Wolf Creek Widow (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 4) (3 page)

He recalled the day he and Colt and big Dan Mercer had surrounded the Thomerson house. Every minute of that day was etched into his mind in vivid detail—from getting word that Elton and his cohort had escaped from prison to the moment he’d felt for a pulse in Elton’s neck.

What he remembered most was cradling a battered Meg in his arms on the way back to Wolf Creek, trying his best not to jar her lest he do her even more harm than Elton had. In retrospect, he should have hitched up her old wagon and made her a pallet in the back to transport her to Rachel’s, but he hadn’t wanted to take the time. Besides, he knew it might be the only time he ever got to hold her.

Especially since you robbed her of a husband and her children of a father.
The cruel reminder slipped into his mind as it was wont to do when he least expected it.

There was no making amends for something like that. To say he was sorry and ask for her forgiveness would be a waste of breath. He hadn’t yet found the courage to tell God he was sorry for shooting Elton and ask for His forgiveness. Ace figured that until he could go through a day and not feel glad that Elton was dead, asking for the Lord’s forgiveness would be futile. He didn’t want to add to his other transgressions.

He was miserable without the Lord to lean on, weighed down by guilt and disgust. He’d been through a lot in his life. Clinging to a deep spiritual belief system and parents who demanded his best, he’d managed to come through all his trials with minimal emotional scarring. He wondered if that would be the case this time or if this second accidental killing would be his undoing...one way or the other.

He wasn’t sure how he could get to the point of true sorrow for what he’d done, since sly memories had a habit of slipping into his mind at unexpected times. Like Elton’s taunting voice saying that he wondered how Meg was paying Ace for the food he left on her doorstep.

Ace ground his teeth at the remembrance, and his horse danced sideways, the reins a conduit for his anger. Until he could forgive Elton for his treatment of Meg and himself for his lack of sorrow, the best he could do was help Meg get through the next few weeks.

He returned to Meg’s house just after noon and saw her leaning against the trunk of one of the big oaks in the front, staring up into the leafy branches that shaded her. Though her hair still straggled around her thin face, and purple shadows beneath her eyes proclaimed her sleepless nights, she was still beautiful.

When she heard his horse, she looked at him, an expectant expression on her face instead of the alarm he halfway expected. Relieved, he nodded at her in acknowledgment and shifted his gaze to the front porch, where his mother was busy scrubbing the graying pine boards with a broom and a bucket of soapy water.

He couldn’t help noticing the chunk of wood missing from a board a few feet from the edge. He’d put that mark there, a warning to Elton, who’d grabbed his wife by the arm he’d already broken. Just thinking about it brought back the fury that had overwhelmed him at the other man’s callous disregard for the woman he’d promised to love and cherish.

Ace closed his eyes and drew on the strength that had seen him through the dark days of his incarceration. When he opened his eyes, he was calmer, at least on the outside. Meg was following him toward the house.

His mother glanced up from her scrubbing, and he experienced a surge of love he never failed to feel whenever he looked at her. Like Meg, life had given her many hardships, yet both women had overcome their struggles with enviable serenity and a quiet dignity.

Nita Allen suffered no fools but had often been deemed foolish by her husband for her willingness to give of herself and her means, even to those the world labeled as takers and users. She was often hurt, yet she never changed, nor would she ever.

So here she was, lending a hand to yet another lost and needy soul. He hadn’t been the least surprised when she volunteered to help. He smiled at the busy image she made. From years of living with her, he knew that the water had already been used inside the house to clean something or other. When she was done with the porch, she’d water some plant or another with what was left. Nita Allen wasn’t one to see anything die or go to waste, especially a life.

He could smell the beans she’d brought. They were simmering in a cast-iron Dutch oven hanging on a metal tripod that straddled a small fire she’d built outside. It smelled as though she’d added some salt pork from the smokehouse. There would be johnnycakes and wild green onion and perhaps some potatoes fried in the bacon grease left over from breakfast.

Neither woman spoke, but they both watched as he rode closer and slid from the gelding’s back. It struck him how very different his mother was from the small blonde woman, yet how very alike their expressions were. He suspected that they had other traits in common, too.

“Well?” Nita asked with her customary bluntness.

Ace looped the reins over the hitching post. “Rachel says she thinks we should wait to bring the children home.”

The anticipation in Meg’s eyes faded. Something inside him stirred in response—the innate need born in a man to protect, to shield loved ones from any more pain.

“But she told me they could come home.” Meg’s voice was laced with distress.

“Rachel says she knows mothers and she knows you, and she’s afraid you’ll overdo it with them around. She doesn’t want you picking one of them up without thinking or chasing after them yet. She said you need at least another week or so to heal before taking up their care again. I’m sorry.”

Instead of answering, Meg turned and walked away. Her back was ramrod-straight, and her chin was high. She placed her feet carefully, as if she were so fragile she might shatter if she took a wrong step. And perhaps she would. Automatically wanting to comfort her, Ace started to follow.

