Just West of Heaven

by Maureen Child

  Toby’s features stiffened. “The law’s where gray matters most.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There’s reasons for most everything folks do, Ridge. And that’s the gray part. You got to look at the reasons.”

  That notion went against everything Ridge had lived by for the last several years. Always before, his choices had been easy ones. There was the law and then there was no law.

  Did reasons matter when a law was broken? Sometimes, he admitted silently. If one man killed another, but it was done while defending himself, that didn’t make the man a murderer.

  Sophie’s face swam up to the surface of his mind. He saw her eyes, her smile. He felt her kiss and heard the soft sigh of her breath in the darkness and his body stirred. There was no lying to himself. It wasn’t because of the law that he wanted to know Sophie’s secrets. It was because she’d awakened something, inside him that he hadn’t even been sure existed.

  His heart.

  “I seen this kind of thing before,” Toby whispered.

  “When?” Ridge said, grateful to be pulled away from such dangerous thoughts.

  “My sister had the ‘sight.’”

  “Didn’t know you had a sister.”

  “She died. A long time ago.”

  Simple words and a world of pain behind them.

  “I’m sorry, Toby.”

  He shook his head and swallowed whatever pain remained. “No need.” He looked at Ridge through steady, older-than-the-hills eyes. “That time’s passed. But this child,” he said softly, “this child is special. She knows things and don’t know yet to be quiet about it. Her heart’s in her words, Ridge. And that heart has to be protected.”

  Yes, it did, he told himself. But the question was, who did she need protecting from?

  ●

  “Thank you, honey,” Hattie said and handed Jenna a cookie.

  “Welcome,” the girl said, then took a bite before she skipped out the back door to join Travis in the yard.

  “Thank you?” Sophie asked as she came into the kitchen just a heartbeat later.

  Hattie spun around, slapped one hand to her abundant bosom, then chuckled as she said, “Lord have mercy, girl, you took about ten years off my life, slippin’ in so quiet that way.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said and set her bag down onto the kitchen table beneath the partially opened windows. A three-layer cake sat in the middle of the table awaiting its final layer of frosting and a pot on the stove bubbled with the scent of beef and onions. Twin loaves of freshly baked bread sat cooling on the counter, and Sophie’s stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation.

  “You’ve been busy,” she commented.

  “I do tend to cook when I get nervous,” Hattie explained.

  “Nervous? About what?”

  The older woman lifted one hand to smooth her hair unnecessarily, then blushed like a schoolgirl. Her hands fluttered at her waist, smoothing her apron over and over again as she looked guiltily around the room before taking a step closer to Sophie.

  “Elias... the reverend?” she said.

  “Is he all right?”

  “Oh.” She waved one hand. “Right as rain. And better.” A small smile curved her lips briefly before she said in an excited hush, “He’s asked me to marry him and—”

  “Hattie!” Sophie interrupted, giving the other woman a quick, hard hug. “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks, honey,” the woman said, giving her a good, solid pat on the back. “Though, to tell you the truth I’d about given up hope the man would ever speak up. I ain’t getting any younger, ya know.”

  Sophie looked at her friend and saw only the shining blue eyes and the easy smile. Hattie was the kind of woman who would never really be old. She would slide into old age gracefully, living life as fully as she did now.

  Hard to believe that a month ago, Sophie hadn’t even known this woman—this town—existed. And now Hattie and the rest of Tanglewood were such a part of her life, she couldn’t imagine being without them. “But,” she asked “what were you thanking Jenna for?”

  A flush crept up and colored Hattie’s cheeks. “Well, Elias gave me the prettiest little ol’ necklace. And I couldn’t find it anywhere. I about tore this house apart lookin’ for it, but kept comin’ up empty.”

  “Yes...” Wary now, Sophie waited and noted the near guilty expression in her friend’s eyes.

  “Now darlin’,” Hattie said, tilting her head to one side, “I know you don’t say nothin’ about it, but I’ve noticed some things, well, about Jenna and—”

  “What things?” Sophie asked and felt long, naked fingers of fear scratch at the back of her throat.

  “Now, now,” Hattie said and all but shoved Sophie down into the nearest chair. “Me and Travis, well, we spend a lot of time with the girl and it’d be plain hard not to notice that she... knows things.”

  “You’re wrong,” Sophie blurted and tried to stand up.

  But Hattie kept one big hand pressing down firmly onto her shoulder. “Don’t get yourself in a snit, child. There’s nothin’ to fret over.”

  Yes there was, Sophie thought wildly. She couldn’t let these people know about Jenna. She couldn’t confirm what Hattie obviously thought. Because once she did, it would all start over again. The same thing that had happened in Albany. People would whisper about them. They’d point. And stare. And they’d find ways, little ways, to exclude her and Jenna. To make them feel like the outsiders they always were.

  Not to mention the threat of word somehow reaching out across the country to Charles.

  “You’ve made a mistake, Hattie,” she said hurriedly, her words tripping over themselves. “Jenna makes up stories. Just like any other little girl. She’s only playing when she says these things.”

