Guardian's Joy #3 (47 page)

Elizabeth grinned back. “You a fan?”

“Don’t have a choice when I’m stuck at the
jail. We get two channels up here and I have no interest in
Hollywood. Good thing you like to read.” He nodded to indicate her
shirt. “A librarian, huh?”

“Used to be,” she said. She was pleased when
he didn’t follow up with a comment about horn rimmed glasses or
hair worn in a bun. There were hundreds of librarian jokes out
there and she’d heard them all. Over and over and over.

“Used to be?”

“I signed the lease on the Connor place the
day after I quit. I’d been thinking about it for a long time and
searching for the right place. When Mr. Begley contacted me about
this place, I jumped at the chance.”

“Eugene Begley?” He didn’t look happy when
she nodded.

They turned through an opening in a thick
hedge into another lane, two parallel dirt tracks through the
grass. The trees disappeared and were replaced by wide open fields
on either side of the track. The drive curved past the front of a
two story farmhouse with a wraparound porch and continued on to a
large barn. Stars glittered overhead and a sliver of moon peeked
out from behind a cloud.

Marshall stopped in front of the porch steps.
“This is it. Home sweet home.” He was out and around to her side of
the car before she had her seatbelt off. He held out his hand and
she felt an almost electric zing course through her when his
fingers closed around hers. It wasn’t unpleasant like the static
shock you sometimes get from a light switch. This was a tingle of
what she could only describe as sexual interest. How strange. She’d
never felt anything like it before. It was unsettling and she tried
to ignore it. He led her to the house, his head scanning left and
right as if expecting to see someone.

The night was so still, Elizabeth could hear
soft whinnies and the muted thuds of moving hooves from the dark
silhouette of a long, low barn off to her right. When the officer
paused and lifted his head, Elizabeth thought he was taking a
moment to enjoy the stars and the moon. Then she realized he was
scanning the tree line around the fenced field. He shook his head
and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth whispered.

“Nothing.” He shook his head again and blew
out his breath. “Something’s been spooking my horses, coyote maybe
and for a minute I thought it was out there. I was listening. It’s
nothing for you to be worried about. They don’t attack people.
Normally it wouldn’t bother me either. They can’t get in, but I’ve
got a couple of mares ready to foal and I don’t want them upset.”
He shrugged sheepishly. “They’re my babies.”

He opened the screen door and flipped on the
light as Elizabeth stepped inside. She stopped short and pulled the
blanket tighter around her shoulders looking down at her dirty legs
and feet.

“Go on,” he said and gave her a gentle push
from behind. “This is a farm. There’s no shit you can carry in that
hasn’t been carried in before.” He pointed up the stairs. “Spare
bedroom is the last door on the right. Bathroom is the second on
the left.”

“Bathroom first. Definitely.”

Chapter 3

The good news? Chief Marshall Goodman wasn’t
married and there were no lady friends in the picture. Bad news? He
lived with someone named Henry and Henry had chosen the beautiful
tile work in the bathroom and the carpeting and coordinating
draperies in the living room and the new kitchen curtains with the
cute little tea set print.

Elizabeth was a big girl. She knew that
fantasies don’t come true. Otherwise they wouldn’t be fantasies,
right? But just once, she’d like a fantasy that lasted more than a
day or two or in this case, more than an hour or two. After all,
how often are you going to be rescued and taken home by an
incredibly handsome guy who is legitimately employed and a
respected member of the community? The latter being the number one
and two spots on her mother’s list of What To Look For In A
Man.

Her first hint should have been the
decadently soft and fluffy purple robe he’d given her to wear over
her current nightgown; one of his t-shirts. The robe pooled around
her feet and the front flaps almost wrapped around her back. His
initials were embroidered under a black and gold crown on the
breast pocket. The robe didn’t fit with his rugged demeanor at all.
He said it was a Christmas gift. But hey, if you listened to the
women who chatted in the library, relatives tended to give
inappropriate gifts all the time, so how was she to know?

