Stalked In Conard County. Rachel Lee

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      Then he’d heard that Haley McKinsey was in town to take care of her grandmother’s house. All of a sudden he didn’t feel quite so safe. What if she remembered him even after all this time?

      Going by the house last night to look in on her while she was sleeping had been a test as much as anything. Yeah, he’d wanted to scare her a bit if she woke, but mostly he’d wanted to know if he could remember her. She’d been a kid when he’d last seen her, but if he could recognize her…well, buried somewhere deep in that blond head there might be a memory of him. He’d recognized her. She was just an older version of the kid.

      So she might recognize him. But apparently she hadn’t because if she had, she surely would’ve called the cops pronto. Still, that didn’t make him feel terribly safe because she hadn’t gotten a good look at him, what with it being dark, and how fast he had ducked when her eyes opened. But she’d get a really good look if she ran into him on any street in this town.

      Obviously, he hadn’t learned to restrain his impulsiveness, though he’d been working on it for years. Looking in that window might have been royally stupid, might have dredged up memories. On the other hand, it might have told him that he needed to hightail it to some other part of the country.

      He’d never been a settled man. Half-unpacked wherever he went, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

      Regardless, he had to hurry her back to wherever she’d come from so he could bury all that stuff in the grave where he’d been keeping it for a long time. He couldn’t live on the edge of fear for long. He’d figured that out when he’d kidnapped her.

      He’d also learned over the years that he was capable of a lot worse than kidnapping if his blood got riled enough, so that woman better not recognize him. She might wind up dead, and while he assured himself he wasn’t a murderer, it wouldn’t be the first time if he got upset enough. Worse, whatever he told himself about everything being the fault of circumstances and his own impulsiveness, not some rooted evil, he couldn’t escape the shiver of pleasure than ran through him when thinking about killing Haley.

      She’d been stalking his nightmares and dreams for a whole bunch of years. He didn’t deserve that. He’d returned her safe and sound, after all. He deserved some peace after all this time. He’d built a respectable life for the most part. Look at him now. He didn’t need that woman’s ghost sitting on his shoulder all the time.

      Word making the rounds was that she’d be here only a few weeks. Sure, so what was she doing hanging out with that saddle-making dude?

      But given the assumption that she was going to clean house, put the place on the market and leave, the local “welcomers” hadn’t tried to make an appearance yet. No casseroles arriving. No pies or plates of cookies. Just the saddler who was often at that house anyway, doing odd jobs from the look of it.

      Maybe that was the only reason McLeod was there now.

      That didn’t make Edgar feel a whole lot better, though. Now he had to waste time figuring out if he needed to do something else, like peep in a few more windows so the attention wouldn’t be drawn to Haley and create the impression someone was interested in her especially. Someone might well put two and two together if she was the only one visited.

      Hell. He rubbed his face and looked down at Puddles. Small enough to fit in his tote when needed, and about the best companion he’d ever had. He wished the dog could give him some answers.

      Because if there was one thing life had taught Edgar, it was that he wasn’t much of a thinker. Plotting, planning… Damn, what a waste of time and effort. And now he might be stuck needing to do it.

      “Come on, Puddles,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

      Puddles wagged her tail happily and continued to trot at Edgar’s side. Why couldn’t everything be as easy as this dog?

      Ridiculously—or so Haley told herself—being alone in the house after Roger left really bothered her. She’d been alone here for most of the last two days, working her way through mementos, treasures and trash, and thinking almost constantly of her grandmother. She’d felt comforted then by being so close to the woman she had loved as only a child can love.

      Now she was uncomfortable?

      She shook herself and gathered some boxes she’d purchased two days ago, spending a few minutes to fold them into shape. Most of her grandmother’s clothes would have to be donated, at least the ones in good enough condition. It seemed she, like her granddaughter, occasionally like to wear a pair of pants or a shirt until it was just shy of falling apart.

      Slowly she began to empty drawers, first from Grandma’s bedroom. Later she’d gather from upstairs, where a whole lot seemed to have accumulated. Proof, she supposed, that stuff filled the space available. Then she’d have to start on the books. Maybe she ought to call the local librarian—Miss Emma, she recalled—and ask if she wanted donations, possibly for a fund-raising sale. To judge by the creaking and overflowing bookcases upstairs, Flora had bought nearly as many books as she’d read.

      That made Haley smile at last. She had the book bug, too, but avoided needing yards of shelf space with her e-reader. Great invention, especially for someone living in a small apartment.

      She did, however, miss the smell and feel of books. Her memory reached into her younger days, summoning the remembrance of getting a new book, opening it, smelling the ink and feeling the paper, seeing those tightly bound pages as a mystery to be explored. The e-reader just didn’t give her those tactile sensations, nor quite the sense of adventure. Once in a while she went to the library just so she could feel the weight of a book in her hands.

      Flora had never wanted to give up on that from the looks of the upstairs.

      But first the clothes. Undergarments went into the first box. Most of what she found approached pristine condition, almost as if Flora had bought it all then had scant opportunity to use it. Or maybe when she’d grown ill, she had started to wonder what her granddaughter would find in these drawers and had replaced the most intimate items. That would be like her, all right. She wouldn’t want to leave anything tattered or stained behind her.

      In the next drawer she found neatly folded nightgowns, but one in particular caused her breath to catch and her throat to tighten. It was almost threadbare now, but the pale green flowers stamped on the white background, an old-fashioned look, carried her back to her visits. Grandma had often worn that when Haley stayed with her and, holding it now close to her face, Haley could almost feel her presence.

      That one was not going to charity. It was too old and worn to begin with, but it was also loaded with memories. Little Haley had loved it and Grandma knew it, which was probably the only reason she’d kept it all this time.

      Blinking back tears, Haley folded it carefully and put it on the end of the bed. For now, at least, it was a treasure she would keep.

      She paused, looking out the open window to see that the day had begun to dim. Where had all the time gone? She glanced at the digital alarm clock beside the bed and saw that it was still early. Then she remembered. When the sun fell behind the mountains, the light changed, not exactly darkening, but losing some of its depth and brightness. A long twilight had just begun. Only slowly, and much later, would real darkness begin to approach. She had hours left.

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