'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) Page 4

  “I’m fine, Claude. Tell your family I said thank-you for their concern.”

  “So that fella who broke into your house didn’t hurt you none?”

  “Nope. I did it all to myself when I ran through broken glass.”

  Claude Lewis frowned, making his narrow-set eyes almost disappear. “Well, I’m real sorry that happened, and I hope they catch the bastard soon.”

  At that point Dolly came back to the car just as Jake was putting the gas nozzle back in the pump. She gave Claude a cool look, which ended the conversation, but Meg knew everyone was talking about her, and once she was out and about again, this wouldn’t be the last time she got grilled.

  Claude thumped the window as a way of ending their conversation and gave her another big smile.

  “I guess y’all are ready to go. Just wanted to pay my respects,” he said again.

  “Uh, sure...and thanks,” Meg said as he walked away.

  Dolly got back in the car with a cold bottle of Mountain Dew in her hand. “Well, that was unexpected,” she said, and put the pop in the cup holder between the seats.

  “Lots of things are weird these days,” Meg said, and then Jake got in and they drove away.

  She never gave Claude Lewis another thought until late that evening, when she was standing on the porch in her house shoes, watching Jake and her mom driving away, and then she chided herself for the thought. She could pretty much guarantee he wasn’t a threat to anyone.

  In the middle of her reverie Honey nosed the back of Meg’s leg. She reached down and gave the dog a quick pat.

  “So, it’s just you and me now, girl. Are you up for all this? You think you can stand guard without chasing after the four-legged visitors?”

  The young dog woofed.

  Meg smiled. “That sounded like a yes to me. So let’s go back in the house. I need to get off my feet, and you need some supper. What do you say?”

  She went back in the house with Honey at her heels.

  * * *

  He hadn’t been to the old Walker homestead since the night Meg shot him. He’d had some healing to do, but he knew all about her family coming to her rescue, and that Jake and Dolly were staying with her, so he was biding his time.

  But today he’d gone to get gas down in Boone’s Gap and heard Meg Lewis was getting the stitches out of her feet, and now he was banking on the Doolens leaving soon, if they weren’t already gone.

  He glanced at his watch. It had been dark for hours and was nearing ten o’clock. The urge to go back was so strong he got hard just thinking about it, but he’d been hasty before. This time he had to get it right, and he needed to make sure she was really alone. He intended to scare the holy shit out of her, maybe torture her a little until she gave up the location of what he was looking for. Then, once she did, he would show her what a man was all about before he cut her sweet throat. But not now. Maybe tomorrow or the next day, but not now.

  Three

  Meg woke to sunlight coming through a crack in the curtains. She rolled over and glanced at the clock—almost 8:00 a.m.

  “Good grief, the chickens will think I’ve forgotten them,” she said, and threw back the covers. Honey jumped up from her mat beside the bed and padded down the hall behind her. Meg let her out and went back to get dressed. She was trying to decide which shoes would be most comfortable to wear when the phone rang. She sat down on the side of the bed to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me, Ryal. I just wanted you to know that I’m about to pull in your driveway. I didn’t want to get shot on the way to feed your chickens. Oh, and just so you know, James is coming over tonight to milk the cow.”

  Meg sighed with relief. “You didn’t have to come do that, but I’m grateful just the same.”

  “We all have orders from Mom. You’re not to step foot in the barnyard until your feet are completely healed.”

  She laughed. “Will we ever be old enough for Mom to stop treating us like kids?”

  “Probably not, but I want to do it, so that’s that. And since I am now in your yard, you have my permission to make some coffee, if it’s not already made. Turn off your security alarm and I’ll be up to get a cup after I’m done.”

  Meg could hear Honey beginning to bark and made a U-turn back to the door to call off her dog. Walking barefoot was painful. Her feet were still tender, and putting weight on them made them feel like they were going to burst open. She was almost wishing her mom hadn’t already returned the borrowed wheelchair.

