she could react by rolling down a window, the skin on her body began to crawl. She went from a slump to sitting straight in the seat, searching the streets on which they drove for a reason that would explain her panic.
“Wyatt?”
Apprehension sent her scooting across the seat next to him, clutching at his arm.
“What is it?” he asked, and started to slow down, thinking she might be getting sick.
“No! No!” she shouted. “Don’t stop. I think he’s here!”
“You think who’s h—” He swerved as understanding dawned. “Where?” he asked urgently, looking from one side of the street to another.
“I don’t know,” she said, and then pressed her fingers against her mouth and groaned softly. “I’m afraid.”
“He can’t hurt you, darlin’. I’m here.”
Glory leaned even closer, her heart pounding, and let herself be pulled toward the fear. They had to find him. It was the only way she knew how to make it stop.
“Do I keep driving, or do you want me to stop?” he asked.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the fear, and then looked up with a jerk.
“Turn here!” she ordered, and Wyatt took the corner on three wheels.
Carter was stuffing money in his pockets when the sound of tires squalling on the street behind him made him look up in fright.
“Damn and blast,” he groaned, and took off without retrieving his money card and receipt that were still hanging out of the machine.
“There!” Glory cried, pointing toward a dark gray car that was hurtling out of the drive-through at the bank.
Wyatt accelerated past the bank, and then swerved sharply to the right, blocking the car’s only exit. Instinctively, he shoved Glory to the floor and then grabbed for his gun. He looked up just as the car came skidding to a halt. He jumped out with his gun aimed, unaware that Glory refused to stay put. The need to look into this man’s face was, for her, overwhelming.
“Son of a…!” Carter’s heart dropped.
But it wasn’t the man with the gun who did him in. It was the sight of Glory Dixon, sitting up in the seat and staring back at him with those clear blue eyes.
“No-o-o,” he screamed, and shoved his car in reverse. Rubber burned on the pavement as gears ground and tires began turning in reverse.
But no sooner had he begun to move, than the big red four-by-four that was behind them turned the corner and hit his bumper with a thump. It didn’t make a dent in the big truck or its occupants, but it jerked Carter’s head, popping his neck like the crack of a whip.
Whiplash!
He groaned. A lawyer’s favorite injury, and here he was without a prayer of collecting on the deed. He looked out his windshield and saw the man with the gun, waving and shouting at the kids in the truck. He was vaguely aware of them getting out and running toward the bank, and then of someone dragging him out of the car.
He was choking from the hold the man had on the back of his shirt. Every time he tried to move, the hold tightened and he would be all but yanked off his feet. The reality of his situation came swiftly when he finally heard Wyatt Hatfield’s angry voice.
“Glory. Is this him?”
In a daze, she stared at his face, looking past the plain appearance of an overweight and aging man, to the evil in his eyes. And when she looked, it was there. The guilt. The shame. The fear.
She looked down at his hands and, in her mind, saw the same hands turning the jets on the cookstove in her house, then breaking a knob so that it would not turn off.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s him. That’s the man.”
Carter cursed and made a desperate effort to jerk free of Wyatt’s hands, but the man and his grip were too strong. In the struggle, his jacket fell open, and money dropped from his pocket and onto the ground. A draft caught the bills, shifting and fluttering them along on the pavement, farther and farther out of Carter’s grasp.
“My money!” he cried. “It’s blowing away!”
“You’re not going to need money where you’re going,” Wyatt said.
Carter’s mind was whirling in desperation as the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. Moments later, when the chief himself slid to a halt and exited his car on the run, Carter started babbling.
“Conway, thank God you’re here. This stranger just tried to hold me up. Look! My money! It’s blowing away! You’ve got to help me.”
Conway motioned for a deputy. “Handcuff him,” he said.
“No!” Carter screeched as the steel slid and locked around his wrists. “You’ve got the wrong man! I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“That’s not exactly what Bo Marker says,” Conway drawled, and was satisfied with himself when all the blood seemed to drain from the lawyer’s face. That was guilt showing, or his name wasn’t Anders Barnett Conway.
“Who’s Bo Marker?” Carter finally thought to ask, although he suspected his reaction might have come a little too late to be as believable as he’d hoped.
And then all eyes turned to Glory as she answered for them all. “He’s the man you hired to kill me…isn’t he, Mr. Foster?”
Carter looked away, unable to face her accusation.
But Glory wasn’t through. “Why, Mr. Foster? Why would you want to harm me? I didn’t even know your name.”
He stared, unable to believe what she just said. She hadn’t even known his name? Could that mean, if he’d let well enough alone, he would have gotten away with murder?
“Going on a trip, were you?” Conway asked, as he saw the bags and stacks of clothing in the backseat of the lawyer’s car.
“Why, no,” Carter muttered. “I was, uh…I was going to…” He brightened. “I was about to donate all this stuff to the Salvation Army.”
Wyatt picked up a handful of money from the ground and stuck it beneath Carter’s nose. “What was this for? Were you going to donate all of your money, too?”
Carter glared, then focused his anger on the chief of police. “Exactly what am I being arrested for?” he muttered.
