“Aynslee and I would be honored to come.”
Aynslee poked me in the leg. I ignored her. “We just need to return to the cabin and—”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Elijah caught Ruby’s gaze, then looked at me. “We have everything you’ll need. We’re leaving shortly.”
“Oh, but—”
“It’s quite a distance, you know, and there wouldn’t be time for you to go home and return. We all go up as a group, so there’s just this one opportunity.” Elijah rubbed his forehead, tugged his ear, then placed a gnarled finger in front of his lips.
He was lying.
I wasn’t going to be able to tell anyone I was going to the revival. That was probably the concession he made to Blake. She can come, but no one can know where she is.
I’d be on my own, with my daughter, with a snake-handling cult.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AYNSLEE AND I FINISHED OUR MEALS IN SILENCE while conversations swirled around us. I listened for any mention of snakes or serpent handling, but all I heard was mind-numbing, convoluted stories about car troubles, relative problems, and local politics. Throw in the regional accent and I was hard-pressed to follow anyone’s discussion.
Little Sarah, Ruby’s daughter, brought over a hand-stitched teddy bear made of sturdy burlap for Aynslee to admire. “Hello there, Mr. Teddy.” Aynslee handed the bear back.
Sarah took Aynslee’s hand.
Aynslee glanced at me.
“Go ahead.”
The two of them scampered off.
“Sarah don’t usually take to strangers,” Ruby said, watching them. “She doesn’t talk.”
I wanted to ask why, but considering I just attended her son’s memorial service, probing into her daughter’s problems might be a bit intrusive.
But I was supposed to find out more about these people. “Was she born like that?”
“No. No.” She sighed. “Her sister, she was just twelve. Well, she died. April 15. Sarah stopped speaking when that happened.”
I thought about the list of deaths. Was her daughter the first? Mentally I kicked myself for not bringing the folder with me. I finally said, “Aynslee has a big heart. Maybe Sarah can sense that.”
“She’s probably a lot like her mother that way.”
I looked down. She wouldn’t be nearly so kind if she knew I was infiltrating her church to have the congregation arrested.
The women started collecting empty plates and cups, and I stood to help. Ruby caught my arm. “Let them clean up.”
Nodding, I sat down. “That was a beautiful memorial service. I noticed you . . . um . . . prayed for someone named Jason Morrow. Did you know him?”
“I didn’t. It was just so sad.”
“Hmm.” I wanted to press the issue, but this didn’t seem like the right time.
“I’d like to get to know a bit more about you, seeing you’re joining us for the homecoming.”
“Ahh . . .” I scratched my nose and glanced away. “What do you want to know?” Brilliant, Gwen. If Ruby’s an expert on deception, you just gave her three clues that you’re going to lie.
“Your husband?”
Robert was a relatively safe topic, and I relaxed slightly. “Ex-husband. He divorced me when I was diagnosed with cancer. Then wrote a book, a novel, loosely based on me. It made me seem like a flaky idiot.”
She made a tut-tut sound.
A fly discovered my empty plate and I swatted at it before looking at her kind face. “I forgave him. Finally.”
“That must have been hard. If I can ask . . . Why did you marry him in the first place?”
“Oh, he was handsome . . . and brilliant. And I was young, just nineteen—”
“Around these parts, you were practically an old maid.”
I smiled. “Well, maybe the word I should have used was naive. He loved my starry-eyed adoration.”
“Is he—?”
“Remarried. And happy.” I nodded toward Aynslee. “And he gave me my daughter.”
“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb is a reward.”
“Uh . . . yeah, that’s what I always say.”
Blake approached. Now that he wasn’t towering over me and growling, I could see he was even better looking than I’d originally thought. Most decidedly eye candy in that store window.
Heat crept across my cheeks and I ducked my head so no one could see my blush.
“We’re full up,” Blake said. “Can you ride?”
“Ride?” I glanced up.
Blake’s jaw twitched and he folded his arms.
