A Shadow on the Ground

by Smith, Rebecca Lee

  Time to curb her smart tongue. She knew better than to provoke him.

  She went to stand behind the sofa, feeling safer with a barrier between them. If he wasn’t too stoned, and still had a few muscles left from his track and field days, a sofa wouldn’t be much protection. His watery gray eyes, magnified twice their size behind the lens in a pair of round wire-frames, regarded the move with amusement.

  “Aren't you gonna ask me to sit down?”

  “I don't think so.”

  He was thinner than he'd been the last time she'd seen him, although judging from the spongy bay window protruding from his midsection, he was still going through a twelve-pack of beer every night. For once, his prematurely gray goatee had been neatly trimmed, and he had pulled his straight gray hair into a ponytail. If he'd been wearing a tweed sport coat instead of a stained cotton work shirt, he could have passed for the seedy professor at some junior college.

  “We were married once,” he said. “Aren’t you even gonna ask how I am?”

  “We were married for two months. I’ve had relationships with cheese that lasted longer.” Morgan clutched the crocheted afghan lying across the back of the sofa. “But okay. How are you, Denny? Still the light of your family’s life?”

  “Huh,” he scoffed.

  “Why are you here? Do you have some personal debts, quite possibly to someone named Guido, that you need to pay off?”

  “Oh, ouch.” Denny put a hand over his heart and stumbled backwards in mock agony. “Why do you always think the worst of me?”

  “Because you always prove me right. If you're here to borrow money, I don't have any.”

  “No, but you have something else. Something that belongs to me.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  He walked toward her and stopped. The muscles in her arms tensed. A film of perspiration broke out across the back of her neck. “The flag, Morgan. I'm talking about the flag. My father knows you have it, and he wants it back.”

  “You gave it to me, remember?”

  “I was drunk.”

  “I don't care if you were in a coma. You said it was payment for the grief you caused me. For making me lose the—for what you did to me. You said I could have it if I didn't report what you did to the police, remember? You didn't have to go to jail, remember?” She stared at him without cringing. Five years ago she might have backed down. But not now.

  “It wasn't my fault you lost the baby. Shit, it wasn’t even mine.” He took another step toward her. “I want the flag back, Morgan. And I want it back now.”

  “I'm not afraid of you anymore.”

  He laughed coarsely. “You never were.”

  She used her peripheral vision to make sure the bat was still in the umbrella stand. She'd never been very successful using a weapon against him. The only time she'd needed one, he'd overpowered her before she could get to it. She cheated a few steps to the right and tried to gauge the distance she'd have to run if he came at her. He looked soft, out of shape. If he was still chain-smoking filterless Camels, she could probably outrun him.

  She had to stay calm and think. Thinking had saved her before. By the time his rising exasperation crossed the line—and it always did—she had better have a plan in place.

  Marrying Denny had been the worst mistake of her life. Or the second, if you counted falling in love with another man two weeks before their wedding. But she’d married Denny, in spite of the feeling of doom that had clutched her gut. In spite of pacing the church vestibule like a caged leopard, waiting for the call from Gage that never came.

  Denny had hit her twice. The first time hadn’t seemed completely unjustified after confessing she'd slept with another man. Although, it had left her wary and bewildered, with an unshakable mistrust of her own judgment where men were concerned. The second time, on the day he found out she was pregnant with Gage’s child, changed her life forever, and sent her tearing out of his life for good.

  “I only gave you that flag because I needed someplace safe to stash it,” he said. “I knew you’d take good care of it for me, and I could get it back anytime I wanted. Well, I want it now.”

  Her gaze shot to the screen door. She hoped Jeremy had made it across the yard and was waiting for Gage at the road. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to him.

  “The flag, Morgan.” Denny started around the sofa. “Give me the goddamned flag.”

  She lunged to the right, but her timing was off. Before she could clear the sofa, Denny had blocked her path. He grabbed her upper arms and backed her into the front side of the upright piano. The keys banged, clanging in disharmony.

