by Rachel Lee
She stood uncertainly in the middle of the kitchen, fully clothed again, and offered him his shirt. “Thank you,” she said.
“Nothing to thank me for.” He pulled on the shirt and snapped it quickly, wanting to put her at ease.
“Yes, there is. You’ve been very patient with what can only be described as lunatic behavior on my part. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
He cocked his head to one side and told her. “That you’re a woman who’s been hurt very badly. That you can’t trust easily, which is hardly surprising. I can certainly understand why you’re leery of men.”
She looked astonished, and finally another small smile peeped through. “You’re damn good, Nighthawk.”
“No, I just pay attention. My gift is to listen.”
That gave her pause. She hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Your gift?”
“Each one of us has an ability of some kind that is a gift to others. Mine is listening.”
“And mine is painting.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, I think yours is laughing.”
“Laughing? Me?”
“You laugh a lot. You’re very humorous. You sure know how to make me smile. Your painting is a talent, but your laughter is a gift.”
Intuitively she understood what he was getting at. She liked the way he looked at things. There were times in her life when she felt the only thing about her that mattered to the rest of the world was that she could paint a decent still life. “Well, I wasn’t laughing a few minutes ago, and I want to apologize for the way I, um…you know.”
He smiled then. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that he almost laughed. “Apology accepted.”
“Thank you. It must have been unnerving for you.”
“Unnerving isn’t the word I’d choose.”
She blushed scarlet then and looked away. “Well, enough of that. I wonder what the dogs are up to.”
“Let’s go out and see.”
The night was chilly, kissed with the first breath of autumn. Craig had been right, the dogs hadn’t wandered far from the house. In fact, they were both frolicking in the yard, rolling with one another as happily as puppies.
Esther suddenly had a pang that Guin had never before known doggy companionship. Apparently she’d been missing it. And certainly Esther couldn’t roll around with her like that.
“I feel so guilty,” she said aloud. “I ought to get another dog for Guin to be friends with.”
“I think Mop has already taken care of the need for another dog,” he reminded her.
“That’s true. Heavens! What will their puppies look like?”
“I’m kinda curious myself.”
Esther giggled. “Oh, I can just see it! Imagine a komondor with spots like Guin’s. Or an all-white Saint Bernard.”
“How about a puppy with a mixture of short and shaggy hair?”
“Oh, no! No, that couldn’t possibly happen…could it?”
Craig smiled, wondering why everything should suddenly feel all right just because Esther Jackson was feeling humorous again. “Are you ready to put money on it?”
“No. Absolutely not! I’m not a betting woman.”
“Then maybe we’ll have a puppy that looks a little bit like both.”
Esther liked the way he included them both in that statement, as if they were having the puppies together. Which, she guessed, they were. Assuming, of course, that Guin was pregnant.
But looking at the big but gentle komondor, she somehow felt certain that he was as virile as he was big and shaggy. There would be puppies all right. And they would probably be as surprising as their parents.
Chapter 10
Craig had been sleeping on her couch for a week. Esther paused in the doorway of the living room and looked at his pile of neatly folded blankets and pillow. She could have offered him a bedroom upstairs, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. That seemed way too intimate, and she wasn’t prepared for intimacy with him.
Oh, heck, why not be honest about it? She was uneasy sharing a roof with a man, any man. She could argue with herself until she was blue in the face, but the fact was, men just simply made her nervous.
Intellectually she understood that not all of them were abusive, but emotionally she was like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times. The conditioned reaction was there regardless. Foot means kick. Man means pain.
Sighing, she turned toward the stairs and began to limp her way up them. Guinevere darted ahead of her. Time for a shower. Her day’s work was done, the light was gone, and she was tired. A good hot shower would not only wash off the remaining pigment from her paints, but it would unknot muscles tight with tension and relax her. She could hardly wait.
She was halfway up the stairs when she heard a car engine out front. Verna, she thought. Must be some bill that hadn’t come with the rest of them last week. Guinevere, already waiting impatiently at the top of the stairs, dashed right down, taking care not to knock over her mistress.
Suppressing a wince, Esther turned around and headed wearily down the stairs, too. For some reason her leg was acting up today, feeling as if it were unbearably weary even though she hadn’t done anything unusual. She might have overtaxed it without realizing it, but the muscular weakness that had resulted from nerve damage could be unpredictable in its effect.
She reached the bottom of the stairs just as someone started knocking on her door. Guin woofed deep in her throat and nosed the door. Well, that certainly wasn’t Verna out there. After all this time she and the dog both recognized the letter carrier’s distinctive rap.
Caution gripped her and she tried to move silently as she crossed the foyer to the door. It had to be one of the sheriff’s deputies, she reasoned. They were coming so often now…but not at this time of day. Never at this time of day. Of course that didn’t mean they couldn’t be doing something different today.
When she reached the door, she checked to make sure it was locked. It was. Then she peered around the edge of the frame out the window and found herself staring straight into the face of her father.
“Esther!”