“What he means,” Ruby said, “is all the four-wheelers are taken up with people and supplies, and the only other way to get to the homecoming is by horseback. Can you and your daughter ride horses?”
“Oh. Sure. I mean, I’m rusty, but—”
“Then let’s get going.” He turned and stomped off.
He might be the best-looking man in four counties, but his manners placed him squarely with the Neanderthals.
“You’d best follow him,” Ruby said. “Horses take longer and you’ll want to be settled by nightfall.”
Standing, I caught Aynslee’s attention and waved her over. “We’re leaving now, and guess what? We’re going horseback riding.”
“No way,” Aynslee said.
“Way.” We threaded our way through the yard and into the house.
The kitchen bustled with women transferring the food into a host of coolers. Blake waited impatiently in the living room. “You’ll be blindfolded for a portion of the trip.” He held out two strips of fabric.
“You’re kidding me. I can’t ride a horse blindfolded—”
“Not that part.”
“Not any part.” I put my hands behind my back.
“Fine with me. Don’t go.” He turned to leave.
“Wait.” They blindfolded Trish. She made it safely home from the revival. I slowly held out my hand.
He dropped the blindfolds into my hand. “I have the black Jeep Cherokee parked out in front. Get in the backseat and put on the blindfolds. I’ll be there shortly.”
I snatched the fabric from his hand, stuck my head in the air, and marched from the room. The hot flash caught me halfway to my truck, leaving me breathless. I paused.
Aynslee turned, saw my face, and waited.
“I’m fine,” I finally said.
“Do you think they know why we’re really here?” she asked.
“No.” But Blake may suspect. “They’re just cautious and we’re strangers.” I handed her the blindfolds. “Wait in the car. I need to grab my art supplies from my truck, then I’ll join you.”
Aynslee already had her blindfold on by the time I joined her. I pulled out my cell, but the slam of a door made me throw it back into my bag.
The back of the Jeep held a pack saddle and a pair of canvas panniers, containers of supplies for a pack animal. The rich odor of horses filled the small space. I slid next to my daughter and covered my eyes. I felt helpless and exposed.
“He’s cute,” Aynslee said.
“He’s a Neanderthal.”
The Jeep rocked as Blake climbed into the driver’s seat. After a moment, we began to move.
Aynslee slipped her hand into mine. I squeezed it with a reassurance I didn’t feel. “Ruby told me you’re Elijah’s cousin,” I said to Blake. “Is that why you go to his church?”
“No.”
“You go because you’re . . . anointed to handle serpents?”
“I don’t handle serpents.”
“But—”
“How much are you charging Elijah and Ruby to draw their son?”
“I’m not. It’s a gift—”
“Yeah, right. Look, get something straight. I’m taking you to the homecoming, but I don’t trust you. I’m keeping my family safe from people like you.”
I was glad my face was mostly covered by the blindfold.
The car turned off the pavement,
slowed, and began bumping and turning. We drove for what seemed to be hours in silence. Finally we stopped. “You can take off your blindfolds,” he said.
We were in a small clearing covered with freshly fallen leaves and smelling of hay and horse manure. High rolling mountains surrounded us, and a steep, muddy trail shot up the hill on our right. A makeshift corral held four horses munching hay from corner feeders. Parked nearby was a two-horse trailer and black pickup.
Black pickup?
Blake stepped from the Jeep and opened the tailgate. He must have changed clothes back at Elijah’s place and now wore jeans and a plaid shirt. The outfit highlighted his broad shoulders. I tried not to stare as he unloaded the pack saddle and panniers. He’d also put on the same sunglasses I’d seen him wearing the first time I saw him. Up close, I could see they were prescription transition lenses.
Transitional lenses mean they’re clear part of the time. Gold, wire-framed glasses just like my drawing from the surveillance photo.
Jason said he wasn’t the rapist.
No one knows where I am.
The last victim, Ina Jo, was murdered.
“You’ll ride the bay gelding,” Blake said. “The kid can ride the sorrel mare.”
“Her name is Aynslee.”
