Dangerous Legacy (16 page)

She lagged. “Wait. What if that’s not my house? What if it’s a fire set to draw us in and trap us?”

“Either way we’ll get warmed up. After that we can worry about danger. Or would you prefer to freeze to death out here?”

“Of course not. I just thought—”

“That
you
should decide how the Lord saves us?” Flint chuckled wryly. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been praying ever since I left to chase the thief.”

“So have I. Sort of. Mostly I was asking for help finding you.”

He leaned into the wind and urged her along. “Which you did. But it won’t do either of us a bit of good if we don’t make it to shelter. And I don’t mean that little makeshift tent you brought along.”

“Oh, fine. Now you’re complaining about my preparations. I’m surprised you didn’t berate me for not bringing wire cutters.”

He laughed again, balanced with the staff and hugged her close with his free arm. “Not really, honey. I’m just glad you’re here to tease.” Flint sobered. “Tonight could have ended very differently.”

“I don’t think so.” He thought he heard a catch in her voice as she continued with “I wasn’t about to give up on you again. Once was plenty.”

SIXTEEN

M
aggie had never seen a more welcome sight. She began to shout as soon as they broke out of the forest and entered the clearing by her house. “Harlan. Help! Help us.”

They were struggling up the porch steps before the sheriff opened the door. “Mercy sakes.”

He relieved Maggie of her burden and dragged Flint through the door, not letting him go until they were all warming in front of a blazing fire.

She recovered her voice first. “Everybody else is still out on other calls?”

“Yes. There’s a bunch of lost kids out by the cell tower in Horseshoe and another emergency rescue at the Strawberry River. Snow makes people do crazy things.”

Maggie huffed and stared pointedly at Flint. “I can vouch for that.”

Still standing, Harlan was assessing them. “Will you two be okay if I skedaddle? They need me out there to coordinate another team of my people. I shouldn’t have stayed away as long as I did.”

“Thanks for looking after Mark,” she said. “I’m okay if Flint is. He wasn’t stuck in a bear trap like I thought, but he does have a sore ankle.”

“I’ll be fine. You go, Sheriff,” Flint assured him. “It’s probably just a sprain.”

“If you’re sure. I hate to leave unless you’re sure you can defend yourselves.”

Maggie had to smile when Flint paraphrased something she’d often heard from her own mother. “If it ain’t bleedin’, I ain’t hurt bad.”

Harlan nodded and pulled on his heavy jacket. “I’ll send somebody later to check on you folks or swing by myself. If this snow keeps up it may be a while, though.”

“We’ll be fine,” Maggie said. “I’m well stocked for emergencies.” Her grin widened. “And I know the warden will behave because he’s stove in.”

Chuckling, the older man bid them a quick goodbye and left. When Maggie looked back at Flint he was frowning. “What?”

“You made it sound as if you only trust me because I’m hurt.”

She had to laugh. “Don’t take yourself so seriously, Crawford. After all we’ve just been through, we should both be so thankful we’re dancing around the room.”

“Pardon me if I take a rain check on that,” he grumbled. With a grimace he lifted his booted foot to rest on the raised stone hearth while he shrugged out of his damp coat.

“It was a figure of speech,” Maggie insisted. “You get comfortable and dry out. I’m going to go make coffee and hot soup to warm our insides, too.”

Halfway out of the room she hesitated. “You are all right, aren’t you? I mean, if you thought you had frostbite you’d have told Harlan and gone with him for treatment, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You don’t sound convincing.”

“Probably because I haven’t taken my boot off and looked yet, and my foot feels like pins and needles. Want to give me a hand?”

She was sorely tempted to applaud and give him a hand that way before helping with his boot, but she managed to restrain the urge to be so silly. If she let herself think too deeply about what had happened and acknowledge the dire possibilities they’d avoided, she was afraid she might weep.

Flint must have sensed her fluctuating mood, because he frowned at her and said, “Just help me ease it out, please. Before my foot gets warmer and starts to swell and we have to cut a good boot. And no jokes. I’m not up for that right now.”

“Okay, okay.” Maggie rejoined him. “Ready?”

“No, but the only way I’m going to be able to assess the damage is to look, so I guess I’d better
get
ready.”

“I’ll go slowly. Tell me if it hurts too much.”

“It already hurts too much,” Flint said dryly. “Go ahead. Pull.”

She’d barely touched the boot when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Keep going.”

From the place where the hallway opened into the living room, they heard a faint “Mama?”

“Uh-oh. We woke Mark,” she said.

