Читать книгу Echoes of Danger - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 8

“Looks like the Universal Unity Church survived,” Dana said, squinting toward the beautiful, untouched mansion. Before she could get a better look, the lone figure standing on the tower whirled and vanished into the dark recesses of the upstairs turret room.

Clutching Stephen close to stop his fidgeting, she looked back at the stranger, remembering he had the same accent as Caryn Roark—the woman who called herself the law. “Are you a member of that church?”

“No,” he said, the one word speaking more than a lengthy explanation ever could. He stared across the field, the granite-hard expression on his face making him resemble a piece of carved flintrock. Then he turned back to Dana. “I’m not quite sure where I belong.”

A shiver dripped down Dana’s spine, a slow, trickling warning that set her nerves and her intuition on edge. Giving him a long look, she wondered again who this man was. “Look, mister—”

“Bren,” he said, repeating his name to her, his eyes lifting away from the church to pin Dana to the spot. “Call me Bren.”

Dana nodded. “Okay, Bren. Call me Dana. Look, thanks for your help. We’re okay, so you don’t have to stay with us.”

Stephen pushed away from Dana’s smothering embrace. “We ain’t okay, either, Dana. We don’t have a house no more.” He stomped his feet and flapped his hands. “House gone. House gone. Room a mess. Room a mess.”

Dana knew Stephen would keep repeating these phrases to himself while he tried to absorb this sudden shift in his orderly, structured world. “It’ll be okay, Stevie. I promise.”

Stephen kept stomping his feet. “Room a mess, Dana.”

“I’d better go see about my own house,” Mrs. Bailey said, her little legs moving across the damp earth. She took Stephen by both arms, her words loud and precise. “Stephen, listen to your sister.” Then she turned to Dana. “I’ll call you if I need you, and you do the same.”

“Wait and we’ll go with you,” Dana called.

“No need. I’m sure my son is on his way.” The spry little woman was off down the lane. “Y’all can stay at my place if need be. You know you’re always welcome.”

Dana held a hand to her eyes and glanced toward the west. It looked as if Mrs. Bailey’s small white house was in one piece, at least. She’d go check on the Baileys later. And she might have to take her dear friend up on that offer.

“Dana, what are we gonna do?” Stephen asked, bringing Dana’s attention back to their immediate problems. His agitation did nothing to calm Dana’s own jangled nerves.

Bren’s features softened as he turned his attention toward Stephen. “He’s right. Where will you go?”

Pushing away the fringe of hysteria that promised to be more intense than the storm that had just passed through, Dana looked around, knowing that they couldn’t possibly stay here tonight or any other night for a long time to come. “I don’t know. We’ve got friends in town—Emma and Frederick can take us in for a while. Or maybe Mrs. Bailey. She has a spare room.” Thinking of how hyper Stephen could get in small places, she added, “But Emma and Frederick probably would have more space.”

Bren looked back toward the church, then back at Dana. “I’ll take you to Emma and Frederick, then.”

Dana hadn’t missed the hesitation in his eyes. Why did he keep looking at that spooky church? He reminded her of a black stallion old Mr. Selzer used to let her ride—wild and proud, and forbidden since her mother was terrified of the animal. Mr. Selzer had called the horse Black Blizzard, because he was always kicking up dust. Oh, she hadn’t thought of Blizzard in years. Mr. Selzer had been forced to sell the animal to try and save his property. Why, now, of all times, did she want to sit down and cry for an animal she’d almost forgotten?

She didn’t, couldn’t sit down, and she wasn’t about to go into hysterics—yet. “I—We need to get a few things. And I want to look the place over. I have cattle…I’ll need to check on things.”

Bren took her arm, gently guiding her around to face him. “I’d like to help, if you’ll let me.”

She wanted to tell this intriguing man to let her alone, to leave her to wallow in a good dollop of self-pity. She wanted to scream to the heavens and ask, “why?” But Dana knew that she wouldn’t get any answers; she’d been that route before and she’d only heard silence, the killing silence of unanswered prayers and a faith that had been tested to the limit.