  “You're hurting me!”

  “I'll do more than that if you don't tell me where the flag is.”

  “Stop it!”

  He lifted her off the piano, still holding her arms, and slammed her into the wall. The back of her head crashed into the framed picture of her grandfather. Denny’s sour breath, a mixture of hard liquor and cigarettes, exhaled into her face. For a moment, she thought she might vomit. His gray eyes, so warm and gentle when she'd first met him, were glazed over and feverish, filled with the same bullying hatred that had manifested itself the day she'd lost the only child she might ever be able to have. Her hatred for him, and everything in her life he had caused her to lose, engulfed her. She stopped thinking and raised her knee. Then she smashed it into his groin.

  Denny's grip loosened instantly. He doubled over, holding his crotch with both hands.

  Morgan pushed past him and ran for the door, straight into Gage’s arms.

  “You okay?” Gage pulled back and searched her face until she nodded. “Let me deal with this.” He strode across the room, hauled Denny to his feet, and spun him around. “Maybe it's time you picked on someone your own size.” He pulled his fist back.

  “No!” Morgan screamed. “No. Let it go.”

  “You sure?” Gage said. “I'll be glad to knock this creep's teeth down his throat. Say the word, baby, and he'll be munching a mouthful of Chiclets.”

  “Just get him out of here,” Morgan said.

  “Hear that, mister?” Gage pulled Denny around the sofa and shoved him toward the door. “The lady wants you out.”

  Denny fell against the doorframe. One hand straightened his glasses, the other cupped the tender area between his legs. “I'm not finished with you,” he yelled to Morgan.

  “Wanna bet?” Gage said.

  Denny turned and stumbled out the door, then down the steps to the front walk. Jeremy stood in the yard beside the rhododendron bush, watching him.

  “What are you looking at?” Denny bellowed.

  “Why are you still here?” Jeremy asked. “The stupid people left hours ago.”

  Denny lurched down the driveway to his motorcycle. He climbed on and revved the motor, then swerved into the road.

  Morgan dropped onto the wicker loveseat. “I am so sorry.”

  “Who was that thug?” Gage asked.

  “Denny Quillen. My ex-husband.”

  His gaze swept over her again and again, as if he were reassuring himself she was all right.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “Please don't tell me he treated you like that when you were married to him.”

  “Only twice. The second time, I walked out. Well, actually, I ran.”

  “Bastard,” Gage said. “And what was that monochromatic thing he had going—gray hair, gray eyes, gray beard? He looked like a Weimaraner.”

  Morgan rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head. “How did you know I needed help?”

  Jeremy held up his cell phone. “I got it to work. I called Dad and told him two men were after you.”

  “What do you mean, two men? You saw two men?”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said. “Two of them. The mean one you kicked in the junk and the skinny one watching through the window.”

  “Stay here.” Gage jumped off the porch and ran around the side of the house.


  “What did the other man look like?” Morgan asked. “Besides being skinny.”

  “Nerdy. Like my science teacher.” Jeremy sat on the swing and kicked his foot against the floor. “He looked like Mr. Spock.”

  “Mr. Spock on Star Trek?”

  “Yeah, but without the ears or the weird eyebrows.”

  Ethan? It couldn’t be Ethan. Even though Jeremy’s description sounded exactly like him. It didn’t make sense. Why would Ethan and Denny be at her house at the same time? Had they come together? Ethan had met Denny once before at Bad Moon, but she didn’t think the two men knew each other. How could they know each other?

  “Where did the other man go? Did you see him leave?”

  “He ran that way.” Jeremy pointed to the brushy slope leading down to the orchard. “I don't think he saw me. I was hiding behind those bushes.”

  Gage loped toward them then stood with his hands on his hips, gulping in air. “I checked behind the barn and the guesthouse. No sign of anyone,” he puffed. “And yes, I am slightly out of shape.”

  “Slightly?” Jeremy looked at him sideways.

  “Okay, more than slightly. It's been a while since I've had to go from zero to thirty in two seconds.”

