'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) (3 page)

“I’ll add a little note to the story,” he said. “I think one of
Meg’s shots hit the target. I found blood on the trail, and I also think he had
a dirt bike stashed up on the old Fox place for a getaway.”

Meg looked startled. “Really? I hope the shot was in his
ass.”

Her brothers grinned.

The sheriff chuckled. “You’re certainly a chip off the Walker
block. Where is that glass vase he brought in with him?”

Ryal groaned. “Swept up and in the trash. Sorry.”

“So what happens now?” she asked.

“Since you couldn’t identify him and we don’t have any
witnesses, there’s not a lot I can do, since the glass will be too compromised
for prints. But the report will be filed, and that’s the first step. What I
will
do is notify medical clinics and hospitals
in the area to let me know about any gunshot victims. If any of the patients
live on Rebel Ridge, they’re gonna have some explaining to do.”

“So you think it’s someone local?” Ryal asked.

Marlow shrugged. “It makes sense that only a local would know
Meg lives by herself now. Of course, that’s not an accusation, but it’s
definitely a thought to consider.”

At that point Dolly came in, her face pink from the heat of the
kitchen, and saw the sheriff.

“Hello, Mel. It’s good of you to come so quick.”

“Part of the job, Dolly. How’s new-married life treating
you?”

She blushed. “Just fine, thank you. If you-all are through
here, dinner is ready. Mel, you’re welcome to stay and eat. There’s plenty.”

Marlow reluctantly rejected the invitation. “It all smells
really good, and I appreciate the offer, but I’d better get back down to Boone’s
Gap and file this report.” He glanced down at Meg as he stood. “If there’s a
next time, I expect you to call me first.”

“I will,” she said.

“I’ll walk you out,” Ryal said, and left the room with the
sheriff.

Dolly eyed Meg’s attire but said nothing. “Honey, do you need
to go to the bathroom before we eat?”

“Actually, I do,” Meg said. “And, Mama, if you’ll get me
something clean to put on, I’d appreciate it. I’ve had about all I can stand of
this bloody nightgown.”

Dolly headed to Meg’s bedroom with a relieved smile on her
face.

Quinn scooped Meg up out of the recliner and carried her toward
the bathroom.

“We need to get you a wheelchair,” he said.

Dolly heard him as she came back up the hall. “I think I know
where we can borrow one. I’ll make a call after we eat.”

* * *

The day that had begun in such a traumatic fashion ended
on a quiet note as Jake wheeled Meg to her bedroom in the borrowed wheelchair
and then bade her good-night.

She thought about the nearly finished quilt on the frame but
was too weary to seriously consider working on it. Instead she took out a couple
of pain pills and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. Her feet
were hurting, but there was nothing to be done but get through this day by
day.

She swallowed the pills, slid down beneath the covers and
closed her eyes while listening to the murmur of voices beyond her door. She
hated to admit it, but she would never have been able to relax without someone
with her tonight. She fell asleep listening to crickets chirping outside her
window and the sound of a coyote yipping somewhere on the ridge above the
house.

* * *

His arm was infected and he was running a fever, but
going to the doctor wasn’t happening. They would know immediately that it was a
gunshot wound and would be bound by law to report it. He needed some medicine,
but he was going to have to lie to get it. Luckily he knew right where to go.
Aunt Tildy Bennett was the resident herb woman on Rebel Ridge, and she had all
manner of ointments for all manner of conditions. She wasn’t really his aunt,
but it was what everybody called her. He had a story all ready to explain away
the injury and knew she would be none the wiser. When his brother left to work
his marijuana patch, he got dressed and left the house.

A half hour later he pulled up in Tildy Bennett’s drive. He
grabbed his cap just before the wind took it and made a dash toward the house.
The only good thing about the cold day was that the wind felt good on his
feverish face.

He knocked, then waited for her to come to the door. As soon as
it opened, he quickly yanked off his cap and put on his best manners.

“Aunt Tildy. I’ve gone and hurt my arm on a piece of broken
sucker rod, and it got infected. I was wondering if you’d take a look at
it.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed as she eyed the man on her porch.
He had a terrible reputation, but it wasn’t in her nature to judge.

“Come inside out of the cold. I need to see it before I know
what to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped inside, then followed her to the
kitchen.

“Just take off your coat and hang it there on the chair. You
don’t need to take off your shirt all the way, just take your bad arm out of the
sleeve,” she said.

He did as she asked and waited for her reaction.

Her eyes narrowed as she eyed the wound. “You say you hurt this
on a piece of pipe?”

