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Dangerous Legacy
Valerie Hansen


DEADLY HOMECOMINGSomeone wants Maggie Morgan dead and her wildlife sanctuary destroyed. Someone connected to the generations-old family feud that’s been revived now that her first love Flint Crawford has returned to town. And not only is her life in jeopardy, but Flint has discovered the secret she’s kept since he left—their five-year-old son. Assailed by memories of their forbidden love and bowled over by the sight of the son he never knew, Flint has a job to do as the new game warden. But now the stakes are raised. Not only must he protect the woman he once loved, but he also has to save his son…or die trying.







DEADLY HOMECOMING

Someone wants Maggie Morgan dead and her wildlife sanctuary destroyed. Someone connected to the generations-old family feud that’s been revived now that her first love, Flint Crawford, has returned to town. And not only is her life in jeopardy, but Flint has discovered the secret she’s kept since he left—their five-year-old son. Assailed by memories of their forbidden love and bowled over by the sight of the son he never knew, Flint has a job to do as the new game warden. But now the stakes are raised. Not only must he protect the woman he once loved, but he also has to save his son...or die trying.


He was a father.

And now he was at the kitchen sink washing his son’s hands, when Maggie shouted, “Flint! Come here.”

He heard the trepidation in her voice. With the child tucked behind him, Flint led the way into the boy’s bedroom, where Maggie paced. “What’s wrong?”

“The window.”

Flint bent to peer at it. “It looks okay.”

She pointed with a shaky finger. “The glass does. The screen is missing.”

“Maybe it just fell out. This is an old house.”

“Yes, it is,” Maggie replied. “And the screens are so warped they’re nailed in.”

“Somebody pulled nails out to get it off?” His heart started pounding so hard it felt as if it might go through his chest. “We should call the sheriff.”

“Not again. I keep calling and pretty soon they won’t make a run out here, let alone in a hurry. I think that’s part of the stalker’s plan.”

“That’s paranoid, Maggie.”

“Only if nobody’s after me.”

Flint nodded. “Us. After us.”

And now they were after their son.


VALERIE HANSEN was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. She now lives in a renovated farmhouse in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark Mountains of Arkansas and is privileged to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for Love Inspired. Life doesn’t get much better than that!




Dangerous

Legacy

Valerie Hansen







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


“A good man out of the good treasure

of his heart brings forth good;

an evil man out of the evil treasure

of his heart brings forth evil.”

—Luke 6:45


To my Joe, who will always be looking over my shoulder

as I write. He was an extraordinary gift from God.


Contents

COVER (#u1684450c-a723-51c3-9717-b27e2e43cfe9)

BACK COVER TEXT (#ud0fea53a-b570-5964-bd4a-08a2c712b7f8)

INTRODUCTION (#ub5f638a0-4b89-590e-bd64-b8386f226fc2)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u6fb41e99-2e0e-55f7-b142-127948162b54)

TITLE PAGE (#ubfc4b883-c003-50a4-afb8-339aad84ed66)

BIBLE VERSE (#u71efb998-81f1-5ae8-a1bb-85826c1842c4)

DEDICATION (#uec3450a1-5359-562b-9986-aba2d0209a33)

ONE (#ulink_8b684e7f-deff-5854-bd7e-9d41c831783d)

TWO (#ulink_a9ed2797-10a0-5d39-a7e8-71717fd02bf7)

THREE (#ulink_a1b00b49-a123-564e-b8f2-06f67ce639af)

FOUR (#ulink_0253a48a-e066-5440-b5e5-821af066dc33)

FIVE (#ulink_e82dac2a-6e31-515b-85b4-f225fe60b184)

SIX (#ulink_d5477911-e6a8-5079-9757-0099e7af4cd6)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)

COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#ulink_07cd1937-e850-5506-8eae-83b468fed5a7)

“I didn’t expect this kind of assignment so soon.” Flint Crawford raked his fingers through his wavy golden hair and faced his captain. “I just got here. Can’t you at least give me time to get settled?”

The older Arkansas Game and Fish officer was frowning. “Sorry. No. None of my other wardens have been able to get close to locating this bunch of poachers. Your connection with the Morgan woman is invaluable.”

“She hates me,” Flint argued.

“Doesn’t matter. At least she knows you personally. Use that to our advantage. Get back in her good graces and find out where her uncle Elwood is hiding.” Captain Lang tapped the file folder on his desk. “It’ll look good on your record.”

“Or my résumé,” Flint grumbled. “I have to be honest, sir. I don’t like taking advantage of Maggie.”

“Who says you will be? She must be as against poachers as we are. She couldn’t run that wild animal rehab if she wasn’t.”

“I wish I knew how she got involved with the Dodd Sanctuary. The first I’d heard of it was a few weeks ago.”

“It’s been keeping a low profile,” Lang told him. “I get the idea that’s partly your Maggie’s idea, since she’s running it by herself.”

“And it’s funded how?” Flint’s green eyes narrowed. He didn’t want to think of Maggie involved in anything shady, but a lot of time had passed since he last saw her. People could change.

“Abigail Dodd has more money than sense,” Lang said, “and no children. She wants to leave a legacy, so she set up the sanctuary on the old Dodd Farm and hired Ms. Morgan because she knew her.” He chuckled. “Believe you me, Abigail’s close relatives are not pleased. I hear they tried to get her declared incompetent.”

“And failed?”

“Big-time. By the time Maggie got done testifying, there was no way anybody could question the old lady’s sanity.”

“Maggie always did love the underdog and defended against injustices.” Maybe that would make it easier to get her to talk to him. It was his job as a game warden to police the forest and wildlands, making sure no laws were broken and nature was preserved in its natural state. Anybody who was hunting out of season was clearly being unfair, both to other hunters and to the animals.

Sighing in acceptance, he nodded. “Okay. Give me the file on the poaching so I can check for patterns. Is that their only crime?”

Lang handed him a manila folder. “Not by a long shot.”

The colloquial reference to aiming from a distance did not sit well with Flint. Not well at all.

* * *

Wind whipped Maggie Morgan’s long, honey-brown hair across her face as gathering clouds darkened the afternoon. Hurrying, she almost tripped over her enormous dog. “Out of the way, Wolfie. Mama has to finish her chores before the storm gets here.”

If the black-and-brown canine hadn’t bristled and begun to bark, she might not have noticed a familiar pickup truck heading up the long driveway to the sanctuary.

“Oh, hush, dog. You know the game warden. He was here just last week.”

With a friendly wave to her approaching visitor, she went back to hauling armloads of fresh straw bedding. Whatever the guy wanted could wait until she’d tended to her patients’ needs. Helpless animals always came first.

Approaching footsteps crinkled dry leaves behind her while Maggie was bent over spreading loose straw in a lean-to. She glanced through the bottom of the wire fence and saw black boots. “I’m almost done. How come you’re back so soon? Did you bring me another patient?”

The Game and Fish warden cleared his throat. “Hello, Maggie.”

That voice! Momentarily stunned, she froze. A shiver tickled her spine. It couldn’t be him. Yet she knew it was.

The injured doe in the pen with her sensed her sudden nervousness and bolted, running across the enclosure and careening off the fencing.

“Easy, girl, easy.” Maggie straightened and inched her way to the gate, slipping through and fastening it securely while steeling herself to turn and face her visitor. “Flint Crawford.”

“You remember me.”

How could she forget the man who had broken her heart and nearly ruined her life? She stalled by taking a moment to brush off her jeans and the sleeves of her denim jacket before she said, “Vaguely. What are you doing here?”

He spread his arms to display his dark green uniform and badge on an athletic body. “I work in Fulton County now. See?”

“I thought you were in the marines.”

Flint nodded. “Long story. I missed home. Deep roots, I guess.”

I don’t believe a word of it. Maggie gritted her teeth rather than chance speaking. If you had deep roots you’d have stayed here in the first place.

Scattered drops the size of dimes were beginning to dot the dry ground. She extended her hands, palms up. “It’s starting to rain.”

“Can we take cover on the porch?”

“Why?”

“Talk, maybe?”

“I have nothing to say to you.” The longer he lingered, the angrier Maggie grew. At this point she wasn’t positive she could maintain her facade of calm indifference long enough for him to leave. Being in Flint’s presence again was far more difficult than she’d imagined. Where were all the irate speeches she’d rehearsed for the past six years?

Silent, Maggie accompanied him toward his truck, the big dog at her heels. They began to circle the silver-gray pickup. Wolfie stiffened just as a deafening boom of thunder joined a blinding flash!

Everything blurred as Maggie was smacked hard on the shoulder, knocked off her feet and ended up lying in the dirt with Flint hovering over her. Wolfie was growling as he circled them.