“For the murder of Rafe Dixon and James Charles Dixon. For hiring a man named Bo Marker to kill Glory Dixon. And when we get through digging in the city dump to find the body, for the murder of Elizabeth Foster.”
Carter tried to fake surprise. “Betty Jo! Murdered! You can’t be serious?” And then he tried another tack. “You have no proof.”
“When we get through digging, I will. I’m going to go back to the office and take this little lady’s statement, just like I should have done days ago. And when we get through digging through the garbage, if I find myself a redheaded woman by the name of Elizabeth, who’s wrapped up in something white, then you’re in serious trouble, my friend.”
His eyes bugged. The description was so perfect that it made him sick. “That’s impossible,” he muttered, and then he thought to himself. No one saw.
Glory gasped, and answered before she thought. “Oh, but that’s not true, Mr. Foster. I did.”
Carter went weak at the knees. His mind was running on ragged, and afraid to stop for fear that hell would catch up with him while he was forced to face the truth of what she’d just said.
The witch, the witch. She’d read his damn mind.
Conway read him his rights as he dragged him away.
The ride home was quiet. Little was said until they pulled up in front of the cabin and parked. As they got out of the car, Liam Fowler and his friends walked out of the trees and into the yard.
“They’ve heard,” Glory said.
“Already?” Wyatt asked.
She nodded. “It doesn’t take long for word to get around up here.”
Liam Fowler was grinning as he grabbed Wyatt’s hand and gave it a fierce shake, then brushed the crown of her head with the flat of his palm.
“Glory girl,
you choose your friends well,” he said. “We’re all glad you’re safe, and if you want to rebuild, just say the word. We’ll be here.”
Tears shimmered on the surface of her eyes as she nodded. But the emotions of the past few hours were too much for her to speak.
“Excuse me,” she said, and ran into the cabin.
“It’s been a bad day,” Wyatt said.
“It’s been a bad week, friend. Real bad. We lost two good friends. Thanks to you, we didn’t lose another. If you happen to be a mind to stay in these parts, we’d be real proud to have you.”
Then without giving Wyatt time to answer, they disappeared as quickly as they had come. As soon as they were gone, Wyatt went to look for Glory.
He could hear her sobs as he walked into the room. Without pause, he locked the door, set the gun on the mantel, and followed the sound of her voice.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he said gently, as he crawled onto the bed with her. “Cry all you want. I’ve got you.” When she rolled toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, he groaned and held her close.
“Oh, Wyatt. His face…did you see that man’s face? He’s not even sorry for what he did.”
Wyatt felt as if his heart was breaking. If he could, he would have taken her pain twice over, just to make sure she never suffered again.
“I know, darlin’, I know. Sometimes the world is an ugly place.” He pulled her closer against him, comforting her in the only way he knew how. With love.
He held her until her tears dried, and only the occasional sound of a sob could be heard as she slept. And when she was fast asleep, he eased himself gently out from her bed, then went into the other room. There was something yet to be done.
Justin Hatfield leaned out the front door of his house and called to his brother-in-law, who was loading tools in the back of a truck.
“Lane! Telephone!”
Lane dropped a tool belt and a sack of nails into the bed of the truck and came running. He cleared the four steps up the porch in one leap and reached for the phone just as Toni walked into the room.
“Hello,” he said, and gave Toni a wink.
“Lane, it’s me, Wyatt. It’s over.”
Lane dropped into the chair by the phone. “What happened?”
“One of them started taking potshots at us at the dump. We caught the other one coming out of a bank. It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
Lane was surprised by what Wyatt just said. “There were two?”
“So it seems,” Wyatt said. “At any rate, it’s over. I just wanted to let you know that she’s safe and everyone’s in custody.”
“What happens now?” Lane asked.
Wyatt rubbed his eyes wearily, then stared out the window over the kitchen sink into the nearby trees. The beauty of what was before his eyes was in direct contrast to what lay ahead.
“Tomorrow they start digging through the dump for a body.”
Lane sighed with relief. He’d been living with guilt ever since the day he’d left, knowing that Wyatt was more or less on his own.
“You did a real good job, brother. Have you ever considered going into my line of work?”
Wyatt’s answer was abrupt, but concise. “No. In fact, hell no!”
Lane grinned. “Just thought I’d ask.”
“Anyway, thanks for all you did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Lane said.
“Oh, yes, you did,” Wyatt argued. “When I called, you came. A man couldn’t ask for anything more.”
“If there’s one thing that living with the Hatfields has taught me,” Lane said, “it’s that…that’s what families are all about.”
Wyatt turned toward the bedroom where Glory lay sleeping. His eyes darkened. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “If you can’t count on family…who can you count on?”
Long after their conversation was over, the heart of it was still with Wyatt. And as he lay beside Glory, watching her sleep, he felt the last of his uncertainties about himself slipping away.
Through a quirk of fate, he and Glory Dixon would be forever linked. He knew as surely as he knew his own name that he could not, and did not want to try to, exist without her. She was, quite literally, in his blood.