“Sounds like it.” Flint looked over at his son. The child was rubbing sleep from his eyes while his dog panted beside him. “Hi, buddy. You should be in bed.”

“What happened?” Padding closer, the boy was clearly concerned.

“The warden hurt his ankle,” Maggie explained. “Why don’t you go get me a clean towel to dry his foot with when I get his boot off?”

The green eyes widened. “Is he bleeding like Wolfie did?”

“No, honey. Just very cold.”

“Okay.” Mark spun and disappeared back into the hall. When he returned he was dragging his favorite blue blanket. He only hesitated a second before offering it to his father.

“Better take it,” Maggie told Flint. “He loves that ratty old thing like a best friend. It’s really special for him to loan it to you.”

Flint smiled at Mark and said, “Thanks. Why don’t you sit on my lap so we can share it?”

“Okay.”

While they were busy interacting and she knew Flint wouldn’t want to express pain, she slowly inched his boot farther and farther. Though he did flinch a couple of times, he withstood the soreness well.

“Got it,” Maggie said proudly. She set the soggy boot aside and started to remove his sock. Judging by the way he was gritting his teeth again, this hurt. A lot.

“Why don’t you go get Mommy that dry towel now?” Maggie said to Mark. The five-year-old didn’t look pleased to have to leave the room, but he obeyed.

Flint’s eyes were damp and his cheeks flushed again. “Hurry up and finish torturing me, will you? I don’t want my son to think I’m a wimp.”

“Never,” Maggie assured him. “You’re feeling the injury from the trap and the cold together. It’s bound to be a nasty combination.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

She dropped the wet sock on the hearth and began to gently examine his foot and ankle. There was some light bruising around the Achilles tendon and across the top of the arch, but it really didn’t look too bad. Nevertheless, after she had checked the foot for visible injuries, she continued to hold and caress it. “You’re freezing.”

“You will be, too, if you don’t stop touching me.”

“Is that an objection?” she asked, realizing she was acting as much from her own desires as from a need to impart comfort.

“Yes,” Flint said gruffly. He pulled his foot from her grasp and propped it across his knee so he could look for himself. “Maybe a few pulled tendons or ligaments, but I don’t think it’s broken,” he announced, sounding relieved.

“Good. I’ll go make that coffee and soup now.”

“You do that.” Mark had returned and was handing a clean white towel to Flint. “Make it hot chocolate for me, please. And one for my helpful friend.” As he spoke he pulled Mark’s tattered blanket closer around his shoulders and propped his injured foot on the folded towel to pad the heel and let his flesh warm slowly by the fire.

Maggie was thankful for many things as she left them. If Flint had gotten much colder, he’d have had to bring the foot back to life via cold water baths. Since he wasn’t asking for that treatment, chances were good that he didn’t think he had frostbite. Hypothermia was enough. More than enough. If she had not decided to go after him...

The thought of his suffering and dying out there was so dreadful she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t see past the tears in her eyes until they began to course down her cheeks. Stifling sobs, she covered her mouth with both hands.

Thank God, literally, that she hadn’t broken down like this in front of Flint. It would have been far too revealing. He didn’t even want her to rub circulation back into his injured foot. What would he have to say if she hugged him the way she yearned to and cried all over his wrinkled Sunday shirt?

Maggie grabbed a dish towel, pressed it against her face to absorb any noise and sobbed her heart out.

Then she pulled herself together, brewed coffee and hot cocoa and stirred up a pot of chicken noodle soup. If anyone asked about her reddened eyes, she’d blame the cold weather she’d recently been exposed to. That was plausible as well as a true contributing factor.

Nobody, especially not Flint Crawford, was going to guess how much she still loved him. Later, when and if life settled down to halfway normal, she might admit her burgeoning feelings. But it had to be done right. Calmly and sensibly, not in the same frenetic manner as years before.

In retrospect, she realized the blame was as much hers as his. They had both made irrational demands, sticking to them even when it was plain that doing so doomed their romance. If that mistake had taught her nothing else, it had demonstrated how give-and-take was a crucial part of any relationship.

That, and heartfelt prayer. Nothing in life went nearly as well if she forgot to pray about it, particularly if she waited, as usual, until she was already in deep trouble.

She glanced toward the living room. “Yeah, like now.”

* * *

A dull pulsing in Flint’s foot was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t complaining. No, sirree. Feeling a heartbeat meant the tiny blood vessels were still functioning. The more they throbbed, the more positive he was that he was going to be fine. Given his earlier doubts, he welcomed the painful assurance.