  She got to the front door and let Ryal in. He quickly made peace with Honey. “I thought it best to let me in first so when you let her out, she didn’t take a hunk out of me on the way to the chicken house.”

  She smiled, but Ryal quickly keyed in on the pain in her eyes.

  “You doing okay, sister? Did anything happen last night?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Were you uneasy?”

  “No, although I thought I would be. Have you eaten?”

  “Beth made pancakes this morning. They were so good I ate way too many, but I will take that cup of coffee when I’m done.”

  “After you feed the chickens, let me know how much feed is left so I’ll know when to get more.”

  “Will do,” Ryal said, and headed toward the kitchen with the dog at his heels as Meg followed at a slower pace.

  * * *

  Two weeks had come and gone with no repeat of the initial home invasion. The family finally backed off, leaving Meg to cope on her own. She had settled into the notion that because she’d wounded the stalker, he’d given up. The incident began to slide further and further away as she got back to her work. The Storm at Sea quilt top was finished and she was ready to add the batting and backing.

  The day had been cold, and she’d spent part of the morning hauling cut firewood from the pasture up to the house. The house had always been heated with propane, but the old fireplace still added a toasty element to a long winter night. By the time she finished supper and cleaned up the kitchen she was exhausted, but in a good way. She passed up the television for a little downtime outside before settling in to watch some shows.

  She took a jacket from the hall closet and the rifle down from the rack in the hall, checking to make sure it was loaded, then slipped outside and settled into the porch swing to watch night coming to the mountain. As long as she didn’t set foot off the porch the motion light wouldn’t come on, and with the rifle in her lap she felt safe sitting in the dark. It was the time of day when one part of the animal world ended and another came to life. Night birds called. Owls were in flight. A coyote tuned up on a ridge somewhere close by, and his pack mates echoed his song with yips and howls of their own. Crickets were still chirping, but as the nights grew even colder, that would soon end.

  Honey got up from the corner of the porch and flopped down at Meg’s feet. Meg leaned over to pet the dog, almost wishing she could talk back.

  “Hi, Honey girl. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Yes, you are. You worked so hard today taking care of me and this place. You want a treat?”

  Honey looked like she was grinning as she abruptly sat up, watching every movement of Meg’s hands. When Meg reached into her pocket, Honey’s tail began wagging back and forth, sweeping clear the little spot on which she was sitting.

  Meg held out the doggie treat. Honey took it from her fingers, crunched once and swallowed it.

  Meg laughed. “You ate that so fast you don’t even know what it tasted like, do you?”

  But Honey wasn’t complaining. She lay down near the steps, her gaze fixed on a point out in the trees.

  Meg settled back into the swing and looked out toward the clearing, and then the woods beyond. She was a little nervous but determined to live her life without fear, and so she stayed, almost in defiance of what had already happened.

  The nights were cold now, and they’d already had the first frost. But she loved the crispness of pine-scented air and the sounds that cam
e after the sun went down. She pushed off in the porch swing, letting the motion lull her into a sense of complete relaxation.

  Hounds were baying farther up on the mountain. Hunters were out running their dogs. The occasional hoot from the owl in the tree by the gate was as familiar to her as the sight of her own face. Still, she couldn’t help but search the shadows, wondering if the stalker was hidden somewhere in those trees, watching her.

  After a time she began to feel the cold and thought about going back inside. She’d started to get up when she realized she could hear a big vehicle coming up the mountain, and, from the sound of the engine, it was pulling a load. It made her curious, but living a quarter of a mile from the road with a forest of trees between, her curiosity would have to remain just that. A few minutes later the phone began to ring and she forgot about the car as she ran to answer, bringing Honey in with her and locking the door as she went.