She gave Flint a push. “Get off me!”

Instead, he supported himself on one arm and continued to keep her down. That was when she saw he’d drawn his gun. “No! Don’t shoot my dog!”

“Hush,” Flint ordered, getting to his knees. “Keep your head down.”

“What are you babbling about? We almost got hit by lightning.” The expression on his face argued otherwise. “Didn’t we?”

“No. Thunder doesn’t have a high-pitched echo. Whoever aimed at us expected the storm to mask a rifle shot.”

Maggie tensed, blinking rapidly to try to clear her head. He was right! There had been a singing reverberation amid the rumbling noise of the storm.

She reached out for Wolfie, understanding a moment too late that that was a mistake.

The dog bared his fangs, lunged, and latched on to Flint’s pant leg. Maggie screamed. Flint fell back, rolling farther behind the truck as he fought to break free.

Maggie barely registered the crack and whine of a second shot. A side window of the truck shattered. She screamed again and covered her head as glass rained down. Wolfie released his captive and made a beeline for her.

The game warden recovered enough to sit, pulled out a cell phone and called for assistance before turning to Maggie. “Help is on its way.”

“Are you hurt? Did he bite through the skin?”

“Don’t worry about me. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m not used to being a target. Now I know how these poor wild animals must feel.”

As Flint slowly reached toward her, she told herself to move away. Her knees felt welded to the ground.

His warm, strong hand cupped her cheek as scattered drops of rain continued to fall. A thumb brushed away blood. It took her a moment to realize it was hers. She jerked back and patted her face.

“You’re not shot,” Flint said. “I think a sliver of glass may have nicked you.”

“Terrific.”

She sat back on her heels. Flint’s green gaze seemed almost tender. That fit. She’d always viewed him as a caring person, which was why his abandonment had shaken her so badly. Above all, she reasoned, she must keep reminding herself of his desertion.

“We’re about to get soaked,” she said flatly.

“Better wet than dead.” Flint was rubbing his lower leg. “I hope the shooter gave up and left. Thanks to your dog I couldn’t catch a hibernating turtle right now.”

“Serves you right.” A shiver skittered up her spine. “Do you think we’re still in danger? I figure they’re long gone.”

“You’re probably right. They’ve had plenty of time to sneak up on us and finish the job if they wanted to.”

“Oh, that’s comforting.”

“I’m not trying to be comforting,” Flint snapped back. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Survival. He was right about that. She patted her pockets. She’d forgotten to bring her cell phone. “How long before we have that help you promised?”

“I don’t know. We’re pretty far out in the country.”

“Then hand me your phone,” Maggie said. “I need to make a call and I left mine inside.” If it had been anyone but Flint, she would have added please.

She saw him hesitate.

“Okay, but keep it short. This is for official use only.”

“Would you rather I made a run for the house to get my own?”

“No. Here.”

Grabbing the phone before he changed his mind, she had to think hard to remember the number that was programmed into her own cell phone.

A tentative “Hello” was all the greeting she allowed before blurting, “Mom?”

“Maggie? I almost didn’t answer. This isn’t your number.”

“No. I’m using a borrowed phone.”

“What happened to yours?

“Never mind that. Please, just listen. I need you to pick up Mark from school and keep him at your place until you hear from me. I’ll explain everything later.”

“But—”

“Please, Mom? This is really important.”

“Okay, honey. But I’ll expect all the details when you come get him. And plan to stay for supper. Bye!”

Sure, assuming I’m able to get rid of my unwelcome visitor by then. Maggie’s fondest hope was that the shooter was attempting to scare the new game warden just on general principle. Given that this particular warden was Flint Crawford, she owed their anonymous assailant a debt of gratitude for trying.

Too bad it hadn’t worked.

* * *

Police and sheriff’s units arrived just ahead of an ambulance. Dressed for the heavier rain that was predicted, Sheriff Harlan Allgood leaned against the fender of the silver-gray Game and Fish truck and shook his head at Flint. “Sorry about this, son. Want me to help you over onto the porch where the medics are working on Maggie?”

“I won’t be welcome. I can hop in the ambulance if this drizzle gets much worse.”

“Suit yourself.” He chuckled. “I didn’t dream you’d run into trouble so soon. Who’d you manage to rile in a day and a half?”

“Beats me.” Flint pulled the leg of his pants up to his knee. “Everybody’s been pretty friendly so far.” He grimaced. “Except for Maggie and her dog.”

“Wolfie’s always been fine around me,” Harlan said. “What’d you do to set him off?”

“He was probably reacting to my knocking her down to keep her from getting shot.”

“I reckon she gave you what for.”

“Oh, yeah. She actually thought I was going to shoot her dog.” Flint peered into the woods. “Any of your people come up with the real shooter yet?”

“Nope, and I don’t expect ’em to. The ol’ boys around these parts are good at disappearin’.”

“Is this the first trouble Maggie’s had?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Yeah, well, she and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

“And that surprises you?” Harlan guffawed. “Folks around here still remember when you turned tail and skedaddled.”

Flint refused to let the old-timer goad him. The details of the past were nobody’s business but his and Maggie’s. And speaking of the past, if he hadn’t heard that both her brothers had left to establish successful careers in neighboring states, he might have blamed one of them.

“So, what are you going to do?” Flint asked.

“’Bout what?”

“Finding the shooter, to start with. And then protecting Maggie, just in case she’s a target, too.”

“Don’t know what any of us can do,” Harlan replied with a drawl. “I suppose I can have a deputy cruise by a time or two.”

“Well, somebody’d better keep a lookout. We could have been killed.”

Chuckling, the portly older man stepped away to give the medics room to check Flint’s dog bite. “I doubt that. There ain’t many hunters round here who’d miss unless they meant to. You ask me, those shots were a warning.”

Flint grimaced as a paramedic disinfected his shin and slapped a small bandage on it. Harlan was right. Country boys grew up learning to hit what they were aiming at. Whoever was behind this attack had missed on purpose. If Maggie hadn’t been standing next to him at the time of the shooting, she would have been his chief suspect.

As if his thoughts had drawn her, she spoke from behind them. “Do you need to see proof of Wolfie’s vaccinations, Sheriff?”

Harlan shook his head. “Not unless Flint here wants to check ’em.”

“I trust you,” Flint said. “I’m just surprised you let that dog wander loose where he can bite people.”

Maggie huffed. “I don’t suppose you’d believe he’s hardly ever growled at anybody else in the four years since I rescued him.”

“Honestly?”

“Scout’s honor,” she replied. “He usually barks to tell me someone’s here, but that’s about all.”

Flint swallowed hard. Maybe he should have stayed in Serenity almost six years ago, for Maggie’s sake, but when she’d refused to even consider eloping he’d decided she didn’t truly love him. In retrospect, he’d wondered if she’d simply been defying her parents by dating him in the first place.

As the years had passed, he’d been forced to admit that their teenage romance had been doomed. Perhaps they’d been overly attracted to each other because the relationship was forbidden by both their feuding families. It was certainly a possibility.

And now? Flint studied her closed expression. He and Maggie were very different people. Besides, plenty of gossip had made its way to him since his recent return, and her phone call to her mom had confirmed it. Maggie was a single mother. Clearly, she had moved on and he’d better do the same. Too bad he’d been assigned to renew their acquaintance.

What puzzled Flint was how Captain Lang had learned about their ill-fated romance. Stories about it could have come up when the department had been researching Elwood Witherspoon and his kin, he supposed. There was no way to discuss Witherspoon and his relatives without mentioning their long-standing feud with the Crawfords. And the way Flint had chosen distance as a means of defusing the mounting tension would certainly have come up.

Maggie’s deep-seated anger surprised him, though, particularly since he had yet to broach the subject of her uncle’s whereabouts. Hadn’t she read any of his letters? Didn’t she understand he’d acted in the best interests of them both? Even if she disagreed with his choices, surely she could see things from his perspective.

Flint pushed those thoughts aside. Until the police figured out who had taken a potshot at them, they’d both have to be on guard. He had combat training. Maggie did not. Therefore, since the sheriff wouldn’t take special precautions to protect her, he would have to look into the cause and come up with some answers. Whether she liked it or not. And stay alive in the process.

And speaking of things she was not going to like, he figured he might as well get it over with so he said, “By the way, can you tell me where your uncle Elwood is living these days?”

“What does he have to do with this?”

“Probably nothing. I just need to locate him and have a little talk.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea where he is, nor do I care.”

This was not going to be easy at all.


TWO (#ulink_b68781a3-0e21-5704-a5f2-5788f45f04ea)

Maggie phoned her mother again to make sure Mark was safe, then fidgeted until Flint and the police finally finished their rainy investigating and drove away. If the sun had not set, she wondered if they’d have prowled around even longer.

