The Way Home (58 page)

There wasn’t anything Ty could say. He had his answer, if he’d needed one, as to what had happened between his friend and Meg’s sister. It wasn’t his place to judge. What if it had been Meg who’d married another man? He was surprised by the almost savage wave of denial caused by that thought.

“Maybe it’s time I went back to California,” Jack said slowly, distracting Ty from considering his own reaction.

“Could be.Might do you good to be gainfully employed again instead of loafing around here getting in my way.”

Jack’s grin was a little thin around the edges, but Ty was pleased to see a subtle lessening of the shadows in his eyes. “Hope I haven’t slowed you up too much,” he drawled.

“Nothing I can’t recover from,” Ty reassured him. “Come on up to the house. Meg baked cinnamon rolls yesterday and I think there may be one or two left.”

He picked up the milk bucket as Jack followed him from the bam.

About a week after the unpleasant incident with Harlan Davis, Ty ran out of nails halfway through rebuilding the chicken house. Since Meg was already nurturing a batch of chicks in a box in the kitchen and since they showed a remarkable ability to escape the confines of their small home and scatter to all corners of the room, a chicken house had become a necessity.

Considering the way Meg had reacted to Molly’s arrival and the fact that she was already starting to name the indistinguishable balls of yellow fluff, Ty had already resigned himself to having a flock of pampered pets. He could just imagine how she’d react to the idea of one of her feathered friends ending up in a stewpot a few months from now.

A smile tugged at the comers of his mouth as he set the hammer down. He didn’t mind, as long as she was happy. Funny how, over the past few months, her happiness had come to mean more to him than his own. He frowned as he considered that idea. But before it could take hold, he saw Meg working in the garden.

She was wearing a faded dress, so old that the red and white print had blended into an indistinct pink blur. On her head was a straw hat to shield her face from the sun. She looked practical, slightly silly, and utterly desirable. For a moment, Ty debated the possibility of forgetting about the chicken house and persuading his wife to come to bed, but then he remembered that Jack had said he’d be out around midaftemoon. Besides, from the look of the clouds building up to the west, they were in for some rain, and he really did want to get the roof on before then.

By the time he’d told Meg where he was going, confirmed that she didn’t want to go with him, and taken time for a kiss or two — she really did look irresistible in that silly hat — a breeze had kicked up and the clouds wre visibly closer. Ty doubted that he was going to get the roof done before the storm hit, but he’d still need the nails to finish it tomorrow.

With the nails in a paper bag on the floor of the roadster, he drove out of Regret. The breeze now carried the smell of rain and he could see small clouds scudding across the sky, like messengers running before the dark bank of thunderheads behind. He turned his head automatically as he drove past Meg’s old home. Maybe it was the threat of rain in the air, but he had a sudden flash of her running from the little house, out into the storm, coming to him for protection.

Thank God she had, Ty thought as he accelerated past the house. Otherwise, he’d have gone to California and left her behind. And he’d probably have been too stupid even to realize that he was only half alive without her.

Only half alive. The roadster slowed to a crawl as Ty realized where his aimless thought had brought him. My God. He was in love with his wife. He’d been in love with her for months and just hadn’t been bright enough to recognize it. He’d thought he was marrying her to protect her, when he’d been in love with her all along.

It was, perhaps, not the most romantic moment to realize that he was in love with Meg. But if the shock of it hadn’t lifted his foot off the accelerator, he might not have recognized the woman walking along the verge of the road. Ruth Davis. As he stopped the car next to her, she turned to look at him and Ty bit off an exclamation when he saw her battered face. Before he could turn off the engine, she was tugging open the passenger door and falling into the seat.

“What happened?” Ty demanded, as if he didn’t know what had happened. Obviously, her husband had taken out his frustrations on her.

“Hurry.” She was out of breath, as if she’d been running. And from the scratches on her arms and legs, Ty guessed that she’d fallen.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Davis,” he said soothingly, reaching for her hand. “You’re safe.”