Oh, well, time enough to argue with God later. Right now, Stephen was looking everywhere but at her, but she knew he was waiting for her to decide what to do about this mess. She was just too shocked to think straight.

As if sensing her shock, Bren placed a hand on each of her slumping shoulders, then leaned his head down close to her face so she was forced to look him straight in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Shooting a desperate look toward her brother, she managed to whisper, “I can’t let him see how upset I am. He has Asperger’s syndrome—it’s a very mild form of autism. He doesn’t like any sudden changes. He’ll get even more upset and scared if I break down. He’s so brave, but it’s only because he emulates me. Don’t let me lose it, okay. Help me, please.”

She’d never begged for help before in her life, and the words let a bitter gall in her throat, but this day had gone from bad to worse and it wouldn’t take much more to push her over the edge. She certainly wasn’t in the habit of begging strangers for help, either. But this man had saved her from that storm and he was here now. The warmth of his hands on her shoulders steadied her, while his blue-black eyes guided her like a dark beacon. She clung to that guiding, dark light, deciding she’d just have to trust him. She didn’t have much choice at the moment.

Still holding her shoulders, Bren squeezed his hands against the shivering flesh underneath her damp T-shirt. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, his eyes still locked with hers. “We’ll take care of what we can here, then I’ll take you into town, to your friend’s house. If you get scared, just look at me. I won’t leave you until I’m sure you’re all right.”

Feeling silly for being so weak, Dana lifted his hands away from her arms. “I’m not scared! I’m just so mad!”

Whirling, she blinked away the insane need to fall into his arms and cry like a baby. She wouldn’t burden this stranger with her troubles, but she would take advantage of his generosity. For her brother’s sake.

Marching to where Stephen sat rocking and digging with precise movements through the remnants of what had once been his prize collection of baseball cards, she patted the boy on the head. “Up, up, Stevie. Let’s see what we can salvage before that second line of thunderstorms returns.”

Stephen hurled himself up, clutching a stack of soggy cards, his eyes brimming with tears. “Need to fix these, Dana. Need these straight. They’re all wet. I don’t like them wet. I want them dry.”

“Won’t hurt to let them dry,” Dana said, silently vowing to replace each and every one of them. Motioning to Bren, she called, “Hey, you ever herded scared cattle before?”

Bren gave her a wry smile. “I’ve herded sheep. Cattle can’t be much different, right? Just show me what to do.”

Two hours later, they stood surveying the damage once again. Tired, dirty and muddy, Dana had little hope that they could rebuild. They’d herded cattle in the pouring rain of a renegade thunderstorm, with lightning dancing to the west, just to tease them and remind them who was in charge here. Luckily, most of the cattle were now safe inside their paddocks near the lower field.

The storm had concentrated on the house and surrounding buildings. All the other livestock, some chickens and pigs and the two horses, seemed to be intact, as well, in spite of the nervous squawking and fearful grunting they’d encountered after checking what remained of the barn.

Bren had helped Dana move through the house, half of which was missing, to find enough dry clothes to last them a few days. The combination laundry room/porch on the eastern side of the house was intact, and that’s where Dana had found fresh clean jeans and T-shirts. Now Stephen was wet and complaining of being hungry, and Bren, silent and alert, was watching Dana for further instructions.

Then he did something that made her smile in spite of her problems. He turned to Stephen and said, “Did you find all of your baseball cards?”

“Not all of them,” Stephen said on a whining voice full of growing anger. “Need to find all of them.”

“I think I can help there. I know a man who has a Lou Gehrig in mint condition. Would you like to have it?”

Stephen clapped his hands. “Lou Gehrig—Henry Louis Gehrig—born June 19, 1903. The Iron Horse. First base for New York Yankees. Played 2,130 consecutive games. June 3, 1932, four home runs in one game. Baseball Hall of Fame—1939.” Stephen grinned, his eyes lighting up in a moment of clarity. “Can’t afford that card!”