The nightmare had come true. Even through the glass she could hear his voice. She began backing up, lost her balance and fell. Panic clawed at her, causing her heart to pound thunderously in her ears as she dragged herself across the floor to the newel post. Behind her, Guin growled deeply.
“Esther! I know you’re there!”
Yes, he knew she was there. She’d looked right into his eyes and suddenly she was a small child again, utterly at his mercy.
Sobbing for air she reached the foot of the stairs and grabbed the newel post for balance as she pulled herself to her feet. Guin barked warningly at the door.
“Esther, please…”
Please? Was that really him saying please? Never…not once… Gasping, she achieved her feet and looked wildly around. All the windows were locked. They had to be. She’d locked them herself and hadn’t opened any of them since.
The kitchen door! Moving as swiftly as she dared, terrified of falling again, she headed for the kitchen. Behind her her father hammered on the door and called her name while Guinevere’s barks grew in volume and frequency.
“Just listen to me!”
When had he ever listened to her? Suddenly she was four again, looking up at the huge, angry man who towered over her, crying, “Daddy, no! No! Please, Daddy no!”
Never had he once listened to her, not once in fifteen years, and then he’d had to sit in court and listen to her accuse him of murder. If he’d been willing to hurl her down the stairs because she had cried when she slammed her finger in the door, then he was willing to kill her for sending him to prison.
The logic was as inescapable as her panic.
She reached the kitchen at last and took what comfort she could from the fact that Richard was still hammering at the front door and calling her. Sobbing, she reached the back door and found that it was locked. With shakin
g hands, she drew the café curtains closed so that he couldn’t look in and see her, then she grabbed the phone, dialing Craig’s number. Paula answered.
“It’s my father,” Esther gasped. “Paula, my father’s here, beating on my door….”
“I’ll get Craig over there,” Paula said quickly. “Did you call the sheriff?”
“Not yet.”
“Call. I’ll call, too. Now just hang up and call the sheriff—”
Esther slammed the phone into the cradle, then hit the memory button for the Sheriff’s office. Velma’s familiar voice answered her.
“Conard County Sheriff’s Office. State your name and address, please.”
“Esther Jackson. I’m at—”
“Esther!” Velma interrupted. “What’s wrong?”
“My father’s here, banging on the front door. He won’t go away….”
“Hang on. I’ll send someone right away. Don’t hang up, Esther, hear?”
“Yes…yes…” She could hear him calling her from the front, but that was nowhere near as scary as what she felt when he stopped calling her at all. Then Guin stopped barking. From the front of the house came only a diminishing growl. Moments later she heard the tick of Guin’s claws on the wood floor. It sounded as if the dog were checking out other rooms. Other windows.
Oh, God, she thought, he’s coming around the house to find another way in. And then a worse thought struck her. What if he went out to the barn and destroyed her studio?
Dropping the phone, she hurried to the window and peeked out. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. He could come at her from almost anywhere.
Trapped! She felt so trapped! Time. She needed time. If she could just keep him from reaching her until help arrived, she would be okay. Maybe if she hid upstairs it would take him longer to find her.
But the instant she thought of climbing those stairs, her blood froze. What if he got inside while she was climbing the stairs? With her brace she would be at a distinct disadvantage. But worse—oh, God, the thought of encountering him on the stairs was more than she could stand. She might die for it, but she was not going to give him another chance to throw her down the stairs, the way he had thrown her when she was little. The way he had thrown her mother.
Shuddering, she grabbed her biggest butcher knife and tried to decide where the best place was to conceal herself. It never entered her mind to face him down. He had always been bigger and stronger and she had always been at his mercy. In her mind nothing had changed.
The closet seemed too obvious, but she didn’t want to crouch down behind furniture because in a crouch she was at a serious disadvantage since it was awkward for her to get up. Where then? There was no place that seemed good enough….
Minutes ticked by in utter silence while she dithered, trying to figure out where to hide. All the while her ears strained desperately, searching for any sound at all.
Guin chuffed from somewhere out front, the sound followed by the lazy tick-tick of her claws on the wood floor as she wandered back down the hallway. When she reached the kitchen, the dog sat down and regarded Esther from quizzical eyes.
Esther stared back at her for an interminable moment, wondering what this meant. Had Richard somehow managed to sneak so quietly around the house that he’d eluded the dog’s senses?
Suddenly there was another hammering on the door. Guin tore down the hall and started barking wildly.
Oh, my God, he was still there!
Craig was in the barn when Paula found him, laying another few yards of the plank floor they were replacing the old floor with as they could. The planks, separated by a small distance, would allow the sheep manure to fall through into the space beneath, and give the sheep a healthier environment for their hooves. Since he was planning to bring in all his pregnant ewes and keep them in here for lambing, it was going to be essential to get as much of this floor as possible done before spring. Although if Cromwell kept eating the neighbors’ flowers, things could get delayed.
“Craig?”
Paula’s voice conveyed enough worry that he sat up immediately and looked at her. “What is it?”