Combing her long hair more to one side to cover the tiny butterfly bandage on her cheek, she grabbed her purse and headed for her truck. Wolfie leaped in before she finished saying, “Yes, you can go.”

Smiling, Maggie slid behind the wheel and started for town, noting how her fingers didn’t want to hold still. She wasn’t wired because of seeing Flint. No, sir. Being shot at was the problem. It had made her “jumpy as a baby chick at a possum party,” as her daddy used to say.

Harlan hadn’t mentioned any names, but she knew who he probably blamed for the shooting. It hurt to think that the most likely suspect was her own great-uncle, but there was no getting around it. Elwood Witherspoon was a throwback to the days when country people had settled their own quarrels. A lot of old-timers still talked a good fight, but they weren’t serious. Elwood was. He delighted in using history as an excuse to break current laws. Worse, he was teaching his three grandsons to follow in his footsteps.

Maggie grasped the wheel tighter. Even a mean-looking dog was no protection against an enemy with a rifle, kin or not. And if the target happened to be wearing the forest green uniform and badge of a game warden in Elwood’s neck of the woods, he might as well have a bull’s-eye painted on his back.

Since the shooting, she had begun to feel as vulnerable as she had after her testimony at Abigail’s competency hearing. The old woman’s niece and nephew, Missy and Sonny Dodd, had threatened to shut down the sanctuary as soon as they got the chance, and had blamed Maggie for their loss in court.

Now somebody else was threatening her and Flint was involved this time. In a rural place like Serenity, danger could lurk in every shadow, behind every tree. Her agitated state caused her to picture new threats at each twist and turn of the nearly deserted road.

Already wired, Maggie overreacted when headlights gleamed behind her, blinding her with their glare. She accelerated. It didn’t help. The vehicle kept closing the distance between them.

Maggie’s heart began pounding so hard she could count the beats at her temples. Every muscle was taut. The nearer the follower drew, the higher his headlights appeared. It had to be a truck—a lot bigger than hers.

A highway passing lane was coming up. Suppose the other driver’s actions were nothing more than a result of her slower speed and overactive imagination? Maybe if she hit her brakes...

She whispered, “Please, God?” and lightly tapped the brake pedal to flash her stoplights.

The larger truck slammed into her rear bumper and sent Wolfie flying at the dash despite her outthrust arm. Dazed and shaking his huge head, he climbed back onto the seat beside her and licked her cheek.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry.”

Normally she’d pull over and see if there had been any damage to her vehicle, but not this time. Not here where there were no houses or lights. And certainly not after what had happened earlier, at home. She swung into the far right lane as soon as the road divided for easy passing.

“No, no, no!” The lights were coming at her again! Faster than before. She held tight to the wheel with her left hand and grabbed Wolfie’s collar with her right. “Lord, help us!”

As if in answer to the frantic prayer, the headlights swung to her left. Had her panic been for nothing? What a foolish mistake.

Releasing the dog, Maggie put both hands back on the steering wheel. As the other vehicle drew even, she glanced over at it, expecting to see young men, waving beer cans and whooping it up.

There was only the driver. What a surprise. She could tell he’d turned his head to look at her, but it was too dark to make out his features.

“As soon as he passes I’ll get his license plate number so I can report reckless driving,” she told herself, reaching into her purse to feel around for a pen.

In that split second of inattention the other driver swerved. The trucks collided. Metal scraped, bent, squealed.

Maggie fought to stay on the pavement. An inch more to the right and her tires would slip onto the muddy shoulder!

The truck shimmied. Wolfie barked. Maggie did her best to maintain control. It was no use. She hollered, “Hang on, boy,” as the outside wheels edged a fraction too far and carried them off the road with a lurch.

They bent a mile marker post, then bumped and jostled down the rain-slick grass slope and slid diagonally toward a barbed-wire fence at the bottom.

If Maggie tried to steer while sideways on the steep incline, she knew, she would lose control and roll. All she could do was ride it out. And pray.

* * *

Flint was finishing an enjoyable evening meal at the Allgood residence and discussing who might have been behind the shooting at the animal rehab center when the sheriff’s phone rang.

Harlan answered and listened briefly. “Well, what’re you callin’ me for?” Flint saw him begin to scowl. “Okay, okay. I’ll head out there ASAP. Where’d you say it was?”

Flint pushed back from the table. “What’s happened?”

“Single-car accident. A truck skidded off Highway 62 out by the Anderson place.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“The witness didn’t know.”

“Why are you responding? Can’t the highway patrol handle it?”

The sheriff nodded as he buckled his utility belt and checked his gun. “Probably. They’ve been called, too.” He tilted his head at Flint. “You might wanna grab your gear and come along.”

“Why? Was a deer involved?” That kind of collision occurred often during the fall of the year.

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.”

Puzzled, Flint pulled his jacket on over his bulletproof vest. “Okay. If you think you need me, I’ll come with you.”

“It ain’t for my sake,” Harlan said as he kissed his wife’s cheek and hurried to the kitchen door. “It’s for yours. The witness says the truck’s from Maggie’s job. Nobody drives it but her.”

* * *

The vehicle that had slammed into Maggie had kept going. As soon as her truck stopped sliding, she turned off the ignition key and unbuckled her seat belt. She and Wolfie were okay. That was the important thing.

Taking a moment to collect herself, she buried her face in her pet’s ruff and silently thanked God, then sat back. “Well, what do you think, Wolfie? Shall we hike up to the road and flag somebody down?”

As Maggie’s random thoughts began to sort themselves out, she realized she had a better way to summon help. She reached for her phone. Her purse wasn’t on the seat anymore. Feeling around on the floor of the cab didn’t help, either.

She tried to shoulder open her door. It was stuck. Thankfully, the passenger side worked. Wolfie cleared her with a bound and began leaping through long, wet grasses and wildflowers like a spring lamb at play.

“Stay with me, boy, while I find my phone.”

Ignoring her, he began to sniff at their surroundings while she stood in the thigh-high grass to explore beneath the seat. Her fingers touched soft leather. Got it! However, as she pulled her purse out she noted that it felt far too light. Half its contents were missing.

“Rats!” She leaned in and patted along the floor mat. The cell phone had to be there. Too bad she didn’t have a flashlight.

Wolfie’s sharp yelp made her jerk. The barrage of angry barking that followed was unmistakable. He was defending her. But from what?

Maggie had held very still when he began to bark. Now she slowly backed out of the truck cab and scanned their surroundings.

Hackles up, her dog was looking past her toward the road. A vehicle was idling on the shoulder of the highway and someone was getting out. She cupped a hand around her mouth and shouted, “Have you called 911?”

The dark figure merely stood there. Wouldn’t an innocent passerby answer? Ask if she was injured?

“Hello? Do you have a phone?”

Flustered, she peered up at the other truck. Not only was it the same size and color as the one that had hit her, but the part of it that she could see looked uneven!

Maggie reached across and clicked off her headlights. Suppose that was no Good Samaritan up there? Suppose it was her unknown enemy? Had he come back to finish the job he’d started?

Frightened, Maggie gave up the search for her missing phone and edged around the front of her truck. Wolfie was already on the opposite side of the barbed-wire fence separating the roadway from a pasture. Climbing back up to the pavement to flag down a passing motorist was out of the question at this point. So, what options were left?

She could stand there until her nemesis decided to make the next move, or she could take matters into her own hands. Undecided, she studied him. She had Wolfie on her side and the other driver had...a gun! The glint of a chromed pistol in his hand was brief but quite enough incentive.

Maggie whirled and raced to the section of fence her dog had shimmied under, dropped onto her stomach and crawled through the way a commando would.

A gruff shout echoed. “You can’t hide.”

That actually helped. She rose to all fours, sprang to her feet and ran, positive she heard someone in pursuit. Wolfie paced her for a few moments before diverting toward the nearest patch of woods.

“Good boy.” Maggie followed, panting. At least one of them was thinking straight.

Forest shadows swallowed her. She slipped on wet leaves beneath the trees, falling and recovering over and over until her energy and adrenaline were spent.

Hands resting on the muddy knees of her jeans, she gasped for breath. Wolfie circled back and licked her face.

Prayer was called for, she knew, but her heart was too dispirited to even try.

Kneeling in the wet leaves she slipped an arm around her dog’s neck and let tears be her unspoken plea.

Nobody knew where she was but God.

And her enemy.

* * *

Flint used his emergency flashers and made better time than the sheriff. Spying a cluster of headlights along the opposite shoulder, he knew this was the accident scene. Maggie had almost made it into town. Why in the world had she run off the road? Was she speeding? Talking or texting? Had she lost focus for some other reason?