  “Everything’s fine now,” Morgan said, as much for her own benefit as Jeremy’s. “Why don't you go inside and get your dad a bottle of water from the fridge. Help yourself to some cookies.” She waited until he left, then turned to Gage. “Jeremy just described Ethan Spannagel as the man who was watching through the window. Ethan is Harlan's son, and a good friend. The thought of him sneaking around like that is outrageous.”

  “I don't know what went on between you and your ex before I got here, but—”

  “I have something he wants. He got loud and nasty when I wouldn't give it to him.”

  “Maybe Ethan came by for a visit and heard what was going on, so he…waited.”

  “Waited until my drunken ex-husband slammed me against a wall? He knows why I left the marriage. He knows Denny has a history of drug abuse and violence. He knows that. And yet, he did nothing?”

  ****

  Gage wanted to tell her the man sounded like a hamster. Instead, he said, “He's probably still in shock over his father's death.”

  “That’s a lot of shock. But why was he spying in my window?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I will.” She nodded. “I will.”

  He pushed down the fear he realized was never going away as long as she was in danger, and forced a reassuring smile. He longed to put his arms around her, but she didn’t seem to need comforting. She seemed to be handling things pretty well on her own. She’d—how had Jeremy put it?—kicked the guy in the junk. Gage chuckled. He would’ve liked to have seen that.

  “Dad?” Jeremy handed him a bottle of water. “I'm sorry I got mad at you for moving all our stuff out of Uncle Bert's house. And I was thinking....”

  “Where are you guys living now?” Morgan asked.

  “We're checking into Taylor's Motor Lodge until we can find a place.”

  “No, Dad.” Jeremy's square chin jutted out. “We can't go to a motel. Morgan needs us here. She's all alone.”

  “Oh, honey,” Morgan said. “I'm fine.”

  “But what if the mean guy comes back?” Jeremy’s eyes flashed accusingly at his father. “Someone has to watch out for her. I know karate. You know how to shoot a gun. You told me you used to sit outside apartment houses for hours, protecting the good people from the bad people. Morgan’s our friend. Why can’t you do it for her?”

  “Jeremy,” Morgan said, “I can take care of myself. I’ll be okay.”

  “No, he's right,” Gage said. “You shouldn't be here alone. At least not until things calm down. Do you have a friend you can stay with? What about Peach? Or Opal?”

  “Why can’t we stay here?” Jeremy asked. “She has a big house.”

  “Son, that’s enough.”

  Jeremy ignored him. “Please, can we stay, Morgan? Because if we can’t, I’ll be so worried about you, I won’t be able to sleep. Then my grades will go down. Then my therapist will get mad and say I need to focus. Only I won’t be able to focus. Because I’ll be worried about you.”

  “Oh, you’re good.” Morgan laughed. She glanced over his head at Gage. Apprehension hovered in her eyes. “I guess the kid has a point.”

  “That’s why he’s eleven going on fifty.”

  “Fifty-two,” Jeremy corrected.

  “You saw the little guesthouse beside the outbuilding. Opal made my grandpa build it to house her relatives when they came to visit. It’s only three rooms, but it has a kitchenette and a fairly nice bathroom.”

  “Sounds good. That's all us guys need to be comfortable, right Jeremy?”

  “Right.”

  Relief washed over Gage. He hadn’t expected Jeremy to champion his cause, or to do it so eloquently, but he had a better chance of keeping Morgan safe if they stayed on the farm. When word got out she had two live-in bodyguards, no one would dare mess with her. He thrust away the ugly feeling that he was deceiving her. Jeremy was getting better day by day. He had Morgan and the therapist to thank for that. If he tried, he could find a way to finance Jeremy’s therapy without relying on Tyson or Bert. He just needed to try harder.

  As soon as he figured out how to resolve things, he would tell Tyson he couldn’t go through with the recovery. He’d wriggled out of worse jams. Somewhere. In a dream, maybe. But before he could call off the dogs, he needed to find out where she’d stashed the flag. If she discovered the real reason he was there, and what he’d agreed to do, she would never believe he had her best interests at heart. She would never believe anything about him again.