“Well, just let me worry about that,” Bren said, his own voice soft with joy. Glancing at Dana, he said, “I’m impressed.”

“He has a way with remembering statistics,” she explained. “Especially baseball stats.”

“Then we have something in common,” Bren said, his own grin making him look younger and less sinister.

Surprised at how he’d calmed her brother with his elaborate promise, and how he’d silently followed her every command without question, Dana felt a firm bond with the rugged stranger. Or was he still a stranger? Maybe she should look on him as a friend, or an angel, a dark avenging angel who’d saved her from two storms, the one in the sky and the one raging in her overworked mind. Shrugging, she told herself to be practical. So the man had a few connections. No need to go staring off into fantasy land, thinking he’d come to rescue her from all her troubles.

Telling herself to stay clear, she glanced around one last time. “Well, that’s about all we can do until tomorrow. I’ll have to talk to the insurance adjuster, see where we stand. Of course the livestock will have to be taken care of—that can’t stop.”

Bren nodded. “You run this place all by yourself?”

Dana pushed back tufts of naturally curly hair. “I try.”

His gaze circled the land. “Looks like you’ve done a good job.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, until Mother Nature decided to rearrange things for me.”

His gaze touched on her face, then stayed to travel slowly down the rest of her. He took her hand. “You should get into some dry things and try to rest.”

“Sure,” she said, thinking she’d never be able to rest easy again, not after running from a twister and meeting up with an interesting stranger, all in one afternoon. Just the shock of all this, she supposed. “You don’t have to take us into town. We have the truck.” She saw the relief pour over his face and asked him, “What about you? Where are you headed?”

She felt his grip on her hand tense, saw his head swing back toward the Universal Unity Church before he looked down at her.

“To Wichita,” he said, his expression evasive. “I have business to tend to there.”

She let go of his hand, then immediately wished she hadn’t. It was a spot of warmth in this chilly, grim setting. “C’mon, Stevie,” she called, her heart breaking as he struggled with the few treasures he’d managed to save.

Together, they walked back up the lane to the pickup where Stephen deposited the photo album and baseball glove he’d found, along with some books and video game cartridges.

Dana, on the other hand, had saved very little from the house. They didn’t have anything of real value, and besides, what should she save from a pile of shattered dreams? The toaster, the working parts of a computer, the soggy white homemade prom dress she’d worn her senior year of high school, the only remaining place setting of her mother’s prized china she’d collected with S & H green stamps?

Did she take part of something to remind her of the home she’d sometimes loved, sometimes hated, or did she just throw away every broken piece and keep the bittersweet memories?

Again she felt Bren’s presence. Again she marveled at the man’s even being here. He’d saved her, no doubt. Each time she’d wanted to let go of the silent scream pitching through her mind, she’d looked to him. And he’d given her that solid, mysterious look, just as he’d promised. His eyes had calmed her, his unflinching resolve had guided her in such a way that she wondered if he ever got flustered or bent out of shape about anything. She wondered a lot of things about him, come to think of it. Like where he was from, where he was headed and why he was here to begin with. But he was about to be gone, out of her life. What would she do then?

Silly, she told herself, you’ll do what you’ve always done. You’ll survive.

“I’ll take you back to your van,” she said, indicating the sleek black vehicle still parked out on the highway.

Smiling, she hopped into the truck and waited as Bren helped Stephen stash his salvage before they both crawled inside the wide cab with her. “So,” she said after cranking the truck, “what do you do for a living?”

Bren must have seen the teasing light in her eyes as she nodded toward his van, but he didn’t smile. Instead he looked straight ahead at the gray ribbon of road. “I’m a businessman, and it’s a long and complicated story.”

And one he obviously didn’t want to talk about. “I’m not being nosy,” she said. “It’s just that you appeared out of nowhere, and well, you don’t say much, do you?”

He pushed a hand through his damp hair. “You’ve got enough on your mind, looks like to me. I won’t burden you with my sorry life.”