“She can still ride the mare.” He strolled to the trailer, opened the door at the front, and pulled out two saddles. After laying them on the ground, he grabbed a third saddle, blankets, and bridles, adding them to the tack. “The bay takes the snaffle bit. The sorrel gets the curb.”
“Mom,” Aynslee whispered. “What did he just say?”
I pointed. “Grab that bridle and follow me. You’re riding that brown horse over there. I’m riding the brown one with the black mane and tail.”
The horses glanced up as we entered the corral, then went back to eating. “Wait here,” I said to Aynslee. I approached the bay, easily close to eighteen hands, his withers above my head. That was a long way to fall should my rusty riding skills abandon me.
Bridling both horses, I led them to the pile of saddles. Blake had already put a halter on the third horse and tied him to the fence.
Aynslee and I led our rides outside the enclosure to the pile of tack. “Any particular saddle you want us to use?” I called to Blake.
“No.”
I selected the one with the padded seat for Aynslee. Fortunately saddling a horse was like riding a bicycle, and it didn’t take me long to get them ready.
I handed both sets of reins to Aynslee. “Hold on. I need to get my stuff.” Strolling to the Jeep, I opened the rear door, grabbed my bag, and turned around. I bumped into Blake.
He snatched the bag from my hand. “Oh no you don’t.” He moved to the open tailgate of the Jeep and dumped the bag into the cargo area. My art supplies, wallet, cell phone, several pens and tubes of lip gloss, and key-ring flashlight scattered. He picked up my cell and, with a swift toss, threw it into the woods.
“Hey!” I grabbed his arm.
He looked down at me.
I let go and punched his arm. It was like punching a brick. “That was my phone. How dare you!”
“I’ll buy you a new one when we get back. What did that cost you? Ten bucks?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“You won’t need it where we’re going. Mount up. We’ve a long way to ride.”
I stuffed the contents into the bag, slung it over my shoulder, and slammed the tailgate shut as hard as I could, secretly hoping the window would shatter. It didn’t. Stomping over to Aynslee, I took the reins of my horse and tied him to the fence. I helped her mount, arranged her long skirt, then handed her the reins.
“What do I do now?” Her eyes were huge and shiny.
“Hold on to the saddle horn if you need to. Lean forward when we go uphill and lean back when we go down.” I gave her a few more riding tips.
“Can we buy a horse when we get home?”
“We’ll see.” I left her turning her mount in circles and returned to the bay. The stirrups were so high I’d need a ladder to reach them.
“Give me your leg.”
I spun. Blake was standing close. Very close. I had to tip my head back to see his face. Turning around so he wouldn’t see my blush, I grabbed the pommel and saddle strings, then bent my left leg. He swiftly boosted me up. My wretchedly long skirt hiked past my knees, exposing the equally ugly black socks, ending at midcalf, and clunky shoes. I was ridiculously grateful I’d shaved my legs.
Blake stared at my leg for a moment, a smile twitching his lips, and let go of the reins.
My bay snorted, tucked his head, and crow-hopped. I tugged on one rein trying to get his head turned to my leg. The crow-hopping turned into full-fledged bucking. Grabbing the saddle horn to keep from flying off, I hauled back on the reins and clutched him with my legs. The ground blurred under his flying hooves. The horse gave one last spine-cracking kick before settling down.
I scrunched the reins on my mount’s neck and glared at Blake.
Blake gave me a half smile and two-fingered salute, then mounted his handsome chestnut.
Aynslee’s eyes were wide open. “What if my horse does that?”
I worked at unclenching my teeth. “You seem to have a calm mount. Don’t worry.”
Trailing the packhorse, Blake turned his chestnut toward the steep trail. I let Aynslee fall in behind him and I brought up the rear. We climbed single file through a thick grove of trees before the narrow trail leveled and swung to the left. The ground was firm under a thick blanket of leaves, and the thud of hooves, squeak of saddles, and chirping of birds were the only sounds. The grass-scented air mixed with the aroma of leather and horses, taking me back to when Dave and I would go riding in Montana.