“Noooo.” The word was a moan as she struggled to catch her breath. Her thin fingers grabbed his arm, digging in with surprising strength. “He’s crazy mad. I tried to stop him but I wasn’t strong enough.”

“It’s all right.” Beneath the bruises, her face was so alarmingly flushed that Ty was afraid her heart was going to give out. “Calm down. We’ll report him to the sheriff. He won’t hurt you again.”

“Not me.” She gasped. “Meg. He’s gone to your place. Said he was going to kill the both of you.”

Ty stared at her for a second, his mind’s eye filled the picture of Meg working in the garden, smiling at him as he left, her face flushed from sun and kisses. Meg alone on the farm.

Gravel spun beneath the rear wheels as he pulled out onto the road. Ruth subsided into the passenger seat. Her breathing was still ragged, but she offered not a word of protest as he took a comer fast enough to send the car skidding halfway across the road.

There was no need to panic, Ty told himself. Jack was probably already there. He’d keep Meg safe. If not, then Meg might have heard Davis’s car. She’d hide somewhere. There were a thousand places to hide. She’d be all right.

She had to be all right. He couldn’t lose her, not when he’d just realized how much she meant to him. God couldn’t be so cruel.

Ty coaxed a little more speed out of the engine and prayed like he’d never prayed in his life.

Meg crawled along the length of the row, carefully setting tomato seedlings into the ground and patting soil around them as carefully as if she were tucking a baby into its crib. She wanted to get them all in before the rain started. The rains would settle them into place and keep them so happy that they wouldn’t even know they’d been transplanted. Or so she hoped.

She’d always loved to garden. When Patsy had complained about the heat and the bugs and the dirt, Meg had been enjoying the rich, earthy smells of soil and growing things. There was nothing quite like the smell of a tomato plant, she thought happily as she sat back on her heels at the end of the row and brought her hand up to her nose to sniff the warm, pungent scent.

Ty had suggested that she was making the garden too big, that she didn’t have to try to grow all their food this first year, but she’d dreamed all her life of a garden big enough to get lost in. Of course, it wasn’t possible to get very lost when none of the plants was more than a few inches tall, but come August, it would be a different story. It didn’t take any effort to imagine the wild tangle of greenery she’d have then.

Hearing a car in front of the house, Meg climbed to her feet and bent down to brush the dirt off the hem of her old dress. Either Ty was home sooner than she’d expected or Jack was here. She was almost halfway to the house when she saw someone come around the side of the house. Since the straw hat dangled from her fingers, she lifted her free hand to shade her eyes, her mouth curved in a welcoming smile.

But it was neither Jack nor Ty walking toward her. It was Harlan Davis. Her smile vanished and she felt a frisson of fear run up her spine. She stood her ground, setting her chin. This was her home and she wasn’t going to let him frighten her. Not here. But the closer he came, the more she doubted the wisdom of taking a stand. She remembered the way he’d looked when he’d accosted her and Ty in town, disheveled, unkempt, the sanity a thin veneer in his pale eyes. He was still walking toward her, and there was something eerie about that steady, silent approach.

Making an abrupt decision, Meg turned and ran. Immediately she heard the thud of his footsteps pounding after her, lending wings to her feet. He was between her and the house, but if she could circle it, get to the road, there might be someone passing by. She was young and healthy, surely she could outrun him. She couldn’t let him catch her. The thought of him putting his hands on her again was too horrible to contemplate.

Meg might have made it if her foot hadn’t caught on an exposed tree root just as she reached the front of the house. She stumbled, fighting to stay on her feet as her momentum carried her forward to sprawl in the scrubby grass near the side of the porch. She was scrambling to her feet the minute she hit the ground, but it was too late. The few seconds had been all he needed to reach her.