After her shower, Marshall showed her around
the house, which was how she’d learned of the decoratively talented
Henry, and told her to make herself at home. It was a great place,
over a hundred and fifty years old, with four large rooms on the
first floor and four bedrooms above.

“This is the original woodwork, isn’t it?”
Elizabeth ran her hand over the carved newel post as she took in
the oak staircase and the carved molding around the ceiling. “It’s
beautiful. You couldn’t find this kind of work anymore.”

“My great grandfather built the place for his
new wife who was born and raised in Virginia.” He waved his arm
around, indicating the house as a whole and smiled wryly. “At the
time, folks thought he was crazy, spending cash money on fancy
millwork from the city when there was plenty of wood to be had
right outside the door, but his wife insisted. She was a city girl
and refused to raise a family in the three room cabin that had, up
‘til then, been the family home.”

“I can’t say I blame her,” Elizabeth said
smiling. “I’m not sure I could go from a home with all the comforts
to a cabin in the woods.”

There he went, sucking in his cheeks again
and releasing them with a pop. “I reckon you’d get used to it if
you had to.”

“I suppose I would,” she admitted, “But it
wouldn’t mean I’d enjoy it.”

“We’ll see.” He glanced at the clock on the
mantle. It was the fourth time his eyes had strayed and while he
was acting the congenial host, she could tell his mind was
elsewhere.

“I’m keeping you,” she said, “You have things
to do.”

“I was supposed to meet Henry and the boys an
hour ago,” he confessed. “They’re counting on me showing up. I
really have to go.”

What could she say? She was modern. She
understood.

“You go ahead and have a good time,” she
said, “Frankly, I’m exhausted and ready for bed. I’ll see you in
the morning or whenever you two get up. Maybe you can drive me over
to my house and George can tow my car there. I’ve been a terrible
bother.”

Marshall looked relieved. “It’s no bother.
I’ll see what I can borrow from Max for you to wear. You’re about
the same size.” And then he was gone.

Poor Max. Elizabeth wondered how he’d feel
about loaning out his clothes to a five foot three, a hundred and
fifteen pound woman. And who would have thought there was such an
active gay community in these sleepy mountains. It was near
midnight on a weekday and the party was still going strong. Mr.
Begley had told her the village rolled up the sidewalks at 8PM.
Obviously, he was unaware. Well, it wasn’t up to her to let the cat
out of the bag.

She poured herself a glass of milk and went
up to bed.

She awoke in a panic, bolting upright and
fighting the sheets tangled about her legs. She wasn’t sure where
she was or what awful sound had awakened her. It came again from
outside her window. Not one sound, but many. The barn. The horses!
She grabbed the robe and ran for the hall.

“Marshall! Chief!” she yelled as she tied the
robe in place.

Elizabeth banged on the door he said was his
and opened it when he didn’t answer. The bed was undisturbed.
Marshall wasn’t home.

Halfway down the stairs, her toe caught the
hem of the robe and she started to fall. She landed against the
handrail, pirouetting like a drunken ballerina, and stumbled down
two more steps before half leaping, half falling over the last
three. She landed on one knee, pushed off of her stable foot and
burst through the wooden screen door. It crashed against the
outside wall and she felt the closer spring whip over her head when
the screws holding it ripped free of the frame. Sometimes being
short was a plus.

Faint yellow light was flickering from the
small square of window at the near corner of the barn. Fire! She
could hear the horses screaming and stomping inside. Elizabeth ran,
the robe flying out behind her like a superhero cape.

Three dark shapes milled around the closed
barn doors snarling and snapping at each other and the door. There
were no trees here to block the sky, no skidding car to distract
her attention. In the pale light of the half moon, they were
outlined clearly and the soft light reflected off their fur. These
were the same as the giant beast she’d seen on the road. Massive
dogs. No. Wolves. She was sure of it when they turned as one to
stare at her with blazing yellow eyes.

She choked, screamed and turned back to the
house, moving faster than she ever thought possible, but not fast
enough. A fourth beast came around the corner from far side of the
house just as she reached the stairs. It snarled and leapt. Its
teeth ripped viciously at the back of her legs and out of nowhere
came the thought.
That’s how they bring down prey. They
hamstring them. It’s what he’ll do to me.