Maggie had carried their son off to bed, then brought extra blankets for him and spread them on the sofa. She’d lingered by the fireplace, giving him the notion that she wanted to talk, yet had said very little. Mostly, she seemed exhausted.

That was no surprise. How she’d managed to find him, free him and get him back there all by herself was amazing.

“In case I forgot to mention it, thanks for coming after me,” Flint said amiably.

“You’re welcome.”

“It was very brave.”

“Thanks.”

“And really, really dumb.”

That got her attention. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mark. How could you take a risk like that when you know he depends on you?”

“He deserves a father, too. I knew where you were and how to reach you. What’s risky about that?”

Flint rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You were not only alone and out of touch with anybody, but you were unarmed.” A furtive look from Maggie made him ask, “You didn’t have a gun, did you?”

“No. You’d locked up my bullets. I figured, once I got to you, if there was a need I could use your handgun.”

“Did we bring it back with us? I remember holding it and wondering if I could make my fingers bend enough to pull the trigger, but I don’t remember picking it up.”

“You didn’t. I did. It’s on top of the fridge,” she said smugly. “You were pretty out of it.”

Flint knew he owed her plenty, probably his life, but it still galled to have to admit it. “Guess so.” The arch of her eyebrows amused him and he chuckled. “What? You think I don’t really appreciate what you did? Well, I do. I just wish you’d found a saner way to accomplish it.”

“That would have been easier if you hadn’t decided to chase a thief in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“You do have a point there.” Taking a deep breath and noting that his throat felt soothed after the hot liquids, Flint leaned back against the pillow Maggie had propped on one armrest of the sofa. Finally, he said, “It was not my finest hour.”

“So why did you do it?”

Although he was pretty sure he knew why, he chose to avoid a direct answer. “Adrenaline, maybe. And wanting to end all the harassment. If we could be sure exactly who was behind the shootings and vandalism and break-ins, it would be a lot easier to catch and punish them.”

“I thought you were positive it was Elwood’s doing.”

“His or the Dodds’. Elwood’s slippery. We’ve repeatedly sent men to all three of the cabins he’s been known to occupy in the past and found no sign of him. That means either he’s on the run and trying to keep from being caught, as usual, or he’s not around at all.”

“Which do you think it is?” Maggie asked, stifling a yawn.

“Most of the clues seem to fit his style, but some things don’t add up. Like the truck that hit you. There’s nothing matching that description registered to any of the Witherspoons, and both Dodds drive cars.”

Watching her, Flint glimpsed a flash of insight that came and went in moments. Propped on one elbow, he pinned her with his gaze. “You just had an idea. I can tell.”

She shook her head and set her jaw.

“Come on. Spill it. We need to work together on this whether you want to or not.”

“I never said I didn’t want to,” she insisted. “Call it self-preservation. The last time I brought this up you nearly bit my head off.”

“No way.” Slumping back against the pillow, he refused to consider what he now suspected was on her mind. “There are no Crawfords left around here but Bess, Ira and me, so you can forget blaming us.”

“You haven’t overlooked some distant cousin or somebody like that?”

“No. I actually questioned Bess, which made me feel terrible, by the way, and she confirmed it. We know about every Crawford in the county and beyond. Too many of them met sad fates, much like my mother and hers before her. That’s why Ira won’t even take an aspirin for a headache. He’s made up his mind that all drugs are poison, even prescription ones.”

“Doesn’t he take something for his dementia?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Flint knew where she was going with her query and didn’t like it one bit. “All that’s done is make the disease progress faster. I told you. He’s unable to function the way he used to. It’s sad but true, so you can cross him off your suspect list.”

“Okay.” Maggie yawned. “If you have everything you need, I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“I’m good. I’ll be sure to keep the fire going.”

“It’s banked,” she countered. “You shouldn’t have to do much before morning. We’re halfway through the night already.” Another yawn.

Flint mirrored her. “Yeah. Harlan will probably be back here asking for pancakes in a couple of hours. We’d better get some sleep.”

“Right. Good night.”

Watching her leave, Flint realized how weary—and how wide-awake—he was. Being around Maggie stole his sleep and left him more confused by the minute. She was so brave she was scary. And yet he admired her courage. He just wished it didn’t keep getting her into trouble—like when she’d testified on behalf of Abigail Dodd’s sanity.

Lacing his fingers behind his head to cradle it, he readjusted his throbbing ankle. Maggie wasn’t the only one who did foolish things. He’d gone into a snowstorm dressed for church, for crying out loud, so there was no way he could fault only her. If he hadn’t grabbed his heavy work jacket on his way out, he probably wouldn’t be alive to complain about anything.