“His or the Dodds’. Elwood’s slippery. We’ve repeatedly sent men to all three of the cabins he’s been known to occupy in the past and found no sign of him. That means either he’s on the run and trying to keep from being caught, as usual, or he’s not around at all.”
“Which do you think it is?” Maggie asked, stifling a yawn.
“Most of the clues seem to fit his style, but some things don’t add up. Like the truck that hit you. There’s nothing matching that description registered to any of the Witherspoons, and both Dodds drive cars.”
Watching her, Flint glimpsed a flash of insight that came and went in moments. Propped on one elbow, he pinned her with his gaze. “You just had an idea. I can tell.”
She shook her head and set her jaw.
“Come on. Spill it. We need to work together on this whether you want to or not.”
“I never said I didn’t want to,” she insisted. “Call it self-preservation. The last time I brought this up you nearly bit my head off.”
“No way.” Slumping back against the pillow, he refused to consider what he now suspected was on her mind. “There are no Crawfords left around here but Bess, Ira and me, so you can forget blaming us.”
“You haven’t overlooked some distant cousin or somebody like that?”
“No. I actually questioned Bess, which made me feel terrible, by the way, and she confirmed it. We know about every Crawford in the county and beyond. Too many of them met sad fates, much like my mother and hers before her. That’s why Ira won’t even take an aspirin for a headache. He’s made up his mind that all drugs are poison, even prescription ones.”
“Doesn’t he take something for his dementia?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Flint knew where she was going with her query and didn’t like it one bit. “All that’s done is make the disease progress faster. I told you. He’s unable to function the way he used to. It’s sad but true, so you can cross him off your suspect list.”
“Okay.” Maggie yawned. “If you have everything you need, I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“I’m good. I’ll be sure to keep the fire going.”
“It’s banked,” she countered. “You shouldn’t have to do much before morning. We’re halfway through the night already.” Another yawn.
Flint mirrored her. “Yeah. Harlan will probably be back here asking for pancakes in a couple of hours. We’d better get some sleep.”
“Right. Good night.”
Watching her leave, Flint realized how weary—and how wide-awake—he was. Being around Maggie stole his sleep and left him more confused by the minute. She was so brave she was scary. And yet he admired her courage. He just wished it didn’t keep getting her into trouble—like when she’d testified on behalf of Abigail Dodd’s sanity.
Lacing his fingers behind his head to cradle it, he readjusted his throbbing ankle. Maggie wasn’t the only one who did foolish things. He’d gone into a snowstorm dressed for church, for crying out loud, so there was no way he could fault only her. If he hadn’t grabbed his heavy work jacket on his way out, he probably wouldn’t be alive to complain about anything.
Flint’s thoughts spun through his mind like an Arkansas tornado, touching ground here and there and leaving a path of destruction. And, like the aftermath of a real tornado, he could tell it was going to be necessary to wait for the dust to settle before trying to sort out the rubble. To find the worthwhile things. To salvage the unbroken or repair what was left and move on.
He knew what he wanted to find. He simply wasn’t sure there would be enough left of his and Maggie’s previous lives to restore and revive.
Closing his eyes, Flint thought of his reaction when she’d become the answer to his prayers for rescue mere hours before. Instead of thanking God for sending help, he’d argued that Maggie was the wrong person.
With a sigh he finally admitted what he’d known all along. Like it or not, Maggie was decidedly the right person, in more ways than one.
Almost asleep, he thought he heard something. Outside? Inside? Flint tensed. Strained to listen.
Outside. Definitely outside. What had Maggie said she’d done with his handgun? He knew she would have made sure it was out of Mark’s reach, but where had she stashed it? That’s right. Atop the refrigerator!
Starting to swing his legs over the side of the couch and sit up, Flint was startled by a loud pounding on the door. He jumped. Bumped his foot. Sent fire and ice shooting up his leg. And cried out in pain.
SEVENTEEN
Maggie was running before she was fully awake. She swung around the corner into the living room and saw the agony on Flint’s face. “What happened?”
“I moved too fast. Where’s my gun?”
The pounding continued. “I’ll get it. Stay there.”
“Like I’d go someplace?” Flint grumbled.
“I heard that.” She returned with the handgun carefully pointed away from him, her finger nowhere near the trigger.
“It’s a wonder you heard anything over that banging.” He was nearly shouting.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“I have no idea. They didn’t bother to announce themselves.” Flint pushed to his feet, using the back of the sofa for support, and aimed at the door. “Who’s there?”
Silence followed. Maggie couldn’t stand not knowing, so she started forward.
“Wait,” Flint ordered. “Stay back.”
“Don’t be silly. If they were up to no good, they wouldn’t knock.”
“They might.” Flint raised his voice again. “Tell us who you are or go away.”
“It’s me,” a youthful voice replied.
Maggie recognized it immediately and jerked open the door. “Robbie. What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, he plunged through the opening and slammed the heavy door behind him. “They’re coming.”
“Who’s coming?” Flint demanded.