A scream tore from her throat as she felt his hands close over the back of her dress, heard the sound of tearing fabric. It was like the last time, she thought, momentarily dazed by the horror of it. He was ripping her clothes. She could feel the terrible lust in him, the anger, the need to hurt and humiliate.

She jerked her elbow back and had a moment’s satisfaction at his grunt of pain. But then he’d grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto her back, his hand cracking across her cheek with stunning force. Meg saw stars, felt a black mist creep over her. She blinked, forcing it back, refusing to give in to the urge to simply sink into the welcoming arms of oblivion.

This wasn’t going to happen. Denial roared in her head. She wasn’t going to let this happen. She brought up her hands, her fingernails gouging for his eyes as she bucked beneath his weight.

“Ty will kill you,” she spit breathlessly. “He’ll kill you!”

“Not if I kill him first.” Harlan cackled, the last traces of sanity gone.

Meg froze for a moment and then began to fight with redoubled strength, this time fighting not just for herself but for Ty.

He was tearing at her bodice now and her hand flew out, groping for something she could use to stop him. His hand found her breast, squeezing painfully, but Meg’s fingers closed over a fist-size rock. Using all her strength, she slammed it against his temple. It was an awkward blow, the angle preventing her from getting any significant force behind it. But it served to stun Harlan momentarily. He grunted with pain, his hands slackening on her.

The effect didn’t last long, but it was long enough for Meg to scramble away.

“Bitch!” She felt his hand swipe at the hem of her dress as she gained her feet. She didn’t hesitate but took off running.

If she could just get to the road, she thought. He wouldn’t dare attack her there, where someone might see. If she could just get that far. Ty would be home soon. She heard the heavy rush of his footsteps behind her as she rounded the front of the house, and she cast a terrified look over her shoulder.

And then she slammed into a hard male body.

The scream that tore from her had its origins in the depths of her soul. Her only thought was that Harlan had somehow managed to get in front of her. Never mind that she’d just heard him behind her. She screamed again as strong arms closed around her, her head whipping back, her frightened eyes fastening on her captor’s face.

And saw Ty’s dark eyes staring down at her.

“Oh, God.” She collapsed against him, her breath coming in deep, racking sobs.

“It’s all right,” he said, his arms hard around her. For a moment she believed him. But then she remembered her stepfather’s threat, the madness in his eyes.

“We have to run,” she said frantically. “He’s crazy. He’s going to kill you.”

She felt Ty looking over her shoulder and knew he was staring at her stepfather. She began to push at his chest, trying physically to move him away from danger. “Oh, God, please, Ty. We have to run. He’ll kill you.”

* * *

Ty allowed her to edge him backward, thinking more in terms of getting Harlan Davis out into the open than of protecting himself. He was going to kill the bastard, he thought, almost dispassionately. For what he’d done to Meg — and he didn’t know the full extent of that yet — Harlan Davis was going to die.

“Thought you could get the best of me,” Harlan said, foolish enough to follow them to the front of the house. Ty said nothing, carefully judging when he should make his move. He wanted to be sure Davis was far from cover. He didn’t want to have to drag him out from under the toolshed, for example.

He’d heard Meg scream as he brought the car to a skidding stop. And he knew the sound of that scream would be etched on his soul forever. Death was not nearly punishment enough for the man who’d forced that scream from her, but it would do for a start. He’d leave it to the afterlife to deliver the rest of Harlan Davis’s sentence.

“You stop right there, Harlan.”

Ty’s head jerked toward the sound of Ruth’s voice. He’d forgotten she was there, forgotten everything but the need to make sure Meg was safe and the equally strong need to kill her attacker.

“This has gone far enough,” she said, her voice quavering uncertainly. She stood next to the car, one hand in the pocket of the same gray sweater she’d worn just about every time Ty had seen her.

“Shut up,” Harlan snarled. “This is all your doing. You and those whoring daughters of yours.”

Ty would have gone for his throat then and there, but Meg’s fingers were clinging to his arms, refusing to release him.