  “We’ll stay out of your way,” Gage said. “You’ll never know we’re here. And it’s just for a while. Just until Sean comes home.” Gage tried to sound positive about Sean, even though he was skeptical everything would work out in his favor. “When your brother gets out, and you don’t need your guardians anymore, Jeremy and I will leave.”

  “Her guardian angels. That’s what we’ll be, right Dad?” Jeremy looked directly into his father’s eyes. “You and I will keep her safe.”

  A feeling, as close to pure happiness as he’d ever experienced, swept over Gage. He gazed at his son and swallowed the knot in his throat. He was afraid to breathe; the moment was so perfect.

  Morgan laughed. “Now, that sounds like an offer I would be stupid to refuse.”

  “I know,” Jeremy said, flashing her the easy smile Gage wasn’t sure he would ever see again. “Because the stupid people left hours ago.”

  Chapter 8

  “I know you’ve made a career out of using men, but I’ve never seen you use a dead one before.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Peach said.

  “Hello?” Morgan closed the feed store door. “Hey, you two.”

  “Hey, Morgan,” Ethan said. “I didn’t hear the bell.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Morgan looked from Ethan’s flushed face to Peach. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Peach gathered up her huge purse. “I have to get to work.”

  “I’m right behind you,” Morgan said. “I need to talk to Ethan.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that.” She turned to Ethan. “We’ll talk about this later.” Peach slammed the door on her way out. The bell over the door tinkled wildly.

  “What just happened here?” Morgan asked. “Why were you yelling at each other?”

  Ethan wiped a streak of sawdust off the cash register. “I cannot stand that woman.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “Do you know she came on to me a few months ago? I didn’t say anything because I was embarrassed. I mean, is that the kind of woman I attract? As long as some guy’s paying her way, she doesn’t care whose lap she takes a spin on.”

  “I feel sorry for her.”

  “Why? Because she works two jobs and lives in a trailer with a kid?
Or because she’s a bitch who only bothers with people who can do something for her? She’s slept with every man in town, and she still can’t get one of them to marry her.”

  Morgan glanced around Spannagel’s Feed and Seed Store. The air smelled sweet and earthy, like the booths at the farmer’s market. Floor-to-ceiling display shelves filled with livestock feed and farm supplies lined the plank walls. A barrel of complimentary peanuts sat beside the front door, a tradition in parts of the South. Stray peanut shells lay scattered about the floor to crunch beneath the customers’ feet.

  “How’s the feed store?”

  “It’s still a work in progress, but I can’t complain. Dad never thought I’d make a go of this place, but I’m proving him wrong.”

  Morgan skimmed her fingers over a row of metal wind chime rods, setting off a sharp cacophony of clangs. “It always seemed strange to me that you sold food and supplies to care for animals while your father was busy slaughtering them less than a mile away.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of the circle of life?”

  “It used to be one of my favorite songs. But I think I’m going to have to find a new one.” She leaned her elbows on the counter. “I’m surprised you’re working today.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “Ethan, your father just died,” she said gently. “You’re entitled to a day off.”

  “I don’t want a day off.”

  She picked up a coupon for sheep manure and set it back down. What was she doing there? She had come to ask Ethan if he’d watched Denny throw her against a wall without lifting a finger to help, but the haunted look on his face kept her from saying anything. Ethan was grieving for his dad. It seemed callous to bring it up when he was in so much pain.

  “I came to see how you were doing,” she said. “This has got to be hard for you.”

  Ethan took her hand and held it to his chest. “I always wanted to walk through fire for you, Morgana.” He managed a smile. “Be your knight in slightly tarnished armor.”

  “Well, thank you, kind sir.”

  “We used to be close, you know? Tell each other everything. I miss that. I miss you.”

  “Me, too.” She fought the urge to pull her hand out of his sweaty palm. “When things settle down, we’ll have to get together more often.”