Читать книгу Danger On The Ranch - Dana Mentink - Страница 18

Mitch slept. He dreamed, as he often did, of a black snake rising from the water, fangs dripping. As the fleshy maw gaped toward him, he stood paralyzed, unable even to scream. He jerked to consciousness with a shout, grabbing out at the viper, only to find himself clutching Jane’s wrist.

He let go and bolted from the bed so fast sparks danced in his vision. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay. You were muttering to yourself.”

Great. And she heard.

“I have nightmares, too. I saw a counselor when I could, and she said it’s the mind’s way of processing what the heart can’t.”

He didn’t answer, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

“Ben has them, sometimes. Night terrors, they’re called.”

Well, whaddya do about them? he wanted to ask but did not. As if she read his thoughts, she answered anyway.

“My mom used to sing me the ‘Jesus Loves Me’ song. Know it?”

He nodded.

“That’s what I sing to myself and Ben when we have nightmares.

He shook his head with a grunt. “Figures.”

“What?”

“That ‘Jesus loves you’ stuff. How can you believe that after what you’ve experienced?”

“I didn’t for a long time. After Wade, I can’t trust my own heart or head to separate what’s truth from what isn’t. God is the one thing, the only thing, I know is true.” Her voice dropped to the barest whisper. “It’s the only thing that keeps me alive.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d heard it, of course, particularly from Aunt Ginny, Uncle Gus’s wife, and from Pops, too, but did he believe it? No way. Some mythical, fanciful love from an invisible god was far away from the reality of his world—a mother who drank herself into the grave, and a brother who killed a series of women who had probably prayed with their very last breaths to a god who hadn’t saved them.

He pulled on his boots and jacket before he noticed the time on his mother’s old mantel clock. “It’s three thirty,” he snapped.

“Yes. I tried to wake you before, but you were sleeping soundly.”

He grimaced. “You should have tried harder.”

“I’ve heard it’s a bad idea to disturb a hibernating bear.”

Her face was serious, but there was a glint of humor in her eye.

Humor, incredible. It banked his ire. He sighed. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s fair. Best get going soon. We’ll take the horses.”

“How long a ride is it to the ranch?”

“An hour, give or take. The trail winds along the coast. There are...exposed parts.”

The fear flashed anew in her eyes, so he tried to disarm it. “We’ll be okay. Hungry?”

“Yes. I didn’t eat yesterday. You?”

“Yeah, but I’m not much of a cook. Got some cereal. Maybe some bread and canned things.”

“May I try to fix us something?”

That threw him off. No one had cooked a meal just for him since Paige Lynn. The thought lashed through him. Her departure had cut a scar worse than the one on his face. “Uh, you don’t need to do that.”

But she had already taken his silence as assent and gone off to clatter around the kitchen. He used the time to feed and saddle the horses. Jane hadn’t seemed like much of a rider, but Bud was placid and easy, as long as Rosie was there to take the lead. The air was rain washed and cold, which only aggravated his stiff muscles.

When he returned to the cabin, he was greeted by a tantalizing smell, which made his mouth water. He sat at the table, and Jane slid a plate of pancakes toward him and another for herself.

“There was no syrup, so strawberry jelly will have to do. You have a lot. Who made it?”

“I did.”

She laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I’d never peg you for the jelly-making type.”

He shrugged. “My mom showed me how.” In one of the precious weeks when she wasn’t intoxicated. The moment with her in the kitchen, up to his wrists in berries, was one of his dearest memories, but there was no point in sharing that. “Lots of wild berries up here in the summer. Strawberries and blackberries.”

“Then I guess you do know a little something about food preparation.”

“Only jelly, that’s it. Dunno how to cook anything else.”

She held out her hand to him.

He gaped, unsure.

“Okay if I pray?”

Was it? He didn’t know.

He tried for a joke. “You should pray for a fancier meal, better digs.”

She cocked her head. “I take things moment by moment. Right now I’m safe, my son is safe and I have a delicious pancake to eat with strawberry jelly. That’s a whole lot to give thanks for.”

Hesitantly, he took her small hand. It was cool, and the bones felt delicate, like a bird’s. She said grace, ending with a soft amen.

He wanted to stare at her, to see if she was for real, this woman he’d been so certain about only a day earlier. She was pretending, assuming a facade, had to be, but he saw only earnest pleasure in her expression as she daintily ate the sticky pancake with a knife and fork.

He stacked one on top of the other and rolled, eating it sandwich style, which made her laugh again. “Ben does that, too.”

“It’s faster, eating them that way. We’re always turning out early at the ranch.”

“I used to sleep late, until...” She shrugged. “Anyway, I get up early now, too, and stay up late. Good thing Ben is a napper.”

