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“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.
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