Forever Grace (3 page)

From his prone position, Sean stared up through the canopy of trees at the cloudy, darkening sky, deck planks digging into his shoulder blades. Out on the lake, a loon called, its haunting voice echoing across the water. A leaf drifted down from one of the maples and landed on his chest. He lifted it, peering at it through the gloom. Wondered how many more would cover him by morning. Or by the time someone came looking for him and found him dead of exposure, lying on his back just feet away from the protection of his cottage.

He considered making another attempt to rise, but the pain still thrumming along his bolted-and-wired-together thighbone was a serious deterrent. Best to give it a little longer to recover from the last effort. Passing out right now was definitely
not
in his best interests. He dropped the leaf back onto his chest and returned to staring at the sky.

The situation would have been funny if it wasn’t so goddamn unnerving. His cell phone still lying beside the bed. The faulty lock on the sliding door barring him re-entry. One of his crutches shooting off between the rails and disappearing into the brush beside the deck. All the deck furniture—which might have aided his efforts to regain his feet—long since stored in the shed because he hadn’t planned on returning to the cottage before spring. The encroaching dark, the rapidly cooling temperature, and the presence of that damned bear scat beside the driveway.

And the distinct possibility he’d dislodged at least one of the pins holding together his shattered leg.

A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, McKittrick. A fine, fine mess.

From the woods beyond the deck came the snap of a breaking twig, the sound of something pushing through the undergrowth. Something big. Sean tensed. What now? A freaking bear?

A flashlight beam wavered across the leafy bower above him.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice called, its tone cautious. Guarded. “Is anyone there?”

Sean levered himself up onto his elbows. “Here! On the deck at the back.”

“How badly are you hurt?”

“Apart from my pride?”

A pause. “Um, yes. Apart from that.”

“No worse than I was before I fell off my crutches, I don’t think. But I’ve lost one of the damned things over the side of the deck, and I can’t get up.”

More crashing of brush ensued. “Which side?”

“Opposite where you are now. And watch out for poison ivy. I cleared it out this summer, but I’m not sure I got it all.”

The flashlight beam grew brighter and traveled around the deck. Branches and foliage rustled. A muttered “Hell!” came from the dark, followed by an exasperated “Seriously?”

“Problem?” Sean asked.

“You want the good news or the bad first?” The woman sighed and continued without waiting for his answer. “The good news is, I found your crutch. The bad news is that your poison ivy problem is back—and the crutch is in the middle of it. It will have plant oils all over it, so I’m going to have to wash it before you can use it.”

Sean closed his eyes and lay back again. Wonderful. Just freaking wonderful. And all this because of some kid.

“I suppose he belongs to you, too,” he growled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The kid who caused this whole mess.”

“How is this
his
fault?” The woman’s voice went tart. “You’re the one who yelled at him and took ten years off his life.”

“He’s the one who was trespassing.”

“We didn’t know anyone would be here.”

“And that makes it okay to wander around my house?”

“He was sitting on your deck reading,” she snapped. “It’s not like he was doing any harm.”

“Way to teach him about private property and laws, lady.”

Silence. Then, “You know, for someone in your current predicament, you’re being awfully snarky.”

Sean opened his mouth to retort. He snapped it shut again. She had a point.

More silence.

A sigh.

“Do you have any gloves in the cottage?” she asked.

“No. I threw them out after dealing with the poison ivy this summer. I haven’t replaced them. There’s a bag of old cloths under the sink, but you’ll have to go through the front door to get them. This one’s locked.”

“You locked yourself out?”

“The lock button is loose. I haven’t gotten around to fixing it.”

“I see. And is that Josh’s fault, too?”

He ignored her. “Front door’s unlocked. Light switch is on the wall beside it.”

Her footsteps receded, and a few seconds later a light came on inside the cottage. Sean waited. And waited. And waited. He frowned. How long did it take to get a couple of rags? His mouth twisted. It would just figure if she was in there going through his stuff, robbing him blind. Maybe she and the kid had a scheme going. Son distracts a cottager, causing unknown injuries, and then mom steps in to “help” and cleans out the place.