“Yes, ma’am. It was a thin piece of sucker rod.... The end of
it was all broken and ragged, and, well...I admit...I was drunk as a skunk when
it happened. I fell on it with all my weight. It gouged this big hunk outta my
arm, and now I got myself into a fix, what with it getting infected and
all.”

Aunt Tildy’s attention shifted to the wound. “You’re right. It
is
infected, but not to the blood-poisoning
stage. Have you had a tetanus shot recently? If that pipe was rusty, you’ll
likely get yourself a case of lockjaw. You can die from that.”

He was getting worried and then remembered the lie. It hadn’t
really been a rusty pipe. It had been a hot bullet.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m good on that. Had one just last year when I
got a fishhook cut out of my leg.”

Tildy turned to a cupboard and began shifting bottles and tins
aside until she found what she was looking for, then got a pan of hot water and
some antiseptic soap.

“This is likely gonna hurt,” she said, and began cleaning the
wound with short rigorous swipes.

“Holy crap, excuse my language,” he said as tears sprang to his
eyes. “That hurts.”

“I warned you,” Tildy said, and kept working.

A half hour later he was on his way out with a tea to brew for
fever and a tin of ointment to put on the wound three times a day. He was twenty
dollars lighter in the pocket, but it was all worth it as he got back in his
truck and drove away.

* * *

The week passed without incident. Meg finished the quilt
on the frame, added the binding around the edges, and got it and the four others
ready to ship. After Jake took them down to Boone’s Gap to drop off with FedEx,
she breathed a little easier. Without any pressing orders, she could take a
little downtime.

Once word began to spread on Rebel Ridge about the attack on
Meg Lewis, every widow woman in the area began sleeping with a loaded gun beside
her bed. Despite the security system Quinn had installed at the house, Jake
still worried about what might happen once they were gone. He solved the problem
by giving her a dog.

Her name was Honey, a year-old hound with a light brown coat,
who’d been born with a crippled paw. She had big brown eyes and long legs, but
had yet to fill out to her adult weight. She would never be any use for
tracking, but her bloodline was pure, and, as Jake claimed, she was as sweet as
the name he’d given her.

For Meg and Honey, it was love at first sight. Meg thanked Jake
profusely and immediately felt safer, knowing no one could sneak up on her
again.

Having the motion-detector light go off every time a possum or
a raccoon wandered through the yard was going to take some getting used to, but
Honey would bark loud and long if a human approached, especially in the
dark.

The real test would be when Jake and her mom finally left, but
Meg was ready for her world to get back to normal, and once they took the
stitches out tomorrow, she would be on her own.

* * *

It was just after dinner when they headed for the
doctor’s office in Mount Sterling. Meg had the backseat to herself as Jake and
Dolly manned the front, talking quietly to each other. She couldn’t help but
notice the lilt in her mother’s voice and the joy in her laugh. Dolly was happy.
Meg was happy for her but ready for them to leave. The honeymoon phase they were
still in kept reminding Meg of what was missing in her own life, but as her
mother was fond of saying, “this, too, shall pass.”

It felt good to be out of the house, and it was the time of
year when the leaves were beginning to turn. The sun was shining, but there were
days when there was a nip in the air, and today was one of them. When they
reached Boone’s Gap, Jake pulled in at the gas station.

“I need to gas up. You ladies need anything?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Meg said.

“I think I’d like something cold to drink, but I’ll get it
while you pump the gas,” Dolly said, and got out of the car, leaving Meg inside
on her own.

Meg watched her mother enter the minimart and then leaned back,
absently watching traffic come and go while thinking about the Storm at Sea
quilt blocks she’d had to put aside. She was itching to piece them together.

She watched a woman come out with a baby on her hip and two
kids following behind her. When the woman saw her and waved, Meg quickly waved
back, but it was just another reminder of how behind she was on living life. No
husband. No kids. No prospects. God. How pathetic could she get?

A pickup truck pulled up on the other side of the pumps. She
saw the driver get out. Heard him speak to Jake and tease him about starting on
his second marriage when neither of Jake’s sons had even begun a first. Jake
laughed. Meg looked away.

All of a sudden someone knocked on the window behind her. She
turned to see her ex-husband’s younger brother, Claude, smiling at her. As she
rolled down the window, he leaned partway in, casually giving her the
once-over.

“Hey, Meg. Just wanted to say hi and tell you how sorry we all
were to hear what happened to you. You doin’ okay?”

Meg wasn’t crazy about any of her ex in-laws, but they’d never
done her any harm and didn’t seem to hold a grudge against her for divorcing
their kin.

“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

M
eg 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 came
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 in. 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.