The Ranch She Left Behind. Kathleen O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ He could have been a pile of black laundry at the foot of the stairs. An inanimate object.

      No, no, no... Her mind was like one of her father’s unbroken horses, running away faster than she could follow. “Please, not again.”

      But then, as if in answer to a prayer, the shadows seemed to shift, then jerk, then fall still again. Another groan.

      Not dead, then. Not dead. As relief swept through her, she heard the jagged gasps of her own lungs, as if she’d been unable to breathe until she was sure he lived.

      He lived.

      The crumpled shadow shifted. The man stood, moving oddly, but moving. Then he ran to the front door, dragging one leg behind him, and, in a sudden rectangle of moonlight, disappeared into the night.

      The minute she couldn’t see him anymore, she sank to her knees, right there on the upper landing. It was a complete collapse, as if the batteries that had locked her legs into the upright position had been abruptly switched off.

      As she went down, she grabbed for the phone on the marble table. It clattered to the floor. She couldn’t feel her fingers, but she found the lighted numbers somehow and punched them in.

      9...1...1...

      * * *

      LATER, AS A PINK DAWN light began to seep into the edges of the black clouds, Penny started to shiver. She grabbed her upper arms with her hands and rubbed vigorously.

      And only then did she finally realize why, as they interviewed her and took her statement, the police officers kept giving her such strange looks and asking whether she might like to finish the interview inside.

      She’d said no because she couldn’t bear the thought. She couldn’t go in there. Not yet. Not until she stopped reliving the moment the man fell down the stairs. Even then, she wondered if she’d be able to enter by the front door. At Bell River, where her mother had died, Penny hadn’t entered by the front in seventeen years.

      But these officers didn’t know any of that. All they knew was how inappropriately dressed she was for a cold June San Francisco dawn. She was wearing only a thin cotton T-shirt. Dingy, shapeless, with sparkly multicolored letters across the chest that read Keep Calm and Paint Something.

      It was too big—she’d lost weight since Ruth’s death—so it hit her midthigh, thank goodness. The letters were peeling because she’d washed it so often. But it had been a gift from Ruth, and Penny had worn it almost every night since her aunt’s death.

      The officer taking her statement was young. Though Penny was only twenty-seven, she felt aeons older than Officer McGregor. Even the name seemed too big for someone who looked more boy than man, not old enough to be out of high school.

      He frowned as she rubbed her arms, and he made a small, worried sound. Then, with a jerky motion, he darted up the steps and into the town house. When he emerged seconds later, he held her running shoes, which she kept by the door, and one of Ruth’s sweaters, which had hung on the coat tree for years.

      He extended them awkwardly. “I just thought, if you really don’t want to go inside...”

      â€œYes. Thank you.” Smiling, she took the shoes gratefully, and wobbled on first one foot, then the other, to tug them on without even unlacing them. His arm twitched, as if he wanted to help steady her, but that was one impulse he did resist.

      He held out the sweater so that she could insert her arms, but even that made him blush.

      â€œThank you,” she said again, warmly enough, she hoped, to make him feel more at ease about whether his gesture had been too personal. “I guess I was numb at first, but the chill started to get to me. I feel much better now.”

      He nodded, obviously tongue-tied, pretending to read over his notes from their interview. She closed the sweater over her chest, wrapped her arms there to hold it shut, and watched him without speaking.

      She was sorry he felt embarrassed. But it was soothing, somehow, to witness this gallant innocence. It was like...a chaser. Something sweet to wash away the bitter aftertaste of the shadowy, hulking threat, who had, in such a surreal way, appeared at her bedroom door.

      â€œPea! Are you mad, girl? It’s freezing out here!”

      She turned at the sound of Ben Hackney’s voice. Oh, no. The first police vehicle had arrived with blue lights flashing, and they must have woken him. He probably had been alarmed, wondering what had happened next door.

      â€œI’m fine, Ben,” she said. As he drew closer, she saw that he carried one of his big wool overcoats, which he draped over her shoulders without preamble.

      â€œYou will be fine—when you get inside. Which you’re going to do right now.” He glared at McGregor. “If you have more questions, you’ll have to ask them another time. I just spoke to your boss over there, and he agreed that I should take Miss Wright in and get her warm.”

      McGregor lifted his square chin—a Dudley Do Right movement. “Miss Wright has indicated that she doesn’t want to go into the house, sir.”

      â€œNot that house, you foolish pup. My house.”

      McGregor turned to Penny. “Is this what you’d prefer, Miss Wright? Is this gentleman a friend?”

      Penny put her hand on Ben’s arm. “Yes, a good friend,” she began, but Ben had started to laugh.

      â€œI’m going to take care of her, son. Not serve her up in a pie.” His voice was oddly sympathetic. “I know how you’re feeling. You want to slay dragons, shoot bad guys, swim oceans in her name.”

      McGregor’s eyebrows drew together, and he started to protest, but he was already blushing again.

      â€œNothing to be ashamed of,” Ben assured him, slapping him on the shoulder. “She has that effect on everyone. Give her your card. That way, if she ever decides she wants to, she can call you.”

      â€œBen, for heaven’s sake.” He had been trying to match her up with a boyfriend for the past ten years. She had to credit him with good instincts, though—he’d never liked Curt.

      She turned to McGregor. “He’s teasing,” she said. “He thinks it’ll make me feel better, after—”

      To her surprise, the officer was holding out his business card. “Oh.” She accepted it, looked at it—which was stupid, because what did she expect it to say, other than what it did? James McGregor, SFPD, and a telephone number. She wished she had pockets.

      For one thing, having pockets would mean she had pants.

      â€œThank you.”

      Then Ben shepherded her away, across the dewy grass, up his stairs—the mirror image of the ones on Ruth’s town house—and hustled her to the kitchen, where she could smell coffee brewing.

      The kitchen was toasty warm, but she kept on the overcoat, realizing that the shivering wasn’t СКАЧАТЬ