“Esther just called. Her father’s beating on her door. I called the sheriff—”
But he was already on his feet, dropping his hammer, shucking his tool belt, grabbing for his shirt. “I’m going.”
“I told her you were coming.”
Shoving his fingers into his front pocket, he dug out his truck keys. “I’ll call and let you know.”
“Please.” She looked up at him from dark worried eyes. “Hurry.”
But he was already out the door, loping across the yard to his pickup. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, slowing down time, making everything seem to take too damn long. He might have been running through molasses.
He cursed every inch of county road between his place and Esther’s but finally he was at the entrance to her driveway. He screeched into the turn but had to pull swiftly to one side to avoid a car that was tearing back up the driveway.
Richard Jackson! Craig was sure the gray-haired man behind the wheel of the old Chevy couldn’t be anyone else. He hesitated, wondering if he should follow the man. No, Esther had to be his first priority. If she was hurt…
He turned into the driveway and raced down it, nearly flying over the ruts and bottoming out in the potholes. Damn, her driveway must have gotten miles longer since the last time he’d driven it.
But at last he roared into her yard and jammed his truck to a halt. He jumped out without even taking his keys out of the ignition and ran up the steps to the door. It was locked. God! He started hammering as loud as he could. “Esther! Esther, for God’s sake, open up!”
He could hear Guin barking, but nothing else.
“Esther! Open up or I’m gonna break this lock!”
Suddenly the door flew wide open and Esther fell sobbing into his arms. He clutched her to him, holding her tightly around the waist, pressing her face to his shoulder.
“Thank God,” he said raggedly. “Thank God. When I saw him tearing out of here I thought—” He broke off sharply, unable to complete the sentence. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he held her as close as he could get her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she sobbed. “He was here. Oh, Craig, he was here and he wouldn’t go away….”
“I saw him. He was driving away…. Esther, he didn’t hurt you?”
“No! No! I never opened the door. He just kept hammering on it and shouting my name….”
He heard another engine behind him. Cuddling her close, he turned a little so he could see the sheriff’s Blazer come tearing up the drive.
“The sheriff’s here,” he told Esther, who was still weeping on his shoulder.
She held her breath and looked up, dashing away her tears with the back of her hand. At her feet, Guinevere chuffed uneasily, and whimpered happily when her mistress scratched the top of her head. “It’s okay, Guin,” she assured the dog tearily. “It’s okay now.”
Beau Beauregard stepped out of his vehicle and approached. “I take it he’s gone?”
“He was pulling out of the driveway just as I pulled in,” Craig told him.
Beau looked at Esther. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. Really. The doors were locked and I didn’t open them. He just stood out here hammering and calling me.”
Beau pulled out a pad and began writing. “Did you happen to see his car?”
“I did,” Craig answered. “A 1986 Chevy Nova, metallic blue, needs a new paint job. Sorry, I didn’t get the license number.”
“Did you notice if it was a Wyoming plate?”
“Out of state. Blue, I think, but I don’t remember for sure.”
“Well, out of state is almost as good as the number around here,” Beau said with one of his slow smiles.
“Can you keep him away from me?” Esther demanded. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I’ll talk to the sheri
ff about it, Miss Esther, but I honestly don’t know. Your property isn’t posted, so he wasn’t rightly trespassing. He didn’t hurt you or anything else, so I really don’t see what we can do. I expect the sheriff’ll want a word with him, though.”
Esther felt a frustration that bordered on rage. “This isn’t fair! He shouldn’t be able to terrorize me this way!”
Beau looked as if he were about to agree, then thought better of it. “I’ll talk to the sheriff about it, ma’am. I’ll let you know what he says.” Then he cleared his throat, looked down at the toe of his boot, and said, “Unofficially, the son of a gun better not cross my path. You want me to stay out here with you, Miss Esther?”
Esther looked at him in wonderment, then looked up at Craig. He didn’t look at all pleased by the deputy’s offer. “Uh…thank you, Beau. That’s very kind of you. But I’ll be okay. Really.” Craig’s arm seemed to tighten around her shoulders, and she found the touch surprisingly comforting.
“Okay, then,” said Beau. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the sheriff calls you later, Miss Esther. Have a good one.”
Esther didn’t feel much like going back inside after the deputy left, so she and Craig sat on the porch and watched the late-afternoon wind blow across the prairie. The mountains looked almost black this afternoon, against a sky that was washed out with dust. Esther absently picked at the flecks of pigment that were still stuck to her hands and tried to imagine how she would capture the not-quite-monochrome effect of the pale sky, black mountains and gray-green grasses. The world almost looked as if the sun had bleached it out.
Yet it wasn’t hot today. It was a surprisingly comfortable and dry eighty degrees. Perfect. Almost.
“I can’t believe it,” she said finally. “That man is terrorizing me and there’s nothing they can do.”
“They have to follow the law.”
“Well, the law is useless! There ought to be something they can do!”
Craig hesitated, but decided to go ahead and lay it out anyway. “Fact is, the law is the only thing that kept me from being lynched when they found the Dunbar girl’s clothes buried on my property.”