Maggie didn’t like the way he kept his gun aimed at the teenager, so she gently pushed the barrel aside. “You don’t have to worry about Robbie. It’s the others who’re the problem.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Robbie blurted. “Papaw’s taken a notion that Warden Crawford’s moved in with you and he’s comin’ here to shoot him.”
“Why?” She was astounded.
“’Cause he’s plumb crazy, that’s why,” the youth said, still breathless. “He keeps callin’ you Elizabeth and sayin’ he’s gonna rescue you.”
It took Maggie a moment to realize that Bess was a shorter version of that name. Her gaze shot to Flint. His eyes were narrowed, his brow creased, his jaw muscles clenching. Clearly, he had come to the same conclusion.
“How did you get over here?” Flint asked.
“Walked,” Robbie said. “That’s the only reason I was able to beat ’em. Papaw Elwood’s slow, particularly in the snow.”
Maggie went to the window and peered out. “Looks like it’s still coming down.”
In the reflection on the glass she saw Flint testing his ankle and grimacing as he took several steps. She turned to face him. “What’re we going to do?”
“Make a stand,” Flint said flatly. He eyed the teenager. “Which side are you on, son?”
“Yours.”
Maggie could tell Flint wasn’t convinced. She wasn’t, either. It was one thing to fight with a stranger and quite another to take on a relative, particularly one who had helped raise you.
“Are you sure?” she asked Robbie. “You can still make a run for it and they’ll never know you came here to warn us.”
He shook his head adamantly. “I’m stayin’. I never did abide what Papaw was doin’. My brothers, either. I can’t run off and let ’em hurt somebody, not even a Crawford.”
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That made Flint snort. “Since you put it that way, what’re you going to use for a weapon?”
“Left my shotgun on the porch,” Robbie said, blushing and staring at the handgun. “I figured if I busted in here carrying, you’d blow me away.”
“Could have happened,” Flint said flatly.
Maggie hoped he was exaggerating, since she wasn’t in favor of anybody getting killed, yet how could they avoid Elwood’s pending attack? “Can we use your AGFC truck to get away?” she asked Flint.
“It’s risky, but it might work,” he replied before looking at Robbie. “Providing nobody let the air out again. How much time do you think we have?”
“No tellin’. I left while they was gettin’ ready, but I don’t think they were far behind.”
“Okay. Go get your shotgun and check my truck while you’re out there. If it looks okay we’ll load up and make a run for it.”
The young man had barely left the house when he was back, wild-eyed and trembling. “Too late. They’re here. I saw Luke. Can’t tell where Papaw is, but he’s gotta be out there.”
As Maggie’s eyes met Flint’s she saw both determination and sorrow. He hobbled toward her. “Okay. You go into the bedroom with the boy and hide. Both of you. Take your cell phone with you and keep trying to call the sheriff, just in case the phones start working.”
“I don’t want—”
“I know. I don’t want to leave you, either, but we can’t always have what we want.”
The double meaning in his words was not lost on her. He might as well have been referring to their parting six years ago.
“All right. I’ll be in the closet with Mark and Wolfie. It’s where I put them before, so they’re less likely to panic this time.”
“And the dog will defend you?” Flint asked.
“I’m sure he will.” Maggie wasn’t positive, but there was no way she was going to saddle Flint with more worry. Her best defense was probably going to be Elwood’s belief that she was his long-lost betrothed.
She spun on her heels and ran for Mark’s bedroom. The child was sitting up in bed, keeping a tight grip on the dog’s collar. His voice was shaky. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to go into your camping place again,” Maggie said.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” She had no time for arguments or explanations. Catching the small child around his waist, she called the dog to follow and tucked them all in the closet in the dark. Thankfully, the extra bedding was still on the floor so they’d be warm enough, as if a panting dog wasn’t enough radiant heat.
“This time, we’re going to pretend we’re invisible,” she whispered, ruing the fear tingeing her voice as she pulled one of the blankets over them all and embraced her frightened little boy.
Mark was the only reason she’d been able to force herself to leave Flint. A mother’s love was strong. So was that which had survived between her and Flint in spite of everything and was now tearing her heart into tiny pieces and leaving her despondent.
There was absolutely nothing else she could do besides exactly what she was already doing. When she’d ventured into the snowstorm to find Flint, she knew where she was going and how to get there successfully. Now she had no idea what was happening. Furthermore, she was far too distressed to come up with any kind of prayer, no matter how badly she wanted to.
The love of her life was about to lay his own life on the line for hers. And for their child’s. At that moment, she could not have loved Flint more.
Or feared more for his survival.
* * *
Hearing a moderate knock on the door, Flint motioned Robbie aside and called, “Who’s there?”
When there was no answer he took a step closer and raised his voice. “I said, who—”
Gunfire cut him off. He dove for cover, hoping and praying that the sound of shooting wouldn’t draw Maggie out of hiding.
He’d subconsciously counted the number of shots, confused about the capacity of whatever firearm Elwood was using until he noticed the uneven splintering on the inside of the wooden door. The old man was evidently firing at least two different calibers simultaneously, or the younger ones were also shooting. Hopefully, they’d soon have to stop to reload.
