by Deb Donahue
Miranda took in a quick breath and looked at him guiltily. Although what she had to feel guilty about, she had no idea.
“I figured you must have found out somehow,” Luke went on. “The sheriff sure did. He also knows now why I didn’t stay there very long.”
Now it was Miranda’s turn to look at him with a question on her face.
“It was a while ago, before my brother took off to wander the country,” Luke explained. “Remember me telling you how my brother had a history of skirting the edge of the law?” Miranda nodded. “Well, he was involved with fencing stolen cell phones once. He didn’t know they were stolen,” he added quickly. “Only because he didn’t want to know, to be honest. He did figure it out right before the police uncovered the scheme. He ran before they could catch him. Or should I say before they caught someone matching the description of the man involved.”
The way he emphasized the words sparked an understanding.
“They thought it was you? They arrested you for something your brother did?”
Luke nodded. “Arrested, tried and convicted. I was behind prison bars for two weeks before my lawyer could find a witness who could verify I had nothing to do with it. Longest two weeks of my life.” Then his voice turned quiet. “Until I came here trying to find him, that is.”
The frost on the orchard leaves showed that Indian Summer had passed, and winter was just around the corner. The air was filled with the overripe smell of apples that had fallen from the trees and the buzz of hornets feasting on the juice spilling from their split red skins.
Miranda put one hand on Luke’s good arm and squeezed gently, then motioned to call his attention to the dogs.
Rufus and Butch wrestled in a patch of clover that had escaped the ring of fire. The large German Shepherd would put up with Rufus’s playful bobbing and weaving for a while, pin the Jack Russell with one huge paw to remind him who was pack leader, then roll over on his back to show he was just teasing.
“Thanks for taking care of the big guy while I was laid up,” Luke said. “I’d like to try to pay you back.”
“You prepaid already. By pulling me out of a flaming inferno.” And curing my childhood phobia, she added in her head.
“I don’t know if that’s enough, though. Butch can be a handful. Can’t you, boy?” Hearing his name, the German Shepherd ran up to get his head scratched. “I don’t have much money, but I’m pretty handy with my hands. Or I will be in another week or so,” he added, lifting his gimpy leg and wounded arm. “It wouldn’t take much to turn the garage there into a cozy studio apartment. You know, while you get the new house built and all.”
What a great idea. Miranda hadn’t thought of that. She looked at the building again. The side nearest the house had blackened with soot and the remaining paint had peeled. But the structure was sound and sturdy enough. It already had two windows and she remembered the wood burning stove at the back.
“Slap up a little insulation and plasterboard,” Luke said as if he’d read her mind. “Then it’s a short run of pipe from the well to the building. That old sink there looks salvageable. We could cut an opening for it in the workbench in there and then… “
He continued to list off ideas as they walked into the garage and looked around. The more he talked, the more feasible the idea sounded.
“Of course,” he said, stopping his litany rather abruptly and walking back to the driveway. “I’d need a place to stay while I worked on the place. Somewhere close, you know, so I could get done quicker.” He rubbed his chin and squinted at her, looked back across the field, then at her again.
Miranda took on a serious expression. “Did you know that years ago my family used to have hired hands who lived in the barn?”
“Really? The barn?”
“Yes. It can’t have been very comfortable. Actually, I know for a fact that it’s not very comfortable. But the bunk beds are still up in the loft and if you throw enough straw under a sleeping bag they can really be quite cozy at night.”
“Is that right?”
“So if such accommodations wouldn’t aggravate the many assorted bullet holes in your body here…” She poked him playfully in the injured shoulder and he pretended to wince in pain. “Maybe you’d be willing to stay there while I put you to work.”
“I might be able to manage that.” Luke’s answer sounded light and lively, but his face had a warm, serious look that gave Miranda delicious goose bumps.
“You’d have to put up with a roommate for a while though, who has a yappy little dog around.”
“No problem, no problem. Except, well, what will I do after the garage is ready? I’d be a lot of help with the new house build, too. But I can’t live in the barn all winter. Too cold.”
Miranda laughed and took his arm to lead them back to the orchard and the tire swing swaying in the breeze.
“Why don’t we just wait and see?” she said. “A lot could happen by then. You never know.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deb Donahue is the country girl persona of Debra R. Borys, who writes Street Stories suspense novels, a series set among the homeless population of Chicago, Illinois. Donahue’s books prove that living in the comparative quiet of the countryside does not mean there isn’t plenty of suspense to be found.
Other novels by Deb Donahue:
CHASING NIGHTMARES