Sean winced at the weirdness of his own thoughts.

Whoa. Put a cop on painkillers and stand back from the imagination.

Another light came on in the cottage, this one in the living room, and the door slid open. Sean looked over at the woman who stepped out, scanning her with a practiced eye. Caucasian. Five feet, five inches tall—maybe six—it was harder to estimate height from a ground position. Straight, long brown hair, average build, wearing black pants and a red, thigh-length jacket, cinched in at the waist. The woman turned to him, the light from inside falling across her face.

And damned good looking, too.

Kids, Sean. Even if she’s not married, you don’t do kids, remember?

His gaze dropped to the bundle she carried. He frowned. “Blankets?”

“And a pillow.” She crossed the deck to kneel beside him. “This is going to take longer than I thought, so I need to go home and check on the kids before I rescue your crutch and give it a bath. Then we’ll get you upright and back inside.”

He lifted his head from the planks so she could tuck the pillow beneath him. “Kids, plural? How many?”

“Four.” She unfolded a blanket and spread it over him.

Four
? He reappraised her as she unfolded a second cover.

“That’s a lot of kids.”

“They’re not—” She broke off. “Maybe to some. To me, it’s just the right number.”

“And your husband agrees?”

“I’m not married.” A third blanket followed the first two, and the woman pushed to her feet. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t run off anywhere.”

“Funny.”

“I try.”

“One last thing before you go. In my bedroom, behind the door, there’s a shotgun. The shells are in the bedside table drawer.”

She went still. “You keep a gun?”

“I bring one with me when I come out here, as a precaution. For bears. There was a sow and her cubs hanging around the area this summer, and fresh scat beside the driveway when I pulled in earlier. They’ll be trying to fatten themselves up for the winter, and I’d rather not have to fight them off with my bare hands if they decide to come investigate.”

The woman stayed quiet for few seconds, probably mulling over the bear idea. Good. Maybe she’d take her oversized brood and go home.

“I don’t like guns,” she said.

“You’d like cleaning up my remains a lot less,” he pointed out. “I think.”

Her gaze met his. In the faint light coming from the cottage, he couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but he could see the tilt of one eyebrow above them.

“You sure about that?” she asked. But she disappeared into the cottage again, and re-emerged a few minutes later with his 12-gauge in hand.

Sean raised an eyebrow of his own. She might not like guns, but the way she held it told him she’d handled them before. She crossed to his side a second time, leaning down to place the gun at his side and drop a handful of slugs into his hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said. Warm fingers curled over his. “Hang tight.”

Sean watched the flashlight beam disappear into the night again.

AS SOON AS SHE REACHED
the shelter of the trees, Grace paused to regroup. Leaning against a birch that flanked the path, she closed her eyes and sucked in the deep, steadying breath she’d needed since a man’s bellow had reached her in her kitchen. Since she had pulled Josh into her arms, the specter of Barry looming in her brain. Since her entire world had teetered for a moment on the brink of implosion.

She took another breath, in through her nostrils, out through her mouth.

It wasn’t Barry.

Breathe in. Breathe out
.

Barry hadn’t found them.

In. Out
.

They were safe. At least for now.

Slowly, the rush of blood in Grace’s eardrums subsided until other sounds could penetrate again. The rustle of the wind through the trees over her head, the scrabble of something small in the dry leaves to the side of the path. The faint
who-whoo
of an owl near the cottage she’d just left.

And the distinct snap of branches breaking beneath something substantially larger than a mouse.

Grace’s heart did a back flip and crawled into her throat.

How
many bears had he said were in the area?

She shone the flashlight beam into the trees. A pair of eyes—at about the height of a bear standing on its hind legs, she estimated—gleamed back at her. Her innards turned to water.

