Dangerous Legacy. Valerie Hansen

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СКАЧАТЬ “I doubt that. There ain’t many hunters round here who’d miss unless they meant to. You ask me, those shots were a warning.”

      Flint grimaced as a paramedic disinfected his shin and slapped a small bandage on it. Harlan was right. Country boys grew up learning to hit what they were aiming at. Whoever was behind this attack had missed on purpose. If Maggie hadn’t been standing next to him at the time of the shooting, she would have been his chief suspect.

      As if his thoughts had drawn her, she spoke from behind them. “Do you need to see proof of Wolfie’s vaccinations, Sheriff?”

      Harlan shook his head. “Not unless Flint here wants to check ’em.”

      “I trust you,” Flint said. “I’m just surprised you let that dog wander loose where he can bite people.”

      Maggie huffed. “I don’t suppose you’d believe he’s hardly ever growled at anybody else in the four years since I rescued him.”

      “Honestly?”

      “Scout’s honor,” she replied. “He usually barks to tell me someone’s here, but that’s about all.”

      Flint swallowed hard. Maybe he should have stayed in Serenity almost six years ago, for Maggie’s sake, but when she’d refused to even consider eloping he’d decided she didn’t truly love him. In retrospect, he’d wondered if she’d simply been defying her parents by dating him in the first place.

      As the years had passed, he’d been forced to admit that their teenage romance had been doomed. Perhaps they’d been overly attracted to each other because the relationship was forbidden by both their feuding families. It was certainly a possibility.

      And now? Flint studied her closed expression. He and Maggie were very different people. Besides, plenty of gossip had made its way to him since his recent return, and her phone call to her mom had confirmed it. Maggie was a single mother. Clearly, she had moved on and he’d better do the same. Too bad he’d been assigned to renew their acquaintance.

      What puzzled Flint was how Captain Lang had learned about their ill-fated romance. Stories about it could have come up when the department had been researching Elwood Witherspoon and his kin, he supposed. There was no way to discuss Witherspoon and his relatives without mentioning their long-standing feud with the Crawfords. And the way Flint had chosen distance as a means of defusing the mounting tension would certainly have come up.

      Maggie’s deep-seated anger surprised him, though, particularly since he had yet to broach the subject of her uncle’s whereabouts. Hadn’t she read any of his letters? Didn’t she understand he’d acted in the best interests of them both? Even if she disagreed with his choices, surely she could see things from his perspective.

      Flint pushed those thoughts aside. Until the police figured out who had taken a potshot at them, they’d both have to be on guard. He had combat training. Maggie did not. Therefore, since the sheriff wouldn’t take special precautions to protect her, he would have to look into the cause and come up with some answers. Whether she liked it or not. And stay alive in the process.

      And speaking of things she was not going to like, he figured he might as well get it over with so he said, “By the way, can you tell me where your uncle Elwood is living these days?”

      “What does he have to do with this?”

      “Probably nothing. I just need to locate him and have a little talk.”

      She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea where he is, nor do I care.”

      This was not going to be easy at all.

TWO

      Maggie phoned her mother again to make sure Mark was safe, then fidgeted until Flint and the police finally finished their rainy investigating and drove away. If the sun had not set, she wondered if they’d have prowled around even longer.

      Combing her long hair more to one side to cover the tiny butterfly bandage on her cheek, she grabbed her purse and headed for her truck. Wolfie leaped in before she finished saying, “Yes, you can go.”

      Smiling, Maggie slid behind the wheel and started for town, noting how her fingers didn’t want to hold still. She wasn’t wired because of seeing Flint. No, sir. Being shot at was the problem. It had made her “jumpy as a baby chick at a possum party,” as her daddy used to say.

      Harlan hadn’t mentioned any names, but she knew who he probably blamed for the shooting. It hurt to think that the most likely suspect was her own great-uncle, but there was no getting around it. Elwood Witherspoon was a throwback to the days when country people had settled their own quarrels. A lot of old-timers still talked a good fight, but they weren’t serious. Elwood was. He delighted in using history as an excuse to break current laws. Worse, he was teaching his three grandsons to follow in his footsteps.

      Maggie grasped the wheel tighter. Even a mean-looking dog was no protection against an enemy with a rifle, kin or not. And if the target happened to be wearing the forest green uniform and badge of a game warden in Elwood’s neck of the woods, he might as well have a bull’s-eye painted on his back.

      Since the shooting, she had begun to feel as vulnerable as she had after her testimony at Abigail’s competency hearing. The old woman’s niece and nephew, Missy and Sonny Dodd, had threatened to shut down the sanctuary as soon as they got the chance, and had blamed Maggie for their loss in court.

      Now somebody else was threatening her and Flint was involved this time. In a rural place like Serenity, danger could lurk in every shadow, behind every tree. Her agitated state caused her to picture new threats at each twist and turn of the nearly deserted road.

      Already wired, Maggie overreacted when headlights gleamed behind her, blinding her with their glare. She accelerated. It didn’t help. The vehicle kept closing the distance between them.

      Maggie’s heart began pounding so hard she could count the beats at her temples. Every muscle was taut. The nearer the follower drew, the higher his headlights appeared. It had to be a truck—a lot bigger than hers.

      A highway passing lane was coming up. Suppose the other driver’s actions were nothing more than a result of her slower speed and overactive imagination? Maybe if she hit her brakes...

      She whispered, “Please, God?” and lightly tapped the brake pedal to flash her stoplights.

      The larger truck slammed into her rear bumper and sent Wolfie flying at the dash despite her outthrust arm. Dazed and shaking his huge head, he climbed back onto the seat beside her and licked her cheek.

      “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.”

      Normally she’d pull over and see if there had been any damage to her vehicle, but not this time. Not here where there were no houses or lights. And certainly not after what had happened earlier, at home. She swung into the far right lane as soon as the road divided for easy passing.

      “No, no, no!” The lights were coming at her again! Faster than before. She held tight to the wheel with her left hand and grabbed Wolfie’s collar with her right. “Lord, help us!”

      As if in answer to the frantic prayer, the headlights swung to her left. Had her panic been for nothing? What a foolish mistake.

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