  Hattie gave her a soft smile and held out her right hand. Turning it palm up, she uncurled her fingers to display the small gold cross on its delicate chain lying in the center of her palm. “Jenna found this for me,” she said and waited until Sophie had shifted her gaze from the necklace back up to her before continuing. “The clasp broke and I’d tucked it away in an empty flour tin in the pantry for safekeeping while I was doing the baking. And I plumb forgot about it.”

  “A lucky guess,” Sophie muttered.

  “More than luck,” Hattie told her softly.

  “No,” she said stubbornly, shaking her head for emphasis.

  “Darlin’,” the other woman said, “Jenna couldn’t possibly have known where I put this thing. But when I mentioned I’d lost it, she went right to it like a huntin’ dog on a full moon.”

  “Hattie…”

  “Don’t fret, child,” Hattie told her and pulled out another chair to sit beside her. “This is a wonderful thing she can do.”

  “Wonderful?” Sophie repeated with a harsh, bitter laugh. “Is it wonderful to be four years old and have adults look at you like you’re a cross between heaven and hell?”

  “Nobody’d do that.” Hattie sounded appalled at the very notion, which Sophie supposed was one consolation. But only one.

  Sophie gave her a sad smile. “Everybody does that.”

  “Now, honey,” her friend said, leaning back in a too-small chair that groaned in protest at the movement. “What I think is—”

  Sophie didn’t hear the rest of that sentence.

  A blinding, staggering flash of pain exploded behind her eyes. She gasped, clapped both hands to her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Instantly, a vision rose up from the shadows of her mind and blossomed.

  Jenna.

  In the schoolhouse.

  Screaming.

  CHAPTER Thirteen

  Sophie raced through the back door. Her feet barely touched the steps as she flew down off the porch and hit the ground at a dead run. She threw a wild look around the y
ard as she ran in a last, desperate hope that her vision was wrong. That Jenna was safe here, with Travis.

  But there was no sign of her. In a heartbeat, she saw it all. The clumps of grass, the windswept earth, the emptiness.

  Behind her, Hattie shouted, “What is it? Where are you going?”

  But there was no time to answer. No time to waste at all.

  Gathering her skirt up in both fists, she hiked the hem high above her knees so it wouldn’t slow her down, then pushed every thought but one out of her mind. She had to get to Jenna.

  The uneven ground rattled her teeth with every jouncing step, but she paid no attention. Every breath, every silently muttered prayer, was for Jenna’s safety.

  She took the shortest route possible.

  An empty wooden crate lay across her path and Sophie never slowed down. She jumped it like a gazelle, landing hard and still running. Her hair fell from its tight knot to stream behind her in her wake like a living flame, waving and swirling in the wind she created. Her chest tight, she struggled for air and cursed the blasted corset that had her lungs in a stranglehold.

  The sun at her back, she kept her gaze fixed on the schoolhouse in the distance. Not so far now, she told herself. Almost there. Jenna. Her eyes teared from the wind and the sun and the fear.

  Someone shouted to her, but she didn’t take her gaze from her goal. So close. Surely she’d be in time. Why would she get a vision if it wasn’t so that she could save Jenna?

  A dog bounded out at her from beneath the gunsmith’s shop and gave chase, its tail wagging furiously as it joined in the game. Darting in front of her suddenly, the animal destroyed her rhythm, and Sophie staggered, caught herself, then fell, sprawling face and hands down onto the pebble-strewn ground.

  The dog, sensing there was more fun to be had, jumped onto her back and tugged gently at her hair.

  “Down,” she shouted, after spitting out a mouthful of dirt. Then half turning, she pushed him off and struggled to her feet again. Sharp, stinging needles of pain stabbed at her palms and her chin ached from where she’d scraped it. The dog jumped up and down around her in a weird sort of dance, but Sophie ignored him and ran again, stumbling now, but still determined.

  Then she heard it.

  The scream that had ripped through her mind and heart and sent her running through town like a crazy woman.

  ●

  Ridge heard it, too, and was already moving by the time Toby muttered, “What in hell was that?”

  “The school,” he whispered to himself and raced toward it. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Sophie, bedraggled, panic-stricken, stumbling toward the little building from the back way.

  But he didn’t wait for her. His long-legged strides carried him on and he barely heard Toby and others coming along behind him. Jumping up the front steps, he threw the door open, glanced around with a practiced eye, and then ran through the schoolroom into the back. To the living area that had been built for Sophie and Jenna.

  Storming through the partially opened door, he stepped into the tiny parlor and stopped dead. Jenna, face white, mouth open, stared into the far corner. Sophie burst through the back door, wild-eyed, like some ancient warrior woman he’d once heard tell of.

  Ridge ignored her. His gaze flicked to the corner and even as his heartbeat quickened, his instincts roared into life, leaving him cool and calm. His right hand swept to the pistol on his hip and without thinking, without conscious thought at all, he drew that gun, pointed, aimed, and fired all in one smooth motion.

  And the coiled rattler died before it could strike.

  The explosion of sound still echoed in the small room as Sophie fell to her knees, grabbed Jenna, and pulled her close. The little girl threw her arms around the woman’s neck, held on tight and cried for all she was worth.