None of those ideas made sense. The teenage Maggie he remembered had been conscientious to a fault. Surely her basic nature hadn’t changed that much.

Flint parked in an open spot on his side of the highway so he wouldn’t have to make a U-turn and left his hazard lights on as a warning to passing drivers.

Traffic was sparse. He jogged across all four lanes in seconds. Several civilian motorists had stopped and were pointing to the wreck. A uniformed police officer at the base of the incline cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted, “No sign of the driver.”

Flint’s heart beat hard and fast. If Maggie wasn’t there, where was she? Had she been kidnapped? No. That idea was too far-fetched. But why leave her truck? Nothing made sense.

He stepped off the outer berm, slipping and sliding his way to the bottom. Plenty of others had obviously been down there, because the vegetation was trampled. What if their carelessness had destroyed evidence that would lead to finding her?

Pulling the flashlight off his utility belt, he played the beam over the scene.

Someone touched his arm. “Simmer down,” a deputy said. “As soon as the sheriff gets organized, we’ll form a search party. We’ll find her.”

“What about her dog? Has anybody seen a big dog that looks like a wolf? They’re usually together.”

The officer radioed to the top of the embankment, “Any of you guys see Maggie’s dog?”

Flint felt like a fool. They all knew her and Wolfie and probably cared more than he did. She was one of their own. So why was the urge to track her down so strong in him?

He walked away, playing his light over the ground as he went. Except for the trampled area around the truck, there was no sign of her. Still, he refused to give up. The minute a search party formed, he’d join it, whether anybody liked it or not. He was going to help hunt for her, period. He was...

The beam of his light reflected off drops of rain clinging to the barbed wire. The whole fence glistened, except for one narrow place on the bottom strand! Flint’s breath caught. If nobody else had knocked off the water, there was a chance that Maggie and her dog had done so in passing. Hopefully, they were the only two.

He waved his light like a beacon and shouted, “Over here! I think she went through here.”

Nobody paid attention. He tried again. A few bystanders waved back and continued to talk among themselves, but other than that, he was ignored. Delaying only long enough to shout at the closest officer, “Tell Sheriff Allgood that I think the victim went through the pasture fence just south of here,” Flint went into action.

Once he got through the fence, it was harder to tell which way Maggie and Wolfie had gone. The pasture was already springing back. That slowed his progress. Bent grass, broken stems and an occasional crushed weed were all he had to go by.

The faint path turned so abruptly Flint almost missed the clues. It looked as though Maggie was headed for the woods where her passing would leave no crushed grass.

That should make it harder for him to track her. Fortunately, it would do the same for whoever she was fleeing from—unless there was more than one person after her and they could fan out to cover a wider area.

Picking up his pace, Flint prayed he’d reach Maggie before anyone else did. Before it was too late.


THREE (#ulink_497b524a-b91b-500f-9711-5851d4a4dbc8)

Being born and raised in the country gave Maggie an advantage. Not knowing exactly where she was took much of it away. Most Ozark homes and farms weren’t located too far apart, but there were also untouched acres of forest that had claimed canyons, and any other land too rocky for pasture or crops.

Spent and discouraged, Maggie sat on a protruding shelf of shale while she caught her breath. Moonlight came and went as wind from the earlier storm pushed lingering clouds across the sky. Sheet lightning flashed in the distance, providing a snapshot view of her surroundings.

She closed her eyes and folded her hands to pray, but only chaotic thoughts resulted. They darted madly through her mind like tiny fish in the shallows when a shadow fell over the water. Thoughts of rescue kept recurring. So did divine guidance. And—Flint?

Maggie’s eyes popped open. “No. Not Flint. Anybody but him.” Surely God could send someone else to save her.

The soft sound of her voice drew the weary dog and she draped an arm across his shoulders the way she would have a human friend. “Yes, Wolfie, I have you, don’t I? And if I was sure you wouldn’t stop to chase rabbits all the way home, I’d let you lead me.”

She sighed. “We couldn’t stay with the truck. But I kind of wish I’d aimed for the lights of farmhouses along the highway instead of following you into the wilderness.”

He slurped her cheek and ear.

“Yeah, well, maybe your path was best, but now what?”

The dog stiffened as if in reply. His nose twitched and he lifted it to face the breeze, then raised his hackles.

Maggie tensed. Listened. Held her breath until her body forced her to exhale. What she had thought was the sound of her panting dog was actually farther away, in the direction she believed they had come. It wasn’t loud. And it faded from time to time, but it was definitely there.

She stood slowly, dismayed by a wave of dizziness. Pushing herself to the edge of her endurance was one thing, but this consequence was unexpected. How could she run when she could hardly keep her balance? And what if she fainted?

“I have never fainted in my life and I’m not going to start now,” Maggie insisted in a whisper. Wolfie wagged his bushy tail.

Demanding that her body comply, she turned to start up the slope behind them. The third step dropped her against the trunk of an enormous oak and there she stayed while bright flashes of color danced at the edges of her vision and the forest seemed to vibrate. This was not good.

Beside her, Wolfie began to growl.

Maggie followed his line of sight, seeing nothing but drifting, shimmering, moonlit shadows. Clearly, she was not going any farther, so what could she use as a defensive weapon?

A nearby deadfall caught her eye. She managed to break a portion of a loose, rotting limb from the fallen tree. It wasn’t much of a club, but at least it wasn’t too heavy to wield. She’d played baseball as a child. It was time for a little batting practice. Even if she only got one swing, it was better than just standing there.

“Wolfie, heel,” Maggie ordered quietly. “Down. Stay.”

Resting the section of limb on her shoulder, she propped herself behind the massive oak and waited.

A twig snapped. Wolfie started to rise, but the flat of Maggie’s hand in front of his nose stopped him. It wouldn’t be long now. Truth to tell, she was looking forward to clocking the guy who had run her off the road.

She tensed. The dog was quivering beside her, as ready as she was. Another cracking sound. Heavy breathing. Almost there!

Fight-or-flight emotions gave her a needed jolt of energy. She poised and mustered her strength, waiting for just the right moment to swing.

* * *

Tracking had been part of Flint’s job training. He’d temporarily lost Maggie’s trail when she crossed a field of exposed rock, but he knew she couldn’t be far ahead.

Should he call to her? No. That might tip off anyone who was stalking her. He couldn’t chance it.

Bending low to inspect a patch of disturbed leaves, he sensed imminent danger and began to rise.

Flint’s forearm came up just in time to absorb most of the blow. Bits of rotted wood rained down like snowflakes. He shouted, “Officer of the law” as he ducked to the side to avoid further strikes and drew his sidearm.

His flashlight found its target. Someone was preparing to hit him again. “Freeze!”

In a heartbeat, he understood. Maggie had thought he was her enemy and had defended herself. Bravo for her. Too bad her aim was so good.

He raised both hands, diverting the light and the gun. “It’s me. Maggie, it’s me. You’re safe now.”

Flint holstered his pistol while she processed reality. He flicked off the flashlight in case there was danger nearby and ruffled his hair to brush away bits of wood.

“Drop the limb, Maggie,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Slowly, her arms lowered. The fractured branch fell. She began to blink rapidly and her balance wavered. Flint reached out to catch her and she fell into his arms, clinging as if he were the only lifeline in a sea of hungry sharks.

What could he do? He tightened his embrace, held her close and waited for her to relax. Eternity passed. Flint was so overcome with emotional memory he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for strength. This hurt. Deeply. It was as if no time had passed; as if he and Maggie were once again in love and looking forward to a bright future together.

Reality saved him when Wolfie whined. Maggie pushed him away. The look in her eyes was unreadable. His conscience insisted he apologize. “I’m sorry. I thought you were going to faint.”

“I never...” She began to nod. “Thanks. I am woozy. I guess I ran too far and too fast.”

Flint held up a hand. “Hold on a second and you can tell me everything.” He pulled out his phone and reported that she was safe, then led her to the nearest rock outcropping so she could rest and recover, trusting the dog to alert if anyone else approached.

“Okay. What happened?”

“A big truck ran me off the road.”

“I could tell that something did. Why did you run?”

“Because he came back!” Her voice faltered. “I—I thought he was going to finish me.”

“Why? Who has it in for you?

Her shoulders sagged. “Nobody. At least not lately.”

“Explain.”

“Do you remember Abigail Dodd? She used to teach in the old rock school. My mother was one of her students.”

“What about her?”

“She’s the one who thought of starting the wildlife rescue here. I had just graduated from school to become a veterinary assistant, and when she couldn’t find a real vet to take the management job, she offered it to me.”

“Why would that make anybody shoot at you and run you off the road?”

Maggie huffed. “I testified on Abigail’s behalf. Her nephew actually threatened me after the competency hearing and her niece glared daggers. I wouldn’t put it past either of them to shoot at me. What I don’t understand is why they waited until now.”

