Without taking time to light a lantern, she snatched the twelve-gauge down with shaking hands and ran to the shelf where she kept a box of shells. Accompanied by the strident squawking and flapping wings of scared chickens, she loaded the shotgun and flung the back door wide.
The outbuildings stood in stark relief against the darkness of the woods. Uncertain what to do, she decided that her best course of action was to shoot into the air to see if the noise would deter the furry thief. Aiming the shotgun heavenward, she gave a scream loud enough to raise the dead and pulled the trigger.
She heard an exclamation of surprise from the vicinity of the chicken coop. Almost simultaneously, she saw the silhouette of a man separate itself from the shadows and hit the ground while a small critter raced from beneath the coop and slipped under the fence.
Meg’s heart thudded in her chest. Someone was out there! Had Joseph Jones managed to escape again and come back for some of the hidden loot? Determined to stand her ground, she aimed in the general direction of the chicken house and pulled the other trigger.
“Stop shooting!”
The man’s voice was hoarse with fright. He didn’t sound threatening at all. Meg stood rooted to the spot at the bottom of the steps, her bare toes digging into the damp ground, her thoughts tumbling round and round like Teddy turning somersaults down the hill. Why hadn’t she aimed better on that last shot? Did she have time to reload? Could she really shoot him if he meant her harm?
Finally, a sense of self-preservation kicked in. She would not be a victim again. Determined to stand and fight, she turned and ran up the steps, gripping the shotgun with both hands.
“Meg!”
The low command stopped her halfway to the door. Recognizing the voice, she turned slowly, new questions bubbling up inside her. Ace was striding across the yard. What on earth was he doing here in the middle of the night? He stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
“Trying to protect the chickens and not doing a very good job of it,” he said.
“You stayed to protect the chickens?” she asked in disbelief. He was there to guard the chickens without telling her? What on earth was he thinking after everything she’d been through?
I shot at him. I could have killed him.
A new kind of anxiety filled her. “Well, that’s a silly thing to do.” Her voice gained strength with every angry word she flung at him.
“Why?” he asked. “I know you need the chickens, and it may be a day or two before I get around to fixing the fence and that little hole in the house I saw today.”
“You almost scared me to death!” she yelled, losing all semblance of control. “I thought Jones had broken out of jail again and come...come back for me.”
The break in her voice was like throwing kerosene on her fury. She was tired of being the prey. She held the gun tightly. She wouldn’t let a man make a fool of her again. Any man. Not even one who claimed he was only helping.
“If you planned on staying, why didn’t you say something?” she demanded. “Do you realize I might have killed you?”
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that fact.”
He moved up another step. Meg stood at the edge of the porch. They were almost eye to eye. He reached out to take the weapon from her, and though uncertainty raced through her, she made no move to stop him. She let him pull the shotgun from her grasp and unload it and then watched him prop it against a nearby post.
There was a glint in his eyes that looked very much like enjoyment. “Are you laughing at me?” she cried.
“No,” he was quick to reply. “I’d never, ever laugh at you, Meg.”
Oddly enough, she believed him. He was a man who’d been teased and ridiculed and laughed at all his life. He understood too well the pain it could cause.
“I thought that if you’d stop being mad and recognized the humor of this little escapade, you might laugh with me,” he added as her gaze searched his.
What a strange man. What did that mean?
“I have a confession to make,” he told her, but he didn’t really look too contrite.
Her eyes widened.
“I wasn’t really here to watch out for the chickens. Not exactly.”
Something in her chest tightened. She didn’t want any more secrets, couldn’t stand any more surprises. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. What? What are you keeping from me?
“I’ve been staying here every night since you came home. Gabe and Rachel wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Why would I not be?” she asked, even though she knew the answer to that was pretty obvious.
“Rachel was afraid that if you spent too much time alone, especially at night, you might start thinking about things and it might be too much. She wanted someone close by in case you needed...reassurance.”
That sounded like Rachel.
“So you’ve been leaving every night and then coming back when you finish the chores at your place?” she asked with a frown.
“Usually. Sometimes I just hop off the wagon and come back through the woods.”
“Where on earth have you been sleeping?”
“In the lean-to or the barn, depending on the weather.”
Meg was having a hard time grasping everything he’d told her and was humbled by the realization that she had better friends in town than she’d realized. Rachel, who was willing to wait for her money. Gabe, who had given her staples to get by on for a while. Ellie and Hattie, who provided a way to make a living. Colt, who had led the party that had come to her rescue. And of course, Ace and Nita.
The comment that had made her so angry earlier in the day took on new meaning. Ace was right. Though she had been deeply wronged, she did have much to be thankful for.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re wrong. I do.”
She wanted to ask him why and then saw the self-reproach in his eyes. How had she ever thought those eyes were cold and expressionless? There were all sorts of emotions reflected in those cool depths for anyone who took the time to really look. The problem was that few could meet that proud gaze for long without feeling intimidated.