I thought about Blake putting me on a horse he knew would buck. A broken arm or leg would be one way to keep me from going to the revival.
The trail disappeared at times and we’d ride single file, following Blake’s lead. At last it widened, and my long-legged mount pushed ahead, drawing level with Blake’s chestnut. The chestnut pranced sideways, swishing his tail.
“Why are you going to the homecoming?” he asked while controlling his horse.
“Elijah and Ruby invited me. And I offered to draw Samuel.”
“Have you ever been to a revival?”
“No. I’ve never even been to a Pentecostal church. Why are you going?”
He didn’t answer for a few moments. “Ruby and Elijah have strong beliefs, but a lot of people disagree. They’ve been shunned by their family. The people in their town are ashamed of them. The law is after them, documentary films exploit them, and other religions mock them.” He glanced at me. “I’m protective.”
My stomach twisted. He’d already tried to get me injured. He could have been the one who tried to run me down. What would he do when he found out the real reason I was here?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I PULLED BACK ON THE REINS AND ALLOWED Blake to lead again. Aynslee gave me a questioning look as she passed, and I smiled slightly. She continued ahead until she rode alongside Blake.
“What’s my horse’s name?” she asked.
“Cinnamon. I call her Cindy.”
“Cindy.” Aynslee stroked the horse’s neck. “Hi, Cindy. You’re so beautiful.” She looked up. “What’s your horse’s name?”
I expected him to brush off “the kid’s” questions, but he continued to answer her. Once on a roll, Aynslee peppered him with equine questions, offered fifteen-year-old insight into social media, and shared her miserable time at the boarding school I’d had to send her to last year. Barely pausing for breath, she launched into her friendship with Mattie, then her crush on a boy named Carson.
He listened and commented when she paused.
I upgraded his status to saint, albeit one on the lowest rung of the saint hierarchy.
Trying to keep my mind off Blake, I focused on the trail, but my thoughts kept returning to him. While being married to Robert, I’d nev
er thought of another man in any way but neutral. If I met someone handsome, like Blake or Arless, my fingers would itch for a pencil and paper. I had certainly never blushed or become a bumbling fool until after my divorce.
My identity had been Robert’s wife. Mrs. Robert Marcey.
Robert was a gifted writer, hailed as the next Hemingway or Steinbeck. I’d been over-the-moon happy when he proposed to me. Early in our marriage, Robert and I would talk about growing old together, sitting in rocking chairs on a summer’s afternoon. Then life interfered with our fairy tale. The words dried up for Robert, and he blamed me. My cancer diagnosis was the excuse he needed both to be free and to write again.
I’d been surprised and horrified at Beth’s hint that I think about dating. Now here I was thinking about Blake as more than an artist’s model.
Forget it, Gwen. He’s just a chauffeur.
Beth’s voice intruded on my daydream. You’re a woman worth loving. You’re a catch.
Catch and release. Like a fish. Ha-ha.
He could be married, Dave’s voice cautioned.
True. With ten kids. But he somehow didn’t act married. Or like a crazed rapist and killer.
You’re kidding yourself, Gwen. Robert’s voice now joined in my mental discussion. No man, even a driver making minimum wage, wants damaged goods. You used to be a looker. Now you’re—
“Shut up, Robert.”
I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until both Blake and Aynslee looked at me. I coughed to cover my embarrassment.
So what was my new identity? A woman worth loving . . . or damaged goods?
The trail took a sharp right. At the bottom of a steep slope, the road leveled and opened into a field ringed by a hodgepodge of tents surrounding a series of campfires. On the far side of the field sat a variety of off-road vehicles. The rich aroma of food cooking made my mouth water. The sun had drifted behind the mountains, casting Prussian-blue shadows and causing the temperature to plummet. Aynslee hunched forward and rubbed her arms. The thin blouses we’d put on that morning were hardly sufficient for a late-October evening.
When Death Draws Near Page 15