He was right there. She had more than enough to keep her thoughts falling on top of each other without listening to him. Yet she’d like to listen to him. His lilting, flowing dialect sounded like a sweet ballad to her ears. Pulling the truck up beside the long van, she noticed the dark-tinted windows and the gold-etched star-spangled trim work running along the sides of the sleek, mysterious vehicle. Then she saw the ancient Christian symbol of the fish centered on the windshield. That brought her a small measure of reassurance, but he certainly was a man of mystery. And now that he’d helped her settle things into some semblance of order, he seemed intent to be on his way.

She watched as he got out of the truck, wishing he didn’t have to hurry away.

Stephen called after him, “Hey, Mr. Bren? Thanks—I get that Lou Gehrig card, right? I get Lou Gehrig, for sure.”

Bren’s dark eyes fell across Stephen with a gentleness that reminded Dana of a calm midnight sky. “Don’t worry, Stephen. I know where to find you. You will get your card. You take care of yourself until we meet again.”

Stephen bobbed his head. “Me and Dana, we always take care of each other.”

Dana put the truck into neutral and hopped out to meet Bren as he rounded the front. Stopping, he tossed up a hand toward Stephen, then turned to gaze down at her.

“I’d like to thank you, too,” she said, not knowing what else to say with him looking at her as if he could read all of her thoughts. And right now, she had a lot of them running through her head.

She wanted him to tell her his sorry story, she wanted to know what kind of business he was involved in, she wanted to understand why he’d been so kind to her, and how he’d managed to make her feel safe in the middle of a raging storm. But she could only look up at him, and keep wondering.

Bren stared down at her, his dark eyes searching her face, seeming to memorize her features, which only made her more aware of him. She knew she was a mess, hair damp and probably frizzing to the high heavens, face more muddy than made-up, lips pale and wind roughened, but she didn’t stop him from looking. She studied him just as candidly. He, too, was wind tossed and dampened. She’d never seen a man with such rich, dark, too-long hair, and with eyes to match the finest black-blue velvet. He looked like some dark lord of the manor from another time.

Before she could look away, Bren reached for her and tugged her close, his fingers moving over the tender spot on her head. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll be all right,” she said into the soft cotton of his black shirt. “I’ll never forget what you did.”

He reached inside the pocket of his jeans and handed her a soggy card. “There’s a number where you can reach me—a private cell phone number. Call me if you need help. All I ask is that you don’t give that number to anyone else.” Then he let her go.

The warmth from his body left her, to be replaced with a cold, uncaring wind. She stood in the misty rain, watching as he got into the big, black van and drove away. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was watching her. Dana waited until his van was out of sight down the long straight road. Then she looked around over the torn and battered countryside, finally turning her face toward the heavens.

And off in the distance, a satin-sheened watercolored rainbow shot over the clouds, blinding her with its sparkling brilliance.

“You can stay as long as need be,” Emma said the next morning as she handed Stephen another chocolate-covered doughnut—his and Emma’s version of breakfast. Stephen champed down on the drippy confection, leaving a wide ring of chocolate around his mouth.

The Prager General Store had been spared. Except for a leaky roof where a few shingles dangled, and a strip or two of missing tin, the sturdy old building was still intact. And so it was the natural place for the townspeople to gather and talk about the storm that had swept over the area. Dana wasn’t the only victim, although from all the talk, her place had probably sustained the worst damage.

“She’s right, Dana,” Harvey Mize, one of the old-timers, said from his perch on a tall vinyl-covered barstool. “We’ll all do what needs to be done, to help you out.”

Dana looked around the cozy store. She should feel safe here, among these good people she’d known all her life. She was thankful and appreciative, but she also knew she’d have to do most of this on her own. “You’re all very kind,” she said, taking the cup of coffee Emma shoved in her hand. “I just don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be able to salvage the house. And I don’t have the money to build from scratch.” Thinking of how tired she was, she added, “Maybe I should sell the place.”