  * * *

  He’d waited as long as he could and decided tonight was the night he got serious with Meg Lewis. She’d shot at him last time. He was going back armed, and he wasn’t leaving until he got the information he needed. He was walking just inside the tree line bordering the main road when he saw headlights coming up over the hill and darted back into the woods. He didn’t recognize the vehicle but gave the fancy fifth-wheel travel trailer behind it the once-over and envied the man who owned it. Once the truck was out of sight he resumed his walk. The closer he got to her house, the more excited he became.

  When he finally saw it, he put on his night-vision goggles and began scanning the area. He quickly spotted her sitting in the dark on the porch swing, then frowned when he saw the rifle in her lap and the dog at her feet. The dog was an unexpected problem, and he shifted locations so that he was safely downwind.

  He could, of course, just shoot the dog, but that would give her time to shoot back, and he had no doubt of her ability or willingness to kill. Pistol or not, he had no desire to face her and that rifle again.

  When she bent down to pet the dog he saw her breasts shift beneath her jacket. He got hard all over again, thinking about what she would look like stripped naked beneath him.

  His frustration was at an all-time high, but he held his ground and maintained surveillance. Several minutes passed, then all of a sudden she was on her feet and rushing into the house, taking the dog with her.

  His pulse kicked up a notch. This was his chance! The dog couldn’t stop him from getting to the porch if it was inside with her. Once he got that close, he could take the dog down with a shot through the window and then take her down when she came charging out again. He bolted out of the trees and across the yard in an all-out sprint, the pistol in his hand.

  The sound of his own heartbeat was loud in his ears when, all of a sudden, the front yard was bathed in a light so bright it blinded him. Startled, he stumbled and fell. The pistol went off, and before he could get up, the dog had already begun an insane barking fit inside the house. In a panic, he scrambled to his feet and was in a frantic dash toward the trees when the ungodly screech of a security alarm sounded off behind him.

  Son of a bitch! Not only did she have motion-detector lights, but there was a security alarm on the door! When he realized the frenzied barking was getting louder, he knew she’d set the dog on him, too.

  He could hear her screaming over the noise, yelling for the dog to attack, and then she took her first shot. The bullet whizzed so close to his head that he heard the sound of it passing. When he finally ran into the cover of the trees, the dog was only seconds behind him.

  Her next shot hit a tree right beside his head. He veered sharply, knowing she wouldn’t realize he’d changed direction. When the third shot missed him by several yards, he knew his ruse had been wise, and it gave him time to fire off a shot at the dog. Even though he missed, the maneuver worked. He heard her call off the dog, which gave him just enough time to get away.

  * * *

  Meg dragged Honey back inside the house and reset the alarm, wavering between shock and anger. She’d let herself be lulled into a false sense of security. If it hadn’t been for Honey and the safeguards Quinn had installed, it would have happened again, and with more disastrous results. She dropped down on her knees in front of Honey and began patting her and praising her.

  “You are such a brave girl,” Meg said, suffering the constant licks to her face. “Yes, I know you wanted to chase him down, but he changed the rules on us. He had a gun, too, and I didn’t want anything to happen to you, okay? Am I forgiven?”

  Honey whined and licked her again.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Meg said, then got to her feet. “Come with me, little girl. I need to make a phone call.”

  * * *

  It had taken Lincoln Fox eighteen years to come home to Rebel Ridge, and when he finally did, it was under cover of darkness.

  He’d been betrayed by the people he thought had loved him, and blamed for killing his father during a fight, then setting fire to his home to hide the deed. After being convicted of manslaughter, he’d spent the next four years in a juvenile detention center, until he turned twenty-one. Once they released him, he struck out on his own and never looked back.

  Bitter with what had happened to him and hating the people who’d let him down, he’d spent his first years on his own in self-imposed exile. Because of his size and strength, construction had been a perfect fit. He’d started out in Dallas, Texas, hauling lumber and driving nails, and ended up fourteen years later owning a construction company with two full crews under his direction. He worked hard and lived a simple life, but he’d never found a woman who compared to the girl he’d left behind, and now he lived his life without regrets.