“The sheriff mentioned something about that hearing, but he never told me you’d been threatened. He just said Ms. Dodd’s relatives were unhappy about the verdict.”

“That’s an understatement. Missy and Sonny were fit to be tied. They wanted power of attorney. I’m the reason they didn’t get it.”

Flint listened with concern. “Do you think it was one of them who ran you off the road tonight?”

“I can’t think of anybody else who’s that mad at me. Maybe they figure they’ll have a better shot at their aunt’s money if I don’t stand in their way.”

“You do realize how paranoid that sounds, don’t you?”

“It’s only paranoia if nobody is really out to get me. After two tries, including tonight, I wonder.”

* * *

By the time the sheriff’s men arrived on ATVs to take Flint and her back to the road, Maggie had regained most of her strength. The official pronouncement that her truck was still safe to drive helped even more.

“I’m fine,” she insisted to a crowd of men. “I can get to my mother’s by myself.”

Harlan seemed reluctant to allow it. Flint looked angry.

She faced them, hands on her hips. “You agree my wheels are safe and it’s only a couple more miles to town. What’s your problem?”

“You are,” Flint argued. “An hour ago you were hardly able to stand. What makes you think you’re capable of driving?”

“An hour ago I was scared to death,” she countered. “Now that nobody’s chasing me, I’m fine.”

“What about later?”

“I’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow,” Maggie said. “Consider the lilies of the field—”

“Don’t quote scripture to me.”

“You know that verse?”

“I know a lot of Bible verses.”

“Since when?”

“Since I almost got my head blown off in combat,” Flint said.

Maggie sobered. “Was that the real reason you left the marines?” She could tell by the set of his jaw and shoulders that she’d hit a nerve, but his answer was ambiguous.

“I stayed until my enlistment was up,” Flint said. “Stop trying to change the subject. You’re in no shape to drive that truck and you know it.”

“On the contrary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I thought I proved that when I clobbered you back in the woods.”

“All you proved was that you’re no match for a gun.”

“Nonsense.” Maggie was not about to admit she’d been weak and ineffectual when she faced what she’d believed was her enemy. “If I hadn’t recognized you, I’d have hit you again.”

“With a limb so rotten it fell apart?”

It had to be pulpy in order to be light enough for her to lift, Maggie thought with chagrin. “I wasn’t helpless. I could have grabbed a rock after you went down. I was tired, that’s all.” She turned to the sheriff. “What about the truck that hit me? Have you found any clues?”

Harlan shook his head. “Not to speak of. There’s a bit of dark paint on your fender, but that’s about all. We took a scraping in case we end up having to send something to the crime lab in Little Rock.”

“Meaning, if whoever ran me off the road doesn’t bother me again nothing will be done?” Maggie folded her arms across her chest to hide a shiver.

“We’ll see. I wouldn’t worry much. Accidents happen. There’s usually nothing sinister about them.”

Beside her, Flint raised his voice. “I don’t believe you people. Did you know she was threatened by Ms. Dodd’s relatives?”

“Ah, Sonny was just blowin’ off steam. Now calm down.” The sheriff gave him a tight smile. “You’ve been away too long. You know this ain’t a big city. We don’t have serious trouble around here. Leastwise not much.”

No serious trouble? Maggie recalled tales of the days when clannishness had divided the town better than any city gang wars could have. Much of what she’d heard as a child had probably been embellished, of course. Small-town gossip was famous for that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look into that, too. Now that Flint was home, there was an outside chance her elderly uncle might be involved for reasons other than his poaching. He was hardheaded enough to want to nurture his hatred of the Crawfords and rekindle the generations-old family feud.

What caused her additional worry was the fact that she seemed to be a target, too, probably thanks to her need to tolerate Flint’s presence for the sake of her job. It had been easy to blame rancor against Flint for the shots at the animal center. This so-called accident put a totally different spin on things. This wasn’t a bullet, but it was aimed at her. Was this truly an accident, as the sheriff assumed, or were the incidents related?

Leaving Harlan and Flint arguing, Maggie circled her truck with Wolfie and climbed in. She didn’t have to look in her mirrors to know what she’d see. Flint was going to look fit to be tied.

A lopsided smile lifted her lips—and her spirits. He’d looked so relieved when he found her in the woods she almost hated to annoy him. But she had her limits. Life had forced her to stand on her own two feet, and she wasn’t about to let the man who had almost ruined her life take it over. Not now. Not ever. She had been doing fine by herself, raising her son and providing for him with little outside help from anyone except her mother.

Maggie’s heart warmed at the thought of Mark and Mom. They had been so good for each other: Mark comforting Faye after she was widowed and Faye becoming the grandmother the boy needed to balance his life. It was the perfect arrangement for them all. One she intended to preserve.

As Maggie saw it, all she had to do was pinpoint who was so upset with her—or mad because she’d been seen with Flint—and was acting out. Country people might be obstinate at times, but they were logical thinkers. Sensible and honorable. With God’s help she’d figure out who’d been stirring up trouble.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She hoped nothing altered the peaceful life she’d made for herself in Serenity. If she truly trusted the Lord in everything, she’d be fine. However, the line between self-confidence and letting go and allowing her heavenly Father to guide her could be blurry, especially if she intended to assert her will, which she did.

“Okay, okay,” Maggie said, frustrated. She cast her eyes to the heavens momentarily. “I’ll try to understand and do things Your way, Father, but I’m sure bumfuzzled right now.”

* * *

Flint stood with the sheriff and watched Maggie pull away. He shook his head. “That woman is the most stubborn, impossible person I have ever met.”

“Yup. That’s what keeps her going,” Harlan replied with a grin. “She’s quite mule-headed, our Maggie.”

“She never used to be.”

“Times change. Kids grow up. She was only sixteen when you left, right?”

“Almost seventeen. I was eighteen.”

“And you were skinny as a rail, if I remember right. No wonder you hit the road.”

“Beg pardon?”

Harlan snorted. “Her brothers mighta kilt you, son. Both of ’em outweighed ya by a bunch, and they sure didn’t want you dating their sister.”

“You’re telling me.” Flint sighed. “I tried to get her to elope, you know. She wouldn’t hear of it. Faye had always said she wanted to put on a big wedding for her only daughter, and Maggie was determined to do things her mother’s way.”

“Probably for the best.” The older man lit up a cigar and puffed it slowly. “Did you ever get hitched?”

“Nope. Not even close.”

“Hmm. Maggie was engaged a couple of times but never went through with those weddings. After her father passed away she was pretty much tied to her mother.”

“I suppose that worked out for the best, since she needed Faye’s help with the baby.”

“You know about Mark?”

Flint shrugged. “I heard a little gossip last week.”

“Hmm.” The sheriff blew smoke rings. “Well, I’d best be going. You coming back to the house with me for dessert? My Wanda’s baked one a’ her prize-winnin’ apple pies. Takes a blue ribbon at the fair every year.”

“Back to town? Sure,” Flint answered quickly.

That made Harlan chuckle. “I thought I’d swing by Faye’s on the way, just to make sure Maggie got there safe. You might as well follow me.”

Of course he would. And while they were relaxed and eating pie, he intended to quiz the sheriff a lot more. Harlan was obviously relying on good-old-boy mentality to figure things out when there was a good chance sinister forces were at work instead. Just because there hadn’t been much crime in Serenity in the past didn’t mean there wasn’t any now.

Flint didn’t care whether locals like the Dodds were involved or not. The important thing was putting an end to the threats before somebody got hurt. Before Maggie got hurt.

Her unseen enemies had already gotten too close for comfort. They had to be positively identified and stopped. And if the sheriff wasn’t going to follow through, somebody had to take up the cause.

Flint’s badge and gun made him a full-fledged law officer.

He intended to act like one.


FOUR (#ulink_6a57542f-1fef-555e-95de-6b742ff54780)

It didn’t bother Maggie one bit to note that Sheriff Allgood had caught up and was following her. As they drove into town and streetlights glinted off the light bar atop his patrol car, she realized that he wasn’t the only one. The third vehicle in line looked suspiciously like an official Game and Fish truck.

Maggie whipped into her mother’s driveway and waited, more than ready to face down Flint and send him on his way if he stopped. When both drivers cruised on past, however, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Yes, she was glad for an armed escort. No, she was not happy that Flint had tagged along behind. Yes, she appreciated the sheriff’s concern. And no, she...

Maggie chewed on her lower lip. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt normal since her first glimpse of Warden Crawford, and things were getting more complicated by the minute.

Faye threw open her front door, flooding the yard with light. “Maggie? Are you all right?”

“Fine, Mom. Shut the door. I’ll be right in.”