“What about insurance?” Frederick asked as he rocked back on the heels of his worn work shoes.

Dana looked down at the planked floor. “It’ll cover part of the damage, but I’ve already got a second mortgage on the house….”

The explanation was left hanging, just as the storm had left her hanging, in limbo, unsure and unprepared. Needing to be away from the pitiful looks and shifting eyes of the townspeople, she called to Stephen. “Finish your doughnut, brother. We need to go back out to check on the livestock.”

“Need a hand?” Harvey offered.

“No. I’ll call if I change my mind though,” Dana told him with a wave as she headed out the door. She’d gotten a cell phone a few months before, to keep her in touch with Stephen and Mrs. Bailey at all times. It would come in handy now, too, she reckoned.

A few minutes later, they turned the old truck in to the rocky lane leading to the shattered house. Dana saw the spot where she’d wrecked the day before, her hand automatically going to her bruised head. Thoughts of the man named Bren played through her weary mind, the memory of how he’d protected her in the storm warring with the uncertainty of her future. Stephen’s hushed words brought her mind back to the task at hand.

“It’s a mess, ain’t it, Dana? Don’t like a mess.”

She stopped the truck near the ripped, gaping remains of an ancient oak tree. In the brilliant, ironic sunlight, the damaged house looked forlorn and still, as broken as Dana’s spirit. Funny, for years before her parents’ death, she’d wanted so much to get away from this old house, to go out in the world, to find a place of her own. Right now she’d gladly give anything to have the old farmhouse back, for Stevie’s sake, if nothing else. The boy loved their home.

“Yep, it’s pretty much gone,” she said as she slammed the steering-wheel-mounted gears into park. So this is it? she asked God. This is my future? No plans for a husband and a family, no hope for a normal life like her parents had? Just a mundane existence, here in this sleepy town, waiting and wondering, hoping and praying that she could save this pitiful old farm? Was this how it was meant to be, she had to wonder.

“We still got each other,” Stephen said, his soft green eyes watching her face. “You got Stephen. Stephen’s got you. Each other, Dana.”

Seeing the solid fear in his eyes, Dana chided herself for being so bitter. Taking his hand in hers, she forced a smile. “Yeah, we sure do.” Then, looking down in the floor of the truck, she added, “And your prized Ruby Runners!” She’d forgotten all about those shoes.

Stephen’s face lit up. “Can I put ’em on?”

“They’ll get all muddy.”

“Oh, okay.” He hopped out of the truck. “But I am, when we get back to town. I am. I am.”

Relieved that he hadn’t thrown a tantrum, Dana followed. As they neared the house, she realized something was terribly wrong. Carefully making her way up onto the torn porch, she saw it immediately.

The side of the house that the storm hadn’t destroyed had been ransacked. It had been hit, but not by a storm.

“What in the world!” she shouted, her frantic words carrying out on the constant, moaning wind.

Startled, Stephen looked up at her. “What’s the matter?”

“We’ve been robbed,” she said, each word ground out between a held breath. “Somebody looted what little we had left.”

It was true. The kitchen drawers were torn out of their sockets. Silverware had been strewn all over the soggy wooden floor. Dishes were shattered, clothes strewn, closets left open and emptied, books tossed about. Nothing had been left untouched. But even more odd, nothing much had been taken.

Looking up at a fluffy white, overstuffed cloud, Dana shouted to the wind, “I can’t take much more, really I can’t!”

Stephen started to cry, the tears full-bodied and rushing, but the sound soft and keening. “I’m scared, Dana.”

Rushing to where he stood in the middle of a heap of torn books and strewn clothes, Dana pulled him into her arms. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Stephen buried his tousled head against her chest. “I miss Daddy, Dana. I wish he’d come back. He’d know what to do. And Mama, too. She’d—” he hiccuped “—she’d have this place fixed, wouldn’t she?”