As she was now. Here she stood, being protected by a man who had killed her husband, a man who was suffering true remorse for doing so. What would Ace think of her if he knew how glad she was to be free of Elton? Would the tenderness in his eyes change to disgust?
Seeing the sudden slump of her shoulders, Ace said, “Go to bed, Meg. I’ll be here.”
Without a word, she obeyed. She fell asleep, truly secure in the knowledge that nothing would harm her as long as Ace was watching over her.
Chapter Seven
Despite being awake during most of the night, Meg woke before sunrise at the insistence of the rooster, who was already announcing the start of a new day. She got up, dressed and made the morning coffee, which she carried to the east-facing back porch that looked over the outbuildings.
Whatever the season or weather, except maybe during the bitterest part of winter, it had been part of her morning ritual to bring her coffee out here and watch the sun creep over the treetops as the day awakened. Barefoot as she was now, or wrapped in the warmth of a quilt, those few stolen moments of reading her Bible and praying before the children and Elton woke up helped prepare her for the day.
During that brief time, she’d felt truly connected to God. It was when she gave Him her fears and her worries, and He gave her peace and a certainty that she would be fine, no matter what the day held.
She hadn’t opened her Bible since coming home. Hadn’t prayed in... She couldn’t remember when. Her last encounter with Elton had left her feeling as if God had abandoned her. The bitter thought was quickly followed by guilt and shame. She knew better.
&
nbsp; Pushing aside the uncomfortable feelings, Meg sank into one of the straight-back chairs and sipped at her coffee while watching the eastern sky begin to lighten. Aware that someone was stirring, the gray mare whickered softly, ready for her morning grain allotment. From inside the coop, Meg heard rustling from the chickens waiting to be freed into the yard.
With a resigned sigh, she rose and made her way across the rocky ground, being careful not to step in anything unsavory along the way, though heaven knew she’d done that often enough through the years. She wondered who had been letting out the chickens. Ace or Nita?
She lifted the latch to the chicken house and stepped back as the white birds straggled out, led by the rooster, who promptly flapped his way to a fence post and let loose another gruff wake-up call. One hen looked a little bedraggled, and another was missing, which meant the fox had done some damage after all. She wondered if Ace had taken care of the problem as he’d said he would and then chided herself for the moment’s uncertainty. Ace wasn’t like Elton, who’d put off unpleasant chores as long as possible.
Thinking of Ace, she looked around the rapidly lightening area, wondering where he’d spent what was left of the night. As difficult as it was to admit, she was glad to know he was nearby if she needed him.
On impulse, she decided to hike her way across the pasture up the hill to the plateau that was hidden behind a grove of trees. The morning views there were breathtaking, and she seldom got to see them because she couldn’t leave the children. This might possibly be one of her last chances to see a sunrise from that view before they came home or the mornings grew too cold.
Wincing when the rocks gouged her tender feet, Meg started up the steep path, enjoying the patches of wild sunflowers scattered along the way. The going was slow, and she sent a small shower of pebbles tumbling with almost every step she took. Once she entered the stand of trees, the path became somewhat easier to tread, with pine needles and fallen leaves underfoot.
She shivered, wishing she’d brought a shawl. It was much darker and still cool in the shadowy woods, since the sun had not yet risen enough to offer any warmth. The closer she got to the plateau, the more she realized someone was singing, but the words and melody were like none she’d ever heard. Frowning, she stepped out of the shadows and into the brilliance of the sunlight just breaking over the tops of the trees on the far hills.
She stopped, overwhelmed by the sight that greeted her. Her first whimsical thought was that God must be having a wonderful morning. The sky was awash in pinks and salmons and lilacs. Wisps of golden-edged, amethyst-hued clouds floated across the heavens like wood smoke on a listless wind with no particular place to go.
A lone man stood near a huge boulder, silhouetted against the startling backdrop. Ace. What was he doing? His face was turned upward and his arms were outstretched, as if in welcome. The strange words and lilting melody she’d heard came from him. Though she looked, there was no one and nothing on the hilltop but Ace and a Bible that lay open on the large rock.
In the instant that it took her to realize what the book was, she knew he was doing what she once had—preparing for the day by spending time with God. She wondered what the words he was singing meant. Were they in Gaelic or Cherokee? It really didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were words of praise and probably thankfulness. What mattered was that he was the kind of man who spent time with his Creator.
The song ended, and she took a step backward, hoping to escape into the trees before he realized she was there. As she retreated again, he turned and reached for his Bible. He must have seen her move from the corner of his eye, because he looked up and noticed her, poised to flee.
She was too far away to read the expression in his eyes, but instinct told her to turn and run.
“Meg, wait!” His voice followed her as the trees and vines swallowed her up.