When her mother didn’t listen, Maggie shouted, “I said, shut the door.”

Faye stood, silhouetted in the backlight as if making herself an intentional target. Worse, Mark had joined her. The maternal instinct in Maggie spurred her to make a dash for the porch, scoop up her son and rush everyone back inside. The last thing to pass through before the door slammed was Wolfie’s tail.

“What in the world is going on?” Faye asked.

“Sorry I yelled at you.”

“Never mind that. Why is your face as pale as my legs after a long winter?”

Despite her mother’s attempt at humor, Maggie knew she sensed trouble. “It’s complicated.” Putting Mark down, she kissed his cheek before saying, “Why don’t you take Wolfie and go play, honey?”

“Mamaw said I could have ice cream when you came.”

“After supper. Now go. Wolfie gets bored when you’re at school. He misses you.”

“I miss him, too.” With that, the child took off, his furry friend trotting along beside him.

“Let’s go in the kitchen while I reheat the food and you can tell me all about what’s been going on,” Faye said.

Nodding, Maggie followed, plopping into her favorite place at the table and raking trembling fingers through her hair. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time. I already fed Mark.” She poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of her weary daughter. “Why don’t you start with your first call to me this afternoon? Why did I need to pick up my grandson?”

“Because somebody was shooting near my place.” Maggie wrapped her hands around the warm mug.

“Surely not at you!”

“I think the shots were meant to scare off the game warden.”

“That’s silly. Why would anybody bother a warden out there? They’re always around.”

“Not this guy,” Maggie said, steeling her nerves for the predictable reaction when she added, “This warden was new. It was Flint Crawford.”

Faye choked and sputtered. Maggie patted her back until she stopped coughing enough to ask, “Who?”

“You heard me. I didn’t get a chance to ask him much, but he did say he’s left the military and gone into law enforcement.” She made a face. “Isn’t that special?”

“What are we going to do?”

“Nothing, for the present. I actually thought the shooter might be Uncle Elwood when it first happened. You know how he hates wardens and Crawfords.”

“What changed your mind?”

With a deep sigh, Maggie told her, “Somebody ran me off the road tonight.”

Faye grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“But what happened? Where? How?”

As Maggie began to cite details, she managed to omit Flint’s part in her rescue. Anyone could have tracked her. He just happened to be handy, that’s all.

And why was that? she asked herself. Of all the possibilities, why would God—or the sheriff—send the one man she desperately wanted to avoid? Moreover, why would Flint volunteer? There were lots of men who knew the area better than he did, particularly since he’d been away for six years.

High-pitched, childish laughter drifted from the living room. Mark was happy. Contented. Safe. Was that about to change?

Maggie rose and refilled both coffee mugs. “So, what are your thoughts? Do you think Elwood heard Flint was back and tracked him down at my place? Would he be angry enough to shoot around me when I might accidentally be hit?”

“I don’t know. I’d hoped he’d mellowed in his old age.”

“He was worse in the past?” She was astounded. “That’s a surprise.”

“It wouldn’t be if you knew the whole story. It’s what actually started the feud between my people, the Witherspoons, and the Crawford family.”

“Go on.”

Sighing, Faye complied. “I didn’t see any of this firsthand, of course, but the story hasn’t changed much since the beginning. Elwood, his dad and his brother were all drafted. Ira Crawford was—”

“Flint’s grandfather Ira?”

“Actually, his great-grandfather. As the youngest, Ira was about the same age as Elwood even though they were technically a generation apart. People had big families in those days and sometimes aunts and uncles were as young as their own nieces and nephews. Anyway, Ira’s leg had been damaged in a logging accident, so he wasn’t called up like the other men were.”

“They were jealous? That seems like a pretty lame reason for a feud—no pun intended.”

“No, no. That wasn’t the problem. The Witherspoons asked Ira to look after their farm, since the properties were adjoining and they’d been friends for years. They trusted him.”

“Ooookay.” Maggie could tell that her mother was struggling to present the tale accurately and having difficulty keeping her account unbiased. “I knew Elwood always had a chip on his shoulder. Was it because he didn’t think Ira did a good enough job?”

“Oh, no. Ira did a great job. In more ways than one. Unfortunately, his choices benefited himself, not his former friends.”

Losing patience, Maggie wanted to insist that her mom get to the core of the problems and had to struggle to keep from interrupting.

“Elwood was the only man in his immediate family to survive combat,” Faye said sadly. “He never lost hope of returning to his waiting bride. She’d wanted to get married before he shipped out, but the family had resisted because she was so young.”

Pausing, Faye sipped her coffee, then cleared her throat. “Here’s where it gets complicated. While Elwood was gone, his best friend, Ira, took care of his farm by straightening some crooked fences and claiming a water source that generations of Witherspoons had counted on.”

“That’s terrible. No wonder Elwood was upset.”

“Oh, it gets worse. The land wasn’t the only thing Ira stole. He courted and married Elwood’s intended. She became Bess Crawford, Flint’s great-grandmother.”

“Oh, my...” Maggie’s hand covered her mouth. “Bess and Elwood? That seems awfully far-fetched.”

“Now maybe. Not back then. Elwood was a handsome young man. But Ira had two advantages. He was injured, so he could play on her sympathies, and he was here, on the spot, while Elwood was overseas, perhaps dying in battle the way his kin had. By the time the dust settled, Ira was a prosperous farmer and rancher and Elwood had nothing left to come home to.”

“But he did come back. He’s still here.”

“True. He eventually married, but it didn’t last. His ex got custody of his only son. After that final loss he was never the same. That was when he became a recluse and moved away from civilization. In more ways than one.” She was slowly shaking her head. “I can’t say I blame him.”

“What about the feud stories? Did the families really kill each other’s shirttail relatives?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Then how come some survived?”

Faye shrugged. “Who knows? A lot can happen in sixty, seventy years. The law was stretched even thinner back then than it is now. They were never real keen on stirring up the old fight by asking too many questions, so unless somebody made a big stink, nothing was done.”

“Unbelievable. I almost feel sorry for Elwood, even though I suspect he’s been poaching.”

“Do you have proof?” Faye asked, dishing up a plate of spaghetti and meatballs and placing it in front of Maggie.

“Thanks.” She savored the spicy aroma for a moment before answering, “I thought I did. When somebody took a potshot at the warden today, I was just about positive.”

“You could still be right,” her mother remarked.

Maggie forked in a delectable mouthful and nodded. “I could. But it doesn’t explain why I was forced off the road tonight.”

“Probably just an accident.”

“That’s what the sheriff said.” Maggie didn’t believe that for a second. She stifled a shiver. Somebody had purposely tried to injure her—or worse—and until she figured out who, she’d have to be doubly vigilant.

Not to mention trying to keep Flint from seeing her son, she added, growing so uneasy she could barely force herself to continue eating. He was not going to be a happy camper once he realized whose child Mark must be. When Mark was a baby she’d refused to admit anything. However, as time had passed, he’d grown to closely resemble his daddy.

No one but her mother had speculated aloud about Mark’s origin, at least not in Maggie’s presence. While Flint was away, it had been easier to keep her secret. Now that he was back in town, it was only a matter of time until disturbing rumors reached him.

Maggie knew she should stay ahead of the gossip and tell Flint everything. And she would. She must. The sooner the better.

She put down her fork and pushed her plate away. The butterflies in her stomach were keeping the delicious food from settling. As a lovelorn teenager, she’d found that convincing herself that Flint didn’t care helped her cope. Then, as time had passed, she’d hardened her heart by assuming she’d never see him again.

So, what now? Explain? How? She huffed. Managing that was going to be impossible without making him furious, whether he was happy about being a father or hated the idea.

“Not hungry?” Faye asked.

“Too much on my mind.”

“The shooting or the accident?”

Maggie shook her head. “Neither. Flint.”

“That is a problem.”

“Ya think?” Maggie rolled her eyes before glancing toward the living room where Mark and Wolfie were playing. “Any ideas about what I should do next?”

“Praying always helps me,” Faye said as she cleared the table.

“Okay, what do I ask for? I used to pray Flint would come back to me, but he didn’t.”

“Really?”

Maggie noted her mother’s raised eyebrows. “I meant when I needed him, not now.”

“In whose opinion?”

“Oh, no. No way.” She was shaking her head. “My life is in order and I’m happy. This is a terrible time for Flint to suddenly show up.”

“Well, he did, and since you say he has a job here, I expect he’s planning to stay. Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf and is hoping you’ll take him back.”

“That’s not why he transferred.” Maggie pulled a face. “He told me it was because Bess and Ira needed help.”

“Oh, dear. That certainly complicates things.”