Dana’s own tears tasted bitter in her mouth. It was little comfort to know that no matter how fiercely she loved her brother and wanted to protect him, she could never take the place of their parents. “Yes,” she said on a raw, torn whisper. “Yes, Stevie, Mama and Daddy would know what to do, and I’m sure they’re watching over us. But they can’t help us now. We have to take care of things ourselves.”

Lifting his head, she wiped a fat tear away from his chubby cheek. “You know I love you, don’t you?” At his bobbing nod, she continued, “And you know I’ll always, always take care of you, no matter what, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, running his T-shirt sleeve over the embarrassing tears, his eyes as bright as a summer stream. “And you do a good job. It’s just that—”

Dana finished for him. “It’s just that we’ve had one too many raw deals. This is the last straw. How could anyone rob us when it’s obvious we’ve suffered enough?”

As if by instinct, she looked toward the white brightness of the Universal Unity Church. Why did she get the gut feeling this attack had been deliberate? Maybe it was the creepy feeling in the pit of her stomach, maybe it was the memory of Caryn Roark’s unguarded expression when she hadn’t seen Dana watching. Maybe she was just going crazy. No, she wasn’t crazy. This was very real.

But why?

Was this someone’s way of kicking her while she was down? The bank might as well come on out right now and take the land, since Dana didn’t see any clear way of keeping it at this point. But this second attack of pure meanness left her more disgusted than the storm ever could. Should she question Caryn Roark again? Could it be someone from her compound, just some kids out for kicks, not willing to accept that consequences came from their random acts of terror?

Telling herself it really didn’t matter a whole lot at this point, Dana resigned herself to defeat. She couldn’t hold on to this land. Might as well accept that.

Well, whoever was behind these attacks might try to get the land, but they wouldn’t get what was left of the inside of her house. Her anger acting as a balm, she stepped back to look down at Stephen. “You okay, sport?”

He nodded. “Sorry I’m like a baby.”

“You’re not a baby. That little cry did us both good. Now here’s the plan. Remember that camping tent out in the barn?”

He nodded, his boy’s eyes lighting up. “Yeah, you won’t ever let me use the thing. Can’t put up the tent.”

“Well, today, you not only get to use it. You get to set it up.” She looked around. “Let’s see…how ’bout over there by that small cottonwood where it looks high and dry.”

“Okay, but why? Why do we need a tent, huh, Dana?”

Her eyes held a determined glint. “We’re going to sleep there tonight.”

“All right!” He danced around in a small circle. “In case they come back?”

“You got it, bud.”

Stephen regained his spunk, strutting around with a new purpose. “You gonna use the shotgun, Dana? We ain’t supposed to play with guns. No guns for Stephen.”

“I just might have to break that rule this once,” she said, her tone firm while her heart skipped and swayed like the beaten bluestems nearby. “I’ll show them they can’t get the best of us.”

The prairie at night was a live thing. Like a great rippling snake, the flat fields around the house slipped and curved and moved in a slithering symmetry. The new wheat and bluestems parried and tangled together in the whining wind, the cottonwoods moaned a soft, rustling lullaby, whispering their secrets to the bright stars that looked so close, Dana thought surely she could reach out and grab one for herself.

She’d never wished upon a star before, but tonight as she lay inside the small close confines of the sturdy tent they’d erected and stared out the opening to the night sky, she picked the evening star, and she said a little prayer for guidance, for strength, for control. Please, God, let my troubles be over. Let me find some peace, let me do the right thing, for Stephen, for myself. Let me do it right, for Mom and Dad.

She’d been thinking about moving to Kansas City for a long time. Tony called at least once a week, telling her of all the fun he was having, the restaurants, the parties, the entertainment, the wonderful social life. “You’re missing out, Dana. This is where the action is.”

Yeah, right. She knew Tony Martin. His only social life consisted of his computers and the Internet. The man lived and breathed technology. It had landed him a great, good-paying job, but it didn’t leave much room for real relationships. He was like a piece of shining tin, brilliant and gleaming on the outside, but shallow and hollow on the inside.