  Then, a month before Easter, everything had changed. While on a routine inspection on one of his job sites, he’d been electrocuted in a freak accident. He’d been clinically dead and resuscitated on-site by EMS, then frantically rushed to a hospital. During the time he was healing, his father kept coming to him in his dreams, telling him to go home. He didn’t know whether the dream was a message or just a side effect of what had happened to him. But coming that close to eternity had certainly changed his attitude. It was time to stop running.

  It was a given that someone had set the fire that killed his father, and he owed it to both of them to find out who it was. If he could clear his own name and get justice for his father’s death in the process, the rest of his life just might be worth living.

  As the sole heir to his grandfather’s property back on Rebel Ridge, he knew he had a place to stay, but he had no idea what shape it would be in. But once the decision was made to go home, it didn’t take him long to pack. He put what he wanted in his gooseneck travel trailer, hooked it to the back of his four-wheel-drive pickup truck and headed east, leaving the busy streets of Dallas behind him.

  He was prepared to see change where he’d grown up. It had been a long damn time since he’d been there, but as he drove the narrow two-lane road up the mountain, he was surprised that it still felt familiar. Although it was dark, he could see lights on in the houses that he passed, and he wondered what their reactions were going to be once they found out he was back in their midst.

  Still lost in thought and weary from the long trip, he almost missed his turn. If it hadn’t been for catching a glimpse of the old metal gate with the letter F welded into the center of it, he would have driven right past.

  He got out, dug a pair of bolt cutters from the toolbox in the back of his truck and cut the chain holding the gate shut. It toppled like the little pig’s house made of straw. He dragged it out of the road and headed up the overgrown trail onto the place where five generations of his people had lived and died.

  When his headlights swept across the homesite, he hit the brakes, staring in disbelief. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. There was nothing left of the house but the chimney and a few rotten boards. Weeds had grown up through the rubble where the roof had fallen i
n. He had no one to blame but himself, he realized. His grandfather had been dead all these many years, and he’d let the house fall into ruin by his absence.

  But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Houses could be rebuilt. The land was still here, and it was his. He’d made it home, but now he was hesitant to get out of his Jeep. Once he took this step, there was no going back. His presence was going to stir up old trouble—even hurt feelings and resentment—and there was no way to prevent it.

  Back then, someone had used his grief and youth against him to cover up their crime. It was a different story now. Lincoln Fox was thirty-five years old, and just shy of six feet eight inches tall. There would be no railroading an innocent again, and this time if anyone cried, he would be the one putting on the hurt.

  Since staying in the house was now out of the question, he started to look for a good place to set up his trailer and then remembered the old bomb shelter his great-grandpa Fox had built in the side of the mountain during the fifties. He’d played in there as a child, and they’d used it for a storm shelter and extra storage. It was something to consider. The least he could do was check it out. Without knowing what kind of debris could be hidden in the high weeds, he backed up carefully, then circled the old house site and drove toward the shelter a short distance away.

  At first he couldn’t see the entrance for the brush that had grown up in front of it; then the headlights swept across a rusting iron door, and he braked. He remembered it as one large long room, but if it was still dry and sound, it would beat the trailer once winter set in. He was a skilled carpenter. He would make it work well enough to live in until he could rebuild. Still, the hair rose on the back of his neck as he reached for his flashlight and got out.

  The air was bone cold but, within moments, the familiar scent of pine drifted up his nose. He swung the flashlight back into the brush and caught sight of a possum scurrying out of sight, then aimed the light into the underbrush, checking to make sure there were no more surprises. At that moment the silence was broken by a single gunshot, then the rapid and familiar screech of a security alarm somewhere nearby. In Dallas he wouldn’t have thought a thing about it, but up here on the mountain, it was the last thing he would have expected to hear. He spun toward the sound, only to be further startled by a series of gunshots.