Maggie agreed. “I had no idea how much until you told me the whole feud story. Elwood may not even care that Flint’s a game warden. He may hate him more because he’s helping his great-grandparents. For all I know, Flint may be living with them on the farm the way he used to when he was a kid.”

“Sounds like we should both pray for peace before we ask the Lord for anything else. I’ll have a chat with Harlan the next time I see him, too.”

That comment drew a slight smile from Maggie. “You mean you don’t rely totally on prayers?”

Faye chuckled. “Prayers come first. But the way I see it, there’s nothing wrong with depending on the people God has put in my life, as well. He gave us brains. I imagine He expects us to use them. And if that means alerting the sheriff, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“You’re going to tell him everything?”

“About the feud, yes. Any conclusions he chooses to draw regarding my grandson will be up to him. I don’t suppose there are too many folks who don’t already suspect who Mark’s daddy is.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Well, don’t be. You made a mistake, turned your life around and God forgave you. Besides, you ended up with a beautiful child. That can’t be bad.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty?” She began to pace. “If only Flint hadn’t left when he did.”

“What excuse did he give?” Faye asked.

“None. One day he was here and the next he was gone. You know that. You helped me pick out my prom dress and then went with me to return it after he stood me up.”

“Yes. I remember. I just thought...”

“What?” Pausing, Maggie peered at her.

“Nothing. My memory of those days is kind of foggy. I had a lot on my mind, what with your daddy’s illness and all.”

Maggie slipped an arm around her mother’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “I know. I’m sorry you had to worry about me so much then, too. You had a lot on your plate.” She glanced at the sink. “Speaking of plates, why don’t I help you finish the dishes before we go join the boys?”

Smiling wistfully, Faye agreed. “Okay. I guess I should be thankful you adopted a dog for Mark’s playmate instead of taming a raccoon.”

“Or a skunk,” Maggie teased. “Good thing my job teaches me to avoid making pets of my patients. Some of those baby animals are adorable.”

“Not as adorable as my grandson.”

Despite herself, Maggie silently added, Or his daddy.

When Flint had first shown up at the compound, every nerve in her body insisted he was nothing but trouble. Then, after he’d shoved her out of the line of fire, she simply credited his actions to his training and combat experience. But when he’d tracked her into the woods after the accident and offered comfort, she lost her defensive edge. Fortifications she’d erected around her tender heart had been breached. Cracked. Left crumbling.

She didn’t love Flint, she argued. Not the way she once had. And yet there was something there. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Something almost as scary as the apparent threats to her continued safety and well-being. And that of her son. Their son: hers and Flint’s. An innocent child caught between the past and the present, whose future might be in jeopardy because of the sins of his parents.

Maggie finally understood why her own family had tried so hard to keep her away from Flint.

Too bad their efforts had come too late.


FIVE (#ulink_a9f8f7e0-0dc1-506a-9190-9c689169befe)

Flint’s division headquarters was in Mammoth Spring and included six counties, meaning he wouldn’t normally have been sent to officially visit Maggie’s rehab center if Captain Lang hadn’t made it a priority.

The sheriff had graciously agreed to keep an eye on her when chores on his great-grandparents’ farm kept Flint too busy. The place had really deteriorated while he was away. No sooner did he repair one thing than another broke. He’d finished nailing down the leaky barn roof and then the tractor had refused to start so he could use it to restack bales of hay.

Flint saw only one viable solution. He’d have to convince the elderly couple to stop farming. A successful operation needed a lot more supervision and daily care than he was able to give it. Ira could hire his hay cut and baled, but without good cattle management he’d go deeper in debt every year, and the stubborn old man insisted on keeping all the records himself.

Using a rag to wipe black grease off his hands, Flint headed for the house.

Bess met him at the back door with a smile. “Good. I was just coming to get you. Lunch is ready.”

“Okay. Let me wash up first.” Although she was in her eighties, Bess still had the kind of energy and zest for life Flint remembered from his youth. She wore her gray hair in a long braid and perched her glasses on the end of her nose to peer over them even though they were bifocals.

It had been a bit of a shock to return and find such big changes in everything else. The house was in better shape than the outbuildings, but not by much. It needed painting as well as several new sections of chimney pipe to safely vent the wood-burning stove. Flint had already suggested they add propane heaters and had had his idea totally rejected, even after offering to pay for the tank and installation.

Still pondering the immense task of fixing the old house, he joined the older couple at the kitchen table. Ira had always been the one to say a prayer of thanks for the food, but since Flint had returned, Bess had begun asking him to do it.

He slid his chair up to the table and noted that Ira was already eating. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to show up with tractor grease under my nails. Did you say grace, Papaw?”

The old man’s rheumy, greenish eyes were focused on the distance and he was eating as if by habit rather than for enjoyment the way he used to.

“He was starving,” Bess said, “so we started without you. Gotta keep my hungry husband happy.”

“No problem.” Flint followed by a quick bow of his head and a soft “Amen.”

“So, did you get the roof nailed down good?”

He met her questioning gaze with one of his own. “Uh-huh. How long has it been since Papaw ran that tractor? It’s a mess. I had to drain the fuel and clean the filters before it would do more than cough a few times. It’s running rough now, but at least it’s running.”

“We haven’t had a lot of need for our own machinery lately,” Bess said. “We hire most things done. That’s sensible at our age.”

Glancing at Ira as she spoke, Flint waited for some sign of agreement. What he got, instead, was a muttered curse, something the confused old man would never have done if he’d been in his right mind.

“I’ll be glad to do whatever I can on my days off,” Flint said, “but you really need more help around here than that.”

“Don’t need nothin’ from nobody,” Ira mumbled gruffly.

Well, at least he’s speaking, Flint thought, wondering how to best keep him engaged. This kind of attitude, let alone peppered with bad language, was not like the man he’d idolized from the moment his great-grandparents took him in and provided a stable home.

“You two have always looked out for others. It’s time we repaid you.”

“If it needs doin’ I’ll take care of it,” Ira insisted. He pushed to his feet, leaning on the edge of the table for support. “Don’t need no interference from you or anybody else.”

Bess reached toward Flint and touched his hand as her husband did his best to storm off despite stiff knees and hips. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s just achin’ more with winter comin’ on,” she said. “He gets this way when he’s hurting bad.”

“What does his doctor say?”

She chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Not much other than hello when we see him in church. Your papaw hasn’t been to a doctor in a coon’s age.”

“Probably more like an elephant’s age,” Flint countered with a shake of his head. “It’s probably not safe to let him continue to drive, either. What if he gets lost?”

“He won’t. We got that GPS thingie on the new pickup.”

“I saw it under a tarp in the barn. Can’t you do something about getting him to see a doctor?”

“Well, I suppose you and I could try to stuff him in a feed sack and deliver him to the doc that way, but he’d be plenty mad when we let him out.” She sobered. “I’ve done my best to talk him into seeing our family doctor. It’s no use. Ira just gets upset, like now, and storms off. I suspect he’d be in a better mood if he’d take something for his pain, but he won’t touch a pill. Not even aspirin.”

“Because of my mother?”

“And her mother before her.”

Signing, Flint clasped Bess’s thin hand, taking care not to squeeze the distended knuckles. “Just because addiction happens to one person in a family, that doesn’t mean the rest of us are doomed.”

“I know.” Bess’s eyes were misted. “We did our best with our daughter. Even helped her raise your mama. But drugs got ’em both before they were old enough to vote. I think Ira blames himself.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Bess snorted. “Warn me if you ever decide to say that to his face, okay? I wanna be far, far away.”

Far away? Been there, done that, Flint thought, and look what it got me. The loving old couple who kept me from going wrong as a teenager are failing, the farm is in ruin and Maggie has made a new life without me.

Not that it made sense to think the love of his life would have waited for him. Their families had both been dead set against their romance, so what could he expect?

That introspection brought him to ask something else that had been bothering him. “You know just about everybody in town over the age of thirty. Do you think Missy and Sonny Dodd could be dangerous?”

Bess smirked. “Well, Missy might talk a body to death, but otherwise they’re mostly blowin’ smoke.”

“What about Elwood Witherspoon?”

Her fingers pressed over her lips, and her eyes widened. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. My captain mentioned Elwood. Other wardens have come up against him—when they can find him—and they say he’s a real piece of work.”

“I haven’t seen Elwood to speak to for years. Sorry.”

Frowning, Flint studied her expression. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

If she hadn’t been casting worried glances through the door into the living room and looking as if she were about to pass out, Flint might have accepted her statement without reservations. He wasn’t quite through eating but started to rise when she did. “Want me to help you clean up?”

“No, no. I’m used to doin’ kitchen chores. You finish your sandwich, then go back and tinker with that old tractor. In spite of what Ira says, I know this place needs a lot of TLC.”