Which is why Dana had turned down his invitation to marry him and come live with him in the big city. Tony didn’t have an ounce of romance in him. Since he’d never taken the hint and even remotely tried to woo Dana back, since he just didn’t get that she had to have more than a live-in computer genius, since he had never once thought about anyone but himself, she’d sent him on his way, alone.

Tony was married to his work, plain and simple. He didn’t have an inkling of what was involved in hearts and flowers, and he certainly didn’t have the patience to deal with a slightly autistic, hyper preteen boy who had the emotional maturity of a seven-year-old. Stephen was one of the main reasons she and Tony weren’t together. They’d never discussed it; he’d never come right out and told her, but she knew by his words and actions that Tony didn’t want to deal with Stephen. Tony wanted her. He didn’t want her little brother.

But he was a good friend in spite of their breakup a couple of years ago, and he did have connections. And Stephen could thrive there with the proper therapy and some new doctors who actually understood his condition. Maybe it was time to cut her losses and head to Kansas City.

She glanced over toward the murky white silhouette of the Universal Unity Church, sitting in the distance like a giant piece of rock candy. The place had suffered little to no damage in the storm. Her neighbor’s good luck had held. And the strangest part, Caryn Roark had sent over two young girls with clothes and food for Dana and Stephen. She’d even extended an invitation for Dana and Stephen to stay at the church compound until they were back on their feet. Dana had declined the invitation, her memories of the meeting she’d had with Caryn Roark still fresh in her mind.

“We’re the only ones left,” Dana said again, wondering where Caryn got all the money to finance her operation. The woman was generous to a fault with the community, and that was part of what worried Dana about her neighbor. Caryn seemed to expect favors in return. “Something just doesn’t set right over there.”

Oh, well, soon it wouldn’t matter to Dana. Soon, she supposed, she and Stephen would be moving on. Once the dust settled and she found out just how much she had left and how much she could sell to make a little moving money, at least. After paying off her debts, she’d take her pittance and start over fresh somewhere else.

Only, in her heart, she wasn’t quite ready to give up the fight, even if she didn’t have much fight left. She didn’t think she had the courage or the fortitude to face such a formidable task. And she wasn’t about to go begging for charity, whatever Caryn Roark’s intentions were.

Instinctively she touched a hand to Stephen’s head, gently pushing a tuft of thick golden hair off his brow. The boy sighed again and flipped to his side in his Kansas City Royals sleeping bag.

Left alone with the stars and her worries, Dana again thought about the man named Bren. Bren. An unusual name for an unusual man. Definitely not a standard Kansas-type name. But then, she’d known from the start that Bren wasn’t from Kansas. Touching the pocket of her jeans, she remembered she had his card tucked inside. She’d kept it there, close, instead of putting it in the bottomless pit of her shoulder bag.

He’d said he’d help her. She’d been taught not to ask for help. It was going to be a long, lonely night. Or so she thought.

A creaking noise off in the distance grass made Dana’s head come up. A prickling of fear, like needles hitting the center of her spine, warned her that someone was nearby. She listened, her breath stopping, her eyes trying to penetrate the darkness, one hand on Stephen and the other one on the shotgun lying next to her left thigh.

Then everything shifted and moved. The night came to life as a brilliant light glistened near the farmhouse. A minute later an acrid smell drifted out over the prairie.

Fire. Someone was trying to burn what remained of her house!

Grabbing the shotgun, Dana pulled up out of the tent like a madwoman. “Hey, you—”

Her words were cut off by the shots that rang out into the night. Only, Dana hadn’t fired her gun yet.

Rolling back inside the tent, she hushed the now-wide-awake Stephen. “Stay down and stay quiet. Somebody’s trying to shoot us!”

Stephen buried himself inside his sleeping bag, his breath coming in great, scared huffs as his body rocked against the ground in a nervous fidget. “Dana?”

“I’m right here, sport. Just do what you’re doing. Stay hidden and don’t move.”