She kept going, hiking up her gown and ignoring the sticks and rocks digging into her feet. How could she explain interrupting his special time? What excuse could she offer so that he wouldn’t think she was spying on him? Fear lent wings to her feet, and she burst out of the other side of the trees and onto the path that led down the hill as if a pack of wild hogs chased her.
She might have made it to the safety of the house if her foot hadn’t skated on some loose pebbles. It happened so fast she didn’t even try to catch herself, since all she could think of was that she absolutely could not reinjure her left arm and she couldn’t afford to break her good one.
The only alternative was to land hard on her backside, which jarred her to her very soul and sent her ribs into an explosion of agony. Breathing hard, she sat there, trying to ignore the pain and doing her best to assess any new injuries. Her bottom. Her foot. No, both feet. One elbow. How had that happened? None of the new damage felt severe, but the combined pain, coupled with the fear that something worse might have happened, left her feeling light-headed.
From a distance, she heard the crunching of boots on rocks. Before she could put a name to the sound, Ace was there, squatting down and slipping an arm around her.
“Are you all right? What happened? Why did you run from me?” He spat out the questions one after the other, and if she didn’t know how unflappable he was, she might have mistaken the tone of his voice as one of concern.
She looked up at him, wondering which question to answer first, and realized that she’d forgotten what they were. The harsh planes of his face seemed to waver like ripples on the water. She clutched at his arm. “Hold still.”
His dark eyebrows snapped together. “What?”
“Your face is floating around. Maybe it’s my head. Is my head floating?”
She heard him mumble something she didn’t understand before he shoved his Bible into her hands and gathered her into his arms. When he stood, Meg moaned and Ace turned white beneath the bronze of his skin. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh.”
She reached up and touched her finger to his finely shaped lips. Even as she watched herself doing it, she knew it was inappropriate, but it was something she’d wanted to do ever since she’d first seen him standing outside her bedroom window. She’d longed to see if he really was warm flesh and blood or as cold as the rock from which he looked as if he’d been carved.
He was warm.
So very warm.
The arms holding her tightened.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said, letting her eyes drift shut and her head fall against his shoulder. She’d heard the words somewhere and knew they were very important for some reason. She also knew she was behaving very foolishly, but for the life of her she didn’t know why. Furthermore, she didn’t care.
Meg had no recollection of the trip down the hill and into the house. She was content to lie boneless in Ace’s arms, clutching his Bible and knowing that he would take care of everything. When he placed her on her bed, a sigh of relief trickled from her.
“Did I faint?” she asked without opening her eyes.
“Maybe for just a minute.” His nimble fingers probed gently at her ribs. “Does that hurt?”
“No. Not really,” she murmured. “I think I just hit the ground so hard it jarred my teeth loose.”
“Let me see.”
Her eyes flew open and she looked up at him. His mouth was curved into a smile and there was laughter in his eyes. Fine lines fanned out from their corners. The change was startling. He became magnificently attractive in a rugged, masculine way.
“I was just teasing,” she said.
“I realize that. I think you may have been playing possum, too,” he told her, as he picked up each of her hands to check for injuries.
“What?”
“Maybe you didn’t faint at all. Maybe you just didn’t want to talk about what happened.”
“I fell.”
He nodded. �
��Because you ran from me. Why?”
Meg weighed her choices. Years of playing it safe told her not to admit the truth, but from the way he was treating her, she didn’t think he meant her any harm. Besides, she was so weary of walking on eggshells just to keep the peace.
“I didn’t know you were up there,” she told him. “I didn’t want you thinking I was looking for you or spying on you. And when I realized what you were doing, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“So you ran. I still don’t understand why.”
She frowned, trying to find the words to make him understand. “Elton would have been furious. He would have accused me of following him to check up on him.”
“Why do you think that was?” Ace asked, lifting one arm to check her elbow.
Meg frowned. She’d never given it any thought. Just knowing it was forbidden was enough to deter her. Now she considered the reasons. Grasping the truth, her eyes widened. “Because he was usually somewhere he shouldn’t have been or doing something he shouldn’t’ve been doing.”
“That would be my guess.”
He went to the washstand and poured some water from the plain white pitcher into the matching basin. Dipping a soft cloth into it, he squeezed out the excess moisture and brought the rag to the bed. He sat down next to her and began to sponge off her face. Meg was too shocked to do anything but let him. When he began to wash her arms and hands, she tried to pull away.
“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”
“Looks like you skinned one elbow a little,” he observed, dabbing at the abrasion.
“It’s my backside that hurts,” she admitted without thinking and then could have bitten out her tongue. The condition of her bottom was not a proper topic of conversation between a man and woman.
Instead of making an unseemly remark the way Elton would have, Ace said, “Did you hurt your tailbone? That can be painful.”
Wolf Creek Widow (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 4) Page 9