  Ridge watched the tender scene and could almost feel the girl’s sobs and shudders. Sophie’s hands moved up and down the child’s back as if she were trying to reassure herself of Jenna’s safety. Tears slid down Sophie’s dusty cheeks, leaving dirty tracks that seemed to lead straight to Ridge’s heart.

  Damn it, he thought, this was no kidnapper and victim. That child loved Sophie, and it was clear to anyone with eyes how this woman felt about the girl in her arms. So where did that leave him? With more questions and fewer answers.

  ●

  Sophie held the warm, solid little body close and counted each of Jenna’s shaky breaths as a blessing. Tremors coursed through her, and she wasn’t sure if she was supporting Jenna or if it was the other way around. Everything had happened so quickly. Her vision, her race to the school, crashing into the room only to find Ridge already there.

  Thank God he’d been here. Her gaze lifted then to meet the hard, even stare of the man across the room from her.

  “She all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “thanks to you.”

  He nodded, then the room filled with other voices, other people.

  “What’s going on here?” Hattie demanded, panting for breath after her run.

  “Ever’thing all right?” Toby’s deep voice asked.

  There were others, Sophie knew. She sensed them. Absently heard them. But they were nothing more than a low buzz of sound. She felt as if she were floating, drifting farther and farther away from the schoolhouse, Jenna, and the man whose pale blue eyes haunted her waking and sleeping.

  She swayed and said, “How odd,” as pillars of darkness appeared at the edges of her vision.

  “Sophie?”

  She squinted at him and saw his lips form her name, but she couldn’t hear him. Strange, she thought. Very strange. And then she pitched forward into the spreading blackness.

  ●

  “C’mon now, Sophie,” Ridge said and slapped her cheeks gently. “Wake up. Come on.”

  Her long, curly red hair lay spread out on the flat pillow and her face looked as pale as the sheet beneath her. He eased down beside her on the edge of the cot and studied her features. As pale as she was, he could count the splattering of freckles across her nose.

  “Sophie?”

  She moaned and turned her face away from him but he wouldn’t let her escape him. Damn it, he guessed he couldn’t blame her for fainting clean away, but did she have to stay unconscious?

  Grumbling to himself, he reached out and poured a small splash of whiskey into a drinking glass. Then, lifting her head off the pillow, he held the glass to her lips and eased a bit of the liquor into her.

  She sputtered, came up gasping, and twisted away from him.

  “What is that?” she murmured groggily.

  “Whiskey.”

  “I don’t drink, thank you very much.”

  As pleased as he was to hear her talking again, a part of him recognized that the first words out of her mouth were an argument.

  Damn woman, he thought with a half-smile.

  “Maybe not usually,” he said and helped her up as she pushed herself to a sitting position on the cot. “But you fainted. I think you’re still in shock. So you’ll drink this and be quiet about it.”

  She reached up and pushed her hair out of her eyes long enough to glare at him. She was still too pale, but at least her eyes were open.

  “You’re a very bossy man.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he said, holding the glass out to her. “Now drink up.”

  She took the glass from him, her fingers brushing across his, and Ridge tried to ignore the swift, almost electrical charge that just touching her caused.

  Staring down into the amber liquid, she grimaced tightly. “It smells terrible. And tastes worse.”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” he admitted.

  “Why would you want to acquire a taste for—”

  “Sophie,” he said, “you’re stalling. Drink it.”

  “I’m not
stalling, as you put it,” she said, “I simply asked a question.”

  His gaze narrowed into slits.

  “Fine,” she snapped and lifted the glass, pouring the whole drink down her throat in one gulp.

  Ridge’s eyes widened.

  Instantly, her eyes welled with tears, and she clutched at her throat with one hand and gasped her way into a choking cough. “Oh, sweet heaven!” she finally managed to say.

  “You get used to it,” he told her and poured another good-sized shot of whiskey into the glass before handing it back to her.

  “No more,” she said and tried to hand it back, but he refused it.

  “One more.” He nodded at her. “You’re not as pale as death anymore. Let’s see if we can’t get some color in your cheeks before we talk.”

  She went completely still. Except that her grip on the glass tightened until her knuckles shone white against her already milky skin. “Talk? Talk about what?” Then, as if it had just occurred to her, she glanced around the tiny cell, taking in the high, narrow window lined with iron bars and the slashes of sunlight painted across the floor. She sucked in a slow, deep breath and asked, “Why am I in jail? Where’s Jenna?”

  “Jenna’s with Hattie,” he said. “I asked her to take care of her for a while so you and I could talk about a few things. And you’re not in jail. You’re at the jail. There’s a difference.” He waved one hand at the open doorway. “You’re not locked in.”

  Sophie shot him another long look from the corner of her eye and scooted to the edge of the cot. “Good. In that case, I’ll just be going over to the boardinghouse to check on—”

  “Jenna’s fine,” he interrupted her. “In fact,” he said, “you’re in worse shape than she is.” He took one of her hands and studied the palm, scraped and dirty. He sighed and ran the tip of his finger along the scratches, feeling her tremor as his own.

  “I fell,” she said, shrugging it off. “I was running and there was a dog and—”

  “You were running,” he repeated and watched her turn wary eyes on him. “Why?”