She turned to run, but instead sprawled headlong onto the leaf-covered path and watched in horror as the flashlight rolled out of reach. Behind her, more branches snapped as something pushed through them. That did it. Her fallen neighbor might not be able to shoot whatever hunted her, but maybe a shot would scare—

A trill reached her, and her throat clamped shut on a half-formed screech. She listened to an answering call and more rustling. Relief flooded her. Raccoons. She’d been running from raccoons. And she’d nearly shrieked her head off over them.

She dropped her head onto her forearm. Laughter born of sheer reaction burbled up in her. Dear Lord, imagine if he’d heard her. What would he have thought? And if he
had
fired a shot…what would the poor kids have thought?

Clamping her lips together, Grace pushed up from the ground and dusted off her knees. She peered through the trees at the cottage waiting for her. The porch light shining like a beacon, Josh’s silhouette moving past the kitchen window. She took another breath and focused on the wire-tautness of nerves that had nothing to do with raccoons.

Barry hadn’t found them. They were safe. They would
stay
safe. She could do this. She had to.

Squaring her shoulders, Grace walked over to retrieve the flashlight. Then she stepped back onto the path and finished her journey home.

Josh answered her knock and reassuring, “It’s me, Josh,” before the words were half out of her mouth.

“Is he all right?” he asked, guilt shadowing his brown eyes.

“He’s fine.” She stepped inside, stripping off her jacket and draping it onto a hook. “Just in a bit of an awkward position.”

She explained their neighbor’s predicament over her shoulder as she went through to the kitchen, ending with her intention to go back out as soon as she’d made sure everyone here was settled. Arriving at the table where the three girls still sat, she surveyed Annabelle’s personal disaster area with a sigh.

“Did
any
of your dinner make it into your belly?” she inquired.

Annabelle lifted her shirt with one fried-potato-covered hand and patted her stomach with the other. She grinned. “Belly.”

“She ate most of it,” Josh said. “But she yelled whenever I tried to take the rest away. I guess I should have tried harder.”

“You did a great job,” Grace told him as she unbuckled the safety harness on Annabelle’s booster seat and lifted the toddler free. “Seriously, Josh. Thank you for taking over for me. Now, if I get the munchkin bathed and into pajamas, will you be okay to read her a story and get her into bed?”

“Won’t you need help getting the man up? He looked pretty big.”

Josh had a point. In Grace’s estimation, their neighbor was well over six feet tall and close to two hundred pounds, but she preferred not to dwell on the
how
just yet. Besides, he looked to be in decent enough shape, so surely once he had both crutches back, he could do most of the work himself. She hoped.

She settled Annabelle on one hip. “I’d love your help, to be honest, but I need you here more. Someone has to watch the girls for me.”

Josh nodded, and she turned her attention to her nieces.

“Lilliane and Sage, can you get yourselves ready for bed tonight?”

Sage, never much of one for words, nodded solemnly.

“We’ll clean the table and wash the dishes, too,” said Lilliane. “Won’t we, Sagey?”

Sage nodded again.

“That would be amazing, ladies. Thank you! And now, Miss Annabelle,” Grace made a face as she picked a glob of potato out of the littlest one’s hair, “it’s off to the bath for you. Or maybe
two
baths.”

It took half an hour to accomplish bath, pajamas, and general organization, and then Grace was back on the path to the other cottage, her hurried steps propelled by guilt and a serious chill in the air that had settled with the dark. She’d given him enough blankets, hadn’t she? And she hadn’t heard a gunshot, so she assumed there’d been no attempted bear attack.

Her fingers tightened on the flashlight as she emerged from the trees into the cottage clearing. A few minutes to wash the poison ivy oils off his crutch for him, a few more to help him back onto his feet and into his cottage, and then—

“If that’s you and not a bear, you should probably say something,” a deep baritone drawled from the deck. “Me being armed with a shotgun now and all.”

“It’s me. Are you holding up okay?”

“Apart from having to pee something fierce, just fine,” he said. “I totally should not have had that tea I brought out with me.”

Despite herself, Grace’s lips twitched. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” she promised briskly. “Are you warm enough?”

“Snug as a bug, thanks.”

“Good. I’m going to get the crutch and give it a bath, then I’ll be out to help you. You do have hot water?”