And with the acceptance of that fact, came the acceptance of his own future.
Chapter 15
Wyatt stood at the edge of the pit, watching as men scoured the dump below. With more than a week’s worth of dirt and garbage to move, he did not envy them their task.
Along with the local law, officers from the state police were on the scene, and at last report, Bo Marker was recovering by the hour. The better Bo felt, the more he talked. He was perfectly willing to admit to two counts of assault with a deadly weapon, but not murder. For once, he was innocent of something vile, and fully intended that everyone know.
Wyatt knew that while Marker’s testimony backed up the truth of Glory’s life having been in danger, there was still only her word—the word of a psychic—as to why Carter Foster wanted her dead. Carter was sticking to his story about his wife having left him for another man. Unless they found a body, he knew her story would stand on shaky ground.
Yesterday had been bad…both for Wyatt and for Glory. But that was yesterday. This was today. And the despair that he’d expected to see on her face when she woke had been absent. In fact, she’d greeted the day with eagerness, ready to put the past behind her. If only I was that confident about losing my ghosts, Wyatt thought.
Someone shouted from the line of cars behind him, and as he turned to look, he realized Glory was nowhere in sight. Only moments earlier, she’d been at his side, squeezing his hand in intermittent bouts of anxiety as load after load of garbage was shifted down below. But now she was gone. A quick burst of nervousness came and then went as he reminded himself she was no longer in danger.
A hot gust of wind blew across the ground, stirring the air without cooling it as he moved away from the site. Just as he started toward the line of parked cars, he heard her calling his name.
“Wyatt!”
He spun, and when he saw her waving at him from the shade of the trees, he started toward her at an easy lope.
Glory watched him coming, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time, and marveled at the link they shared, as well as at the man himself.
In her eyes, he was as strong as the hills in which she’d been born. As brown as the earth upon which she stood. And he’d been as faithful to his promise as a man could possibly be. She wondered if after this was over, there would be anything left between them, or if he would consider this a promise made, a promise kept—and be on his way.
She said a prayer that it wouldn’t be the latter. He was so deep in her blood that if he left her, he’d take part of her with him. How, she wondered, did one live with only half a heart?
Laughter was in his voice as he swung her into his arms and off her feet.
“I lost you,” he said, nuzzling the spot below her ear that always made her shiver.
“No, you didn’t, Wyatt Hatfield. You’ll never lose me.” She stroked her hand against the center of his chest. “I’m in here. All you have to do is look. I’ll be waiting.”
Whatever he’d been thinking died. All sense of their surroundings faded. The smile slipped off his face as he lost himself in a cool blue gaze.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” he asked quietly.
But before she could answer, someone shouted his name. He turned, still holding Glory in his arms.
“Why, it’s Lane!” Glory said, and then noticed the tall, pretty woman walking beside him. Neither the denim jeans and shirt nor the well-worn boots she was wearing could disguise her elegance.
“And my sister,” Wyatt added.
Glory could see the resemblance in their faces, and the proud, almost regal way in which they held themselves as they walked. Both of them had hair the color of dark chocolate, and eyes that matched. Along
with that, there was a similar stubborn thrust to their chins that made her smile.
Toni Hatfield Monday couldn’t believe her eyes. Lane had said Glory Dixon was small. But she wasn’t prepared for that fragile, fairy-looking waif who stood at her brother’s side. And her hair! It was a fall of silver and gold that caught and held sunshine like a reflection on water.
But as she came closer, her opinion of helpless beauty disappeared. In spite of the fact that Toni was nearly as tall as Wyatt, she felt small and humbled by Glory’s pure, unblinking stare. For several seconds, she was so locked into that gaze that she forgot why she’d come. And then Glory smiled, and the moment passed.
“So,” Toni said. “We meet.” A quick sheen of tears came and went as she spoke. “Do you remember what I said I wanted to do when that happened?”
“About wanting to hug angels?” Glory asked.
Toni nodded.
“Good. I could use a hug today,” Glory said, and let herself heal in Toni Monday’s welcoming arms.
Toni smiled at the nervous look on Wyatt’s face, and then turned and kissed him on the cheek.
“Don’t worry, big brother. I won’t give away your secrets. I just came to see your lady, face-to-face.”
Wyatt was playing it safe and accepted her kiss as his due.
“I have nothing to hide,” he drawled.
Toni laughed aloud at her brother’s audacity. “God save us from pretty men who lie as easily as they make love,” she said, and winked at her husband as she took Glory by the arm. “Let’s walk,” she said. “I came a long way to say thank-you.”
Glory held the joy that was in her heart, savoring this moment to herself. It gave her a feeling of belonging to someone again.
“There was no need to say it again,” Glory said. “I’m the one who’s thankful that Wyatt could make sense of what I’d seen.”
It was impossible for Toni to hide her amazement. “I won’t pretend to understand,” she said. “But I will never doubt your ability, of that you can be sure.” And then her voice softened as she took Glory by the hand. “Lane told me what you’ve had to endure. I’m so sorry for your loss, but at the same time, thankful that you and Wyatt have found each other.”