She watched as the fire grew stronger, leaping and dancing like a laughing demon toward the front of the house. Aiming her gun at anything, hoping to scare the intruders away, she pulled the trigger and waited for the old shotgun’s kick to bruise her shoulder. The lone shot exploded into the night. Dana sucked in the smell of gunpowder with each deep, frantic breath she took.

Then she took one long breath and shouted, “Get off my land!”

Silence from the intruder, hissing from the hungry fire.

Dana tried to raise up again, and another bullet whizzed by, this one coming from a closer angle. Stephen’s muffled cry only added to her own solid fear.

“What do you want?” Dana shouted to the wind.

A harsh laugh echoed through the night, but Dana got no answers to her question. Since Dana already had a sick inkling of who she was dealing with, the silence made her more mad than scared, even though deep down inside she knew she should be afraid.

“Leave us alone,” she called. “Can’t you just leave us alone!”

Dana heard laughter, then footfalls, as if someone were running away. Then only the hissing of the fire as it snaked up the porch railings.

A sick feeling shot through Dana’s stomach, making her want to retch. All sorts of horrible images ran through her mind. These people were mad! This wasn’t just kids out for kicks, and this certainly wasn’t a faith-abiding church like the one she’d always known. Caryn had threatened Stephen earlier and now Dana supposed she had sent her thugs to act on that threat. She had to find out if the other woman was doing this, and she had to keep Stephen safe.

“If it’s the land, you can have it,” she whispered, wishing she hadn’t been so direct yesterday with the crazed woman. But she had to wonder if there wasn’t something more here. Why would Caryn taunt her with threats against Stephen? She’d purposely pulled him out of school to avoid such teasing and taunts. These people didn’t even know Stephen.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Help us, please. She clutched Stephen close, soothing his keening cries with a murmured whisper. “It’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” She thought about calling for help on her cell phone, but realized it would take the volunteer firemen at least fifteen minutes to get here.

When she was sure it was safe, Dana pulled her brother’s covers off his head. “I’ve got to put out the fire, Stevie. Can you stay here?”

“No.”

Afraid to leave him alone, but even more afraid to take him out in the open, she wrapped an arm around him. “We’re going to crawl through the grass to the house.”

“Okay,” he said, this new challenge temporarily calming his earlier fears.

“We need to stop that fire from spreading,” she explained. She saw his eyes in the moonlight, saw the fear mirrored there inside him. “Stevie, you have to be brave. We’re going to get away from here and go to the sheriff.”

“Okay,” came the feeble reply. “I’ll be brave. Stephen can be brave.”

“Okay,” Dana echoed, the shotgun clutched close. “Stay low and stay right beside me,” she said as she inched her way out of the tent, belly-crawl fashion. The going was slow, and the fire was fast. The wind picked up, causing Dana to urge Stephen on beside her. Determined, she struggled to her feet, pulling Stephen up with her to run the last few yards. By the time they made it to the house, the whole remainder of the front porch was on fire. If she could only find the water hose.

They made it to the side of the house where a long spigot ran from the well to underneath the porch steps. Dana always kept a hose connected there to wash mud and dirt from their work boots.

Out of breath, her nerves tingling with fear and worry, she slid up the wall, still clutching her brother, spitting away the grass and dirt they’d gathered on the way. Behind them, the fire hissed and curled, its wrath causing beams to pop and aged frames to cave in like kindling.

“It’s all right, sport,” she said on a windy breath. “All I have to do is turn the water on and we can wash down most of the porch. Maybe we can save it.”

She stood, looking around to make sure the intruders were gone. Then she groped for the long thick noose of the hose, searching in the dark for the fat coil of rubber. Her hands reached out to emptiness. They’d disconnected the hose. It was nowhere in sight.

Above them, the fire rose up, triumphant in its snap-happy victory. The sound of bursting glass shattered the night, and Dana watched as the blue lace curtains of her parents’ bedroom curled and crumbled, too dainty, too delicate, to survive the heat of the angry, leaping flames.