Ben, always, in her comments, in her thoughts—unless she was making the whole thing up to pull on his heartstrings. He helped her clean up and grabbed his rifle. “Ready?”

She swallowed and raised her chin. “I think so, but I’m not good on a horse.”

“Bud’s gentle. You just have to stay in the saddle.”

“Story of my life,” she said.

He had to smile at that. “You and me both,” he said.

* * *

Jane clutched the saddle horn with one hand and the reins in another. Bud seemed content to amble along in the dark, staying close behind Rosie. Mitch kept their pace slow, stopping every so often to listen. Whenever he did, her skin crawled, picturing Wade tracking them, waiting for his chance. All she could hear was the crash of the water against the rocks, though fog obscured the ocean from view.

They’d been traveling a scant twenty minutes by her reckoning, along a road with sea cliffs on one side and grassland on the other. She’d put her own clothes back on, and they were still slightly damp, the clamminess chilling her deep down. A spray from the dew-spattered branches caught her in the cheek and trickled down her neck, freezing her skin inch by inch.

Mitch did not seem perturbed by the cold or the early hour, but she knew he had to be sore from their encounter with Wade. She was wrestling through whether or not she should ask him about his head when a shot echoed through the air. Jane would have screamed if she hadn’t been trying so hard to remain on the horse. Mitch urged Rosie forward, Bud lurching behind. She’d barely kept her seat on the animal, fear pinching hard at her stomach.

“Get along, Rosie,” he whispered urgently, guiding the horses forward behind an outcropping of rock. He stopped suddenly, sliding off Rosie and whirling toward her. Her heart slammed into her ribs as she took his hand and leaped from the horse. Mitch grabbed up both sets of reins.

“Come on.”

She followed him as quickly as she could, stumbling over the rocks she could not see in the dark. He led the way deep into a fringe of shrubbery, which yanked at her hair. Pulling the reins, he guided the horses away from the trail and let them loose and pulled her to her knees next to him.

“Where did the shot come from?” she whispered.

“Behind us a ways, from the direction of my cabin.”

“Shouldn’t we be running for it?” She breathed through the shuddering fear.

“Trail is exposed over the ridge. He’d have an easy time picking us off.” Mitch gripped her shoulder. “Quiet. Someone’s coming.”

She fought to breathe as she finally heard it for herself, the faint sound of hooves scuffling along the muddy trail. Wade, she knew, was an expert rider. He’d taken numerous lessons, and in fact, he’d met his first victim at the stables, a woman he’d imprisoned and killed after coercing her into handing over a large sum of money. It would be easy for him to ride the bumpy trail from the cabin to their hiding place with impressive speed.

Prickles danced over her skin, and she fought down the yelp of panic that threatened.

If she didn’t make it out alive, what would happen to Ben? She could not rely on her sister to raise him, not with Wade an ever-present threat to her and her own children. Roxanne had moved to the East Coast, changed her name, phone numbers, email, everything.

Nana Jo, the precious woman who had agreed to come to Roughwater with her to tend to Ben while she chased down Mitch, would not be able to evade Wade, either. They were safe for now, in a trailer Jane had rented for them, since she was keeping her distance and Nana Jo was on the lookout for any sign of Wade. The tough-as-nails woman knew Jane’s whole story and refused to be intimidated out of helping, but she was no match for Wade, especially after he’d found Nana’s house, where Jane rented a room. Who? How? The questions threatened to overwhelm her until she forced the thought through the panic. God loves Ben even more than I do. He will make a way for him, even if I’m not there.

Forcing herself to stay quiet, she counted the seconds, listening to the rider coming closer. Mitch crawled on his belly to a patch between the rocks that was raised enough that he could aim his rifle toward the trail where the rider would soon emerge around the sharp bend.

He looked at Jane and forced the reins into her shaking palm. “Take Rosie and run.”

Run where? The rocks closed in from every side, and she could barely make out the trail in the dark. Wade would find her in moments.

“Go,” he said fiercely. “Walk her away from the path before you mount. She’ll find a way down to the beach. Head north. You’ll find an inlet with a dock and a couple of boats. One is my dad’s. Go now, as far away as you can.”

Fear squeezed her insides. On shaking legs, she sidled up to Rosie and tugged at the reins. The horse shook her neck and snorted, seemingly reluctant to leave Mitch and Bud.

“Come on, Rosie,” she whispered.

Rosie danced from hoof to hoof.

The crunch of rock underfoot grew louder, closer, then slowed.

For a fleeting moment, she hoped Wade would turn around, give up on his pursuit.

Mitch aimed his rifle, squinting slightly with one eye.

There was a soft squeak of a saddle as the rider slid off his horse, coming toward them, one slow step at a time.