It was the robe that saved her. The wolf
grabbed a mouthful of cloth where her legs should have been. It
lunged again and she let the robe fall from her shoulders to tangle
around the animal as she ran through the open doorway, grabbed the
heavy inner wooden door and slammed it behind her.

She ran to the kitchen, grabbed the phone off
the wall, dialed 911 and got… nothing.

“Someone help me,” she cried and then she saw
the numbers printed neatly on an index card over the phone. Fire.
Police. She dialed. Marshall would come.

“Marshall, oh god, Marshall, the horses are
trapped,” she screamed into the phone, “There’s fire and wolves. Oh
god, Marshall, there’s wolves.” She was sobbing, couldn’t make the
words come out as she wanted them.

“Honey? Who are you? Where are you?” It was a
woman’s voice.

“Where’s Marshall? He needs to come home!”
Elizabeth was pacing back and forth. The adrenaline pulsing through
her veins made her feel like she was going to explode.

“Honey, slow down. Where are you?” asked the
voice again.

“I’m at Marshall Goodman’s house and there
are wolves outside.”

“What are the wolves doing?” the woman asked
reasonably.

“Other than trying to kill me? They look like
they’re guarding the barn door. The barn is burning. The horses are
screaming! Help me, please!”

The woman must have finally heard the panic
and fear in her voice. “I’ll get someone out there as soon as I
can. You sit tight.”

“Thanks.” She slammed the phone into its
cradle. “For nothing.”

The horses. The poor horses. He said they
were his babies and she was letting them die. She started searching
the kitchen for something she could use as a weapon. Pots and pans
were tossed to the side. A cast iron fry pan she thought might work
was too heavy for her to swing. In a mudroom off the kitchen, she
found what she needed. Not the baseball bat she was hoping for, but
a shotgun. It rested on the shelf over a row of old coats hanging
from pegs. She had to drag a chair in from the kitchen to reach the
box of shells tucked into the corner. This was no time to worry
about what her fellow members of Silverton Citizens Against Guns
would think.

Elizabeth had never fired a gun before, but
she’d read enough books about firearms and munitions to know which
end was which. This was a single barrel pump action and she’d
watched one being loaded at a hunting safety seminar at the
library; something she’d adamantly protested at the time. She was
so glad her protests had been ignored. She shakily loaded three
shells into the magazine, pumped one into the chamber and loaded a
fourth.

Without the robe, she had only a t-shirt of
Marshall’s for clothes, so she grabbed a coat from the rack not to
cover her nakedness so much as for protection and a place to carry
more shells and then threw it aside when she realized the too long
sleeves would get in her way. The sleeveless vest on the last peg
would do the job. The quilted plaid fell mid-thigh and the armholes
left her plenty of room to maneuver.

Armed and uniformed, she headed back to the
front door. A glance at the mantle clock told her only seven
minutes had passed since she picked up the phone. She hoped she
wasn’t seven minutes too late.

Cautiously checking to the right and left,
Elizabeth stepped out onto the porch. The purple robe lay muddied
and torn at the foot of the stairs and she stepped over it
carefully keeping her eyes on the barn. The window was now more
orange than yellow and behind the horse’s screams she could hear
the fire crackle.

All four wolves were pacing back and forth in
front of the barn doors, snarling at each other as they passed and
yipping pitifully at the doors. Elizabeth raised the gun to her
shoulder with her finger on the trigger and moved closer. She
couldn’t remember how far these things shot and she had to make
this look real. She didn’t want to hurt them. They were a part of
nature that should be preserved. She only wanted to scare them
away.

The wolves were concentrating on the door and
paid no attention to her. When she thought she was close enough,
she took her stance, left foot slightly forward, butt snug against
her shoulder seam. She aimed above the center of the pack and
pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Shit, shit, shit.” What did she do wrong? In
the safety class… The safety! Her fingers scrambled over the
trigger area until she found the button and pushed. She felt more
than saw it poke out the other side.