“Have you ever thought of moving, maybe into assisted living?” Flint ventured.

Bess fumbled a plate and it shattered against the edge of the sink. “Mercy, no. Whatever gave you such a crazy idea?”

“It would make your life much easier. Here. Let me help you clean that up.”

She flapped her hands as if shooing a pesky fly. “No need. I can handle my own kitchen, and your grandpa can take care of this farm, okay?”

“Okay. Sorry I mentioned it.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “If you need me I’ll be in the barn.”

He’d donned a jacket and was easing the back door closed behind him when he heard his great-grandmother gasp. Ira’s raised voice carried. “See? What’d I tell you. He wants our farm. Him and that hussy who’s got him all befuddled again.”

“That’s pure nonsense.”

Flint was torn between a desire to barge in and refute the claim and the knowledge that his best recourse would be to let his actions prove him innocent. He loved those two old people more than anything. Their health was deteriorating. It was natural for them to worry about their future and to want to cling to the past, to try to maintain the same lifestyle they’d enjoyed for so many years.

He eased the door shut all the way. There was a lot to be said for a good old-fashioned rut. At this point in his life Flint felt more like an outsider than ever. He’d been fatherless for as long as he could remember, neglected and then orphaned, and had failed to find direction or purpose in the military. If he hadn’t gotten Bess’s letter begging for his help, he didn’t know where he’d have ended up. Certainly not in Serenity, where past mistakes kept staring him in the face.

That was the crux of his unrest, he decided. There were too many memories, too many disappointments, lurking around every corner. And speaking of lurking, he hadn’t heard a word from the sheriff in days. It was time to check with him for an update and dig deeper into reports of Elwood’s poaching.

Flint palmed his cell phone and stared at it. Phoning Sheriff Allgood was the sensible thing to do. But if he called Maggie he could get her input, as well. Besides, he admitted with a wry smile, he wanted to hear her voice again. To have her personally assure him she was all right.

He punched in the number of the sanctuary. Nobody picked up. He left a brief message on Maggie’s answering machine, promising himself he’d try again later, then went back to work in the barn.

After supper, Flint tried to phone her for the fifth time. Still no answer. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. As far as he knew, Maggie had no hired help, relying on volunteer labor in order to keep costs down. Therefore, she should be home. Even if she’d left the compound to run errands, she was bound to check her answering machine occasionally.

So, now what? He was getting more and more worried. If he failed to reach her soon, he’d have to either contact the sheriff and ask him to send someone to investigate, or make the trip to Maggie’s himself. Alerting law enforcement for nothing wasn’t a good idea. Then again, neither was showing up at her place repeatedly with the excuse of looking for her uncle.

Disgusted, Flint accepted the inevitable. He had to be the one to go have a look-see. If things went well, it might not be necessary to let anyone else know he was even slightly concerned.

He grabbed his jacket and handgun on his way to the door and called to his grandmother, “I have to go out. Be back soon.”

If she replied before the door slammed, Flint didn’t hear. He was loping toward the AGFC truck, and the faster he moved, the more his heart kept pace.

“I’ll feel really stupid if I get there and Maggie’s fine,” he told himself. That warning did nothing to slow him. He’d much rather be thought a fool than find out later that Maggie wasn’t fine.

* * *

Sunset had brought with it a sense of impending winter. Maggie shivered. The air was damp and chilly, the last brown leaves barely clinging to myriad oaks, sycamores and other native floras. Only the cedars remained green.

She’d left Mark in the house with Wolfie while she tended to her evening chores right outside. Given the dropping temperatures, it was necessary to provide extra bedding for her larger patients and perhaps move some of the smaller cages under better cover.

The niggling sense that she was being watched made Maggie’s skin prickle. She kept looking over her shoulder as she worked, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, yet convinced she wasn’t alone.

Pulling off flakes of bedding hay, she piled them on a yard cart. Wind whipped loose stem fragments from the pile and swirled them high. Maggie sneezed once, twice, then drew breath to repeat. With her chin lifted she had a different view of her surroundings and thought she saw something moving in the forest.

“Of course I did,” she muttered. “Achoo! Stuff out there blows around just like my hay.” Which was not entirely true. Any lightweight vegetation would still be soggy from the recent rain. Her stored hay, on the other hand, was dry and more easily disturbed.

Most of the outdoor pens were adjacent to the house, while the smallest cages found protection in the barn. Maggie was passing a window that was low enough to let her peek in to check on Mark, so she paused. He and the dog were playing catch. That wasn’t an approved activity for inside, but they were quiet and happy. As long as the boy remembered to keep his tosses low, she wasn’t going to interfere.

A deep, distant howl stood the hairs on Maggie’s neck on end. She whirled, facing the direction of the sound just in time to hear an answering echo about twenty degrees east of the first. Listening intently, she held her breath. Higher-pitched yips joined the elongated cries that were so intense, so primal, they infiltrated her most basic senses. Adults and pups. Only not coyotes. What was a wolf pack doing in the Ozarks?

Instinct made Maggie spin back around. For an instant she forgot she’d been watching her son, so when she came practically nose-to-nose with Wolfie on the other side of the glass, she almost screamed.

The dog pawed at the window, panting until it was steamy. “You hear them, too, don’t you?” His ears perked. He cocked his head. “Take it easy. It’s okay, boy.”

The howls seemed to be getting closer. Maggie cast around for a defensive weapon. The only thing handy was a pitchfork. She reached for the handle. Stumbled over a wheel of the yard cart. Felt herself falling.

She missed catching hold of anything to break her fall and went down hard. In the midst of her useless flailing, she finally did scream.

Glass cracked and broke above her. Maggie covered her head with her arms, letting her jacket take most of the punishment from the falling shards.

There had been no shots this time. She was certain of it. So what...?

Something landed beside her with a soft thud and she knew instantly what had happened. This was the second time Wolfie had breached a closed window. The first time had been when Mark was a toddler and there had been a stray dog in the yard.

Maggie levered herself up just in time to see her enormous dog bound over the cart and disappear into the thick forest. “Wolfie! No!

“Wolfie, come.” She started to get to her feet. Looked down at her hands. And saw blood.


SIX (#ulink_0d8a540c-c4c6-52fb-89f7-e189a40feb32)

The first thing Flint noticed as he slowly pulled into Maggie’s driveway was her. She was pacing the porch and looked beside herself. Her eyes were wide, her hair flyaway. When she ran straight to him instead of holding her ground, he knew something was terribly wrong. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Did you leave it in the house again?”

She latched on to the sleeve of his jacket as soon as he stepped out of the truck. “You have to help me.”

“Okay. What’s wrong?”

Gesturing wildly, she indicated the woods at the edge of the compound. “Wolves. I heard them.”

“Did they approach? Menace you in any way?”

“No, but—”

“Then go back in the house. I’ll check your pens.”

“It’s not that.”

As her grip tightened, Flint glanced down. Was that a trace of blood on the cuff of her jacket? His breath caught. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Not me, Wolfie. He crashed through a window and ran off. If the pack spots him, they’ll kill him. He won’t be able to fight them all.”

Flint took a step forward. “Okay. I’ll radio a report and board up your window while we wait for more help.”

The noise she made was half exasperation, half anger. As soon as he was through contacting his partner, she said, “I nailed a board over the window myself. I called the sheriff, too, but he said there was nothing he could do about a runaway dog.”

“Why didn’t you call Game and Fish?”

When Maggie rolled her eyes, he had his answer.

“I get it. You’d rather have your dog die than ask me for anything.”

“No! I never said that. I left a message on the answering machine at your office.”

Flint was penitent. “Right. It’s Saturday. Sorry.” He eyed the porch. “Why don’t we go wait inside?”

Her “No!” was so forceful he stepped back, hands raised as if he were being robbed at gunpoint. “Okay, okay. I’ll look around out here and listen for more howling after I call and ask somebody to bring me an ATV.” He studied her. “Will that do?”

“I guess it’ll have to.”

They stepped off the porch together. He’d dealt with plenty of anxious people in the course of his duties, but Maggie’s case was extreme. Maybe if he could distract her she’d be more tractable. “Is your kid at your mother’s today?”

She stopped in her tracks. “No. Why?”

“Because that’s where he was when you had that wreck,” Flint said.

“Only because we were being shot at when he got out of school,” she countered. “I take good care of him.”

“I’m sure you do.” He took time to rephrase his query. “I was asking because I wanted to know if you were free to help me start to trail your dog instead of waiting for wheels.”

“Oh.” Maggie cast a brief glance at the house. “No. That’s why I needed help. I can’t leave Mark here all by himself.”

“Understood.” Flint was grabbing gear out of his truck and loading a small backpack. “Okay. Point me in the right direction.”




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