“Go stand guard at the back.” Flint gestured at Robbie. “Don’t let anybody sneak up behind me.”
The youth crab-walked across the littered floor, dragging his shotgun, and disappeared in the dark.
If Flint had had time, he might have doused the glowing fireplace to further darken the room, but it was too late for that. They already knew he was in there. And if they managed to breach the door, he’d have only one chance, one option. He’d have to take out whoever came at him firing.
Maggie’s kin. The Witherspoon who, if legends and rumors were to be believed, had lost everything to his grandfather Ira and had eventually also lost his mind.
Both old men were suffering for their past deeds and attitudes, weren’t they? Their spirits had dwelt on the feud for so long it had cost them a lot more than it would have if they had simply forgiven each other for the animosity that had grown out of their words and deeds. How many other lives had their anger ruined? How many unnecessary tears had been shed?
Sounds of clicking came from outside. Elwood, or whoever was on the porch, had just snapped the cylinder back into a revolver. When he didn’t immediately begin firing, Flint limped forward. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard a shotgun action levering a live shell into the chamber.
He jerked his hand back and flattened his back to the adjoining wall. The knob and fittings around the lock disappeared in a shower of brass and lead and needle-sharp wood fragments.
Staggering back from the force, Flint put too much weight on his injured foot and fell. Rolled aside. Brought his sidearm into play as he heard a second shell being loaded.
Wild-eyed and raving, Elwood kicked open the broken door, raised a shotgun and pointed it at Flint.
A fraction of a second made the difference. They both fired, but the old man’s aim was knocked high when he was hit squarely in the chest and propelled backward.
As Elwood collapsed in slow motion onto the snowy porch, Flint braced for the next attack.
It never came.
* * *
Maggie was trying to breathe. Her mouth was dry as cotton, her stomach roiling. She pulled Mark closer and closer until he objected. “Mama, too tight. Owie.”
“I’m sorry, honey, I—”
Footsteps outside the closet door were soft, as if the person approaching was barefoot. Could it be? Did she dare hope? She choked back a sob.
“It’s over, Maggie,” a familiar voice called.
As the door started to open she leaped off the floor and threw herself at Flint, almost knocking him down again.
Clinging, she heard him say, “It was Elwood. I’m sorry,” and she knew she should feel the same, but she didn’t. Later she might be able to express genuine regret. Right now all that mattered was that they had survived. That Flint had come through it. That he was holding her. If anyone had managed to get her attention at that moment and ask what she wanted most, she would have said she already had it.
Mark tugged on her robe. “Mama? Mama?”
She felt Flint’s hold on her loosen and she glanced down. “What, honey?”
“Can we come out, too?”
“Wait,” Flint said. “I need to help Robbie straighten up a little in the front of the house.”
“Is Elwood...?”
“On the porch, outside,” Flint said. “Everybody else is fine. Even Robbie’s brothers. They weren’t nearly as bad-tempered once their grandfather was out of the picture.”
She continued to cling to Flint. “Are you sure?”
�
��I’m sure. And very grateful,” he replied. “I didn’t want that poor kid to have to actually shoot anybody. That could scar him for life.”
“Kind of like growing up in a town where half the folks hate the other half and nobody is willing to let bygones be bygones?”
“Exactly.” He gave her a squeeze and started to pull away. “I need to go make sure everything’s okay.”
Maggie held tightly to his waist. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
What she wanted to do was stand on tiptoe and kiss him, but she was afraid he might resist, so she said, “You scared me so badly I bit my lip, Flint Crawford. You need to kiss it and make it better.”
“Really?” An eyebrow arched and green eyes pinned her in place, then drifted to her mouth. His thumb lightly skimmed her lower lip. “I don’t see any damage.”
She could hardly think, let alone speak, but she did manage to say, “I was terrified.”
“Not as badly as I was,” he countered, his voice rough yet tender. “Maybe you owe me.”
The compassion and empathy in his expression provided all the assurance she needed. Loosening her hug, Maggie slipped both arms around his neck and tilted her head until their lips were nearly touching. It wasn’t a surprise to feel that they were both trembling.
She closed her eyes. Flint brought his mouth to hers and lingered so gently it was like a whispered promise.
“It’s been a long time,” he said before kissing her again. And again.
“Too long,” Maggie answered when he finally let her come up for air.
A sharp tug on her robe was followed by “I’m hungry.”
Grinning, she eased away from Flint only slightly. “At least he didn’t laugh at us.”
“Yet,” Flint added. He bent to pick up his son and carried him to the bedroom door before pressing the boy’s face to his shoulder to keep him from seeing the aftereffects of the violence as they passed it.
“Stay in the kitchen and try to reach Harlan,” Flint told Maggie. “Everything will be okay.”
Her grin spread even wider. “It already is. Our family is still in one piece.” She sobered slightly, feeling guilty. “I was so scared I couldn’t even pray.”
Dangerous Legacy Page 16