A Man With a Pure Heart

by Linda Tillis

  The woman’s assertive tone made Sarah a little uncomfortable.

  “All right, and thank you.”

  The woman started moving toward the front door. “Was there something else I can help you with?”

  Sarah felt like she was being brushed off, but she didn’t mind, as she suddenly felt tired. Must be all the overtime she had put in lately.

  She followed the woman to the door. “No, ma’am, I think this will do me.”

  The woman smiled as she held the open door. “Yes, the heart knows what it wants.”

  Sarah heard the click of the lock behind her, as she headed for her truck.

  ****

  She looked at the clock. Five-thirty. She’d taken a shower, thinking it would freshen her up, maybe wash away this tiredness. She was dressed in her newest jeans, matching jacket, and her favorite boots, with her revolver strapped above the boot top. The whole outfit went very well with her new arrowhead necklace. But now she wasn’t sure she had enough energy to ride all the way into Greeneville for supper.

  “Heck,” she said to the empty kitchen, “I’m not even hungry now.”

  She opened the fridge, took out a full bottle of Sangria, and was reaching for a glass when she remembered the painting.

  “Aha! That’s what I was going to do.”

  Sarah moved to the back of the cabin, taking along the bottle and glass.

  Both Thelma and Frank had been avid readers. He, of course, lived for the hunting magazines that came regularly, while Thelma had been a “closet” romance-reader. Uncle Frank had built a fireplace in the back wall of the cabin, and Aunt Thelma had arranged two reclining chairs in front of the beautiful river-rock wall, with an antique table between them to hold their bowls of ice cream. This had been their favorite retreat, the place where they spent hours reading, and dozing, completely comfortable in their love.

  Sarah set the bottle and glass atop the table and turned to the inner wall. Yep, there it was. Aunt Thelma had once told her that the painting had been in the family for several generations. Sarah moved closer, to better see the details.

  “Damn,” she exclaimed. “I was right!”

  There, before her eyes, was the woman from the store, with the same streak of white in her hair. In the portrain, she stood in a forest, with beams of golden light shining around her. Nearby was a large stag with his head thrown back, as if challenging her presence in his domain. She had one hand extended toward him as if to calm him.

  “Good Lord,” Sarah yelped aloud. There on the woman’s extended arm was the snake bangle! Well, a snake bangle. Surely not the one from the store.

  Moving to one of the recliners, she turned it to face the painting, then opened the bottle and poured a full glass of the cold, sweet wine. She got comfortable in the recliner and stared at the woman. She sipped occasionally, as she tried to make sense of it all.

  ****

  Sarah was dreaming. Men were arguing. She was cold. She must have kicked the blanket off the bed. She reached out to feel for the blanket and felt dirt. The men were louder now. She must have left the television on. All right, all right, I’ll just have to get up and turn it off.

  Sarah opened her eyes and found herself looking at tree tops…and blue sky! She rolled to her side and found she was lying on the ground. Cold, hard ground. And those men were yelling and laughing on the other side of the bushes surrounding her.

  Sarah froze. What the heck was going on? She slowly reached down and removed the revolver from her ankle holster. She heard a man yelling, and what he said made her blood run cold.

  “Taggart, you’ll never get away with killing me. You’ll be the first suspect when I come up missing.”

  “Hell, Kramer, they’ll think you finally went off the deep end and hung yourself. If they ever find your body. I mean, we are a far piece up the mountain, and why would they come looking up here?”

  “Folks’ll just say the poor soul couldn’t get over his wife and kid dying while he was off roundin’ up horses. Got the best of him, livin’ in that house…lookin’ at all those pictures he drew.”

  Sarah heard several voices laugh.

  “And after a few months, I’ll just go into town and lay a claim on the place, pay any back taxes, and it’ll all be mine.”

  Sarah crawled closer to the bushes. She could just make out a man on a horse. His back was to her, but she could clearly see the rope around his neck. Oh, Lord, she had no idea how many men were there. Her gun only held five rounds. Without even realizing it, she started to pray.

  “Please, Lord, help me. Please don’t let them hang this man, Lord.”

  A word about the author…

  Linda was born in Goody, Kentucky, in the heart of coal mining country. Her mother moved her to Cleveland, Ohio, when she was a small child. In the summer she ran barefoot on her grandparents’ farm and during the school year she attended concerts and visited museums. She was able to experience the best of both worlds, city and country.

  Her careers have been just as varied. She spent eighteen years in the manufacturing end of the fashion industry, which fed her love of color and style. From there she went on to spend twenty years as a Crime Scene Investigator. This gave her an insider’s perspective on the abuse of women and children.

  You will find her stories are of strong women who have overcome adversity to find the love and stability they deserve, and there will usually be a milliner involved.

  http://lindatillisauthor.com

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