“Let her go.” Nita’s voice was low but firm. “You, of all people, should know that she has to work through this in her own way, in her own time.”

They watched as she entered the edge of the woods at the side of the house, the same area where Dan Mercer had wounded Joseph Jones.

Ace thought of all the time he’d spent in the forest through the years. It was the place he’d often gone as a boy to try to sort out his mixed heritage. He’d learned of his Celtic past from his father, who’d filled his mind with stories of bards and fanciful tales and a strangely melodic language he’d tried so hard to learn.

From his mother he absorbed tales of the Keetoowah, the spiritual core of the Cherokee people, who stressed the importance of maintaining the old ways. The mission school he’d attended taught him the tenets of Christianity.

Vastly different, yet with fascinating similarities. All sought solitude for meditation and prayer. Both cultures thought nature was sacred. God had created a place of nature for Adam and had walked with him in the garden; God spoke to Adam there.

The woods were Ace’s garden. His refuge. A place to listen for the voice of God that whispered in the wind and murmured through the leaves of the trees and the rustle of creatures going about their day-to-day lives: finding nourishment, caring for their young, being wounded or hunted. Dying. Becoming part of the earth again, continuing the cycle put into place before the earth was spoken into existence. Ace believed that the voice of God could still be heard in the world around you, if you chose to hear it.

He watched Meg disappear into the woods and wondered if she would hear God’s voice. According to those who knew her, she had a strong will and a stronger faith. This time, though, her injuries were worse, the pain deeper.

He wished he could follow her, but he had trees to fell and wood to chop. He would be here when she returned. Deep in his heart, he knew that he would always be there for Meg.

Chapter Three

I
t was late afternoon when the noisy clatter of the dinner bell roused Meg from a light sleep. Nita must have supper ready. Meg felt a pang of guilt for leaving the older woman to do her work, but she’d been crushed by the news that she would not be snuggling with Teddy and Lucy just yet. Knowing Rachel was right didn’t lessen her disappointment. Holding her babies would have been a sweet balm to her spirit.

As she’d done so often in the past when things threatened her peace of mind, Meg had wandered into the woods, making her way to her favorite spot, where she’d always sought the healing quiet of the solitude. Soon after Elton had moved her away from her family, she’d found this place that had become her sanctuary, a place set apart from the reality of her life.

She’d often brought the children there and found comfort in the whisper of the breeze and the pleasing chuckling of the water that meandered along the rocky bottom of the creek, running to some faraway place she could only imagine. She’d often wished she could follow it.

A bed of moss beneath a giant oak made a cool spot for a nap when she needed a place to rest. In the early spring, she’d brought a broom to sweep away the leaves that had fallen throughout the winter. By chance or God’s design, a wild rose of vibrant pink had sprawled and clambered up and over the branches of a nearby dogwood in early summer, reaching for what sunlight it could find in the mostly shaded area and sending its sweet fragrance adrift on the whispers of the vagrant breezes.

Even now, in the heat of September, hurting and wondering if she would ever feel whole again, she found the place beautiful. The rose and bleeding hearts had long since bloomed and the resurrection fern had dried up and curled into brown patches that clung tenaciously to the sturdy limbs of the tree, yet the sweet blessing of one good rain would return them to vibrant life.

Secure in the hope that that same vibrancy of life would be hers again someday, she’d closed her eyes and waited to see if the peacefulness of her surroundings would work its healing powers as it had in the past. In time, it did. She’d let her thoughts wander at will, from wondering where the creek emptied to how much Lucy and Teddy had probably grown since she’d seen them and how she would give them a better life. They might not have a lot of extras, but she would make up for it by giving them a life filled with love, not fear.

Throughout the afternoon, she’d heard the measured
whack
of an ax against wood. Ace cutting down more trees. She must have dozed off while thinking about him and his mother and their willingness to help a woman who was more or less a stranger.

Awake now, Meg sat up and looked around, hardly able to believe that she’d slept so long and without any frightening dreams. She wondered if finding a few hours of peace was a good start for putting the pieces of her life back together and knew that Rachel would say it was.

This had always been a perfect spot for dreams and plans. Dreams. Like all young girls, she’d had dreams once, daydreams about a life free of the shame of her mother’s life. Visions of finding a way out. Then she’d met Elton, with his good looks and his own extravagant fantasies of big houses and fancy clothes and trips to San Francisco and St. Louis, and she felt that her yearnings had come true at last.

Those dreams had begun to flee one after the other, shortly after marrying him almost four years ago. Now her mind was filled with plans, but the dreams were as dead as her husband and the resurrection ferns that had turned brown from the heat of summer.

When she’d first awakened at Rachel’s and was coherent enough to make sense of the things she was told, she’d thought—even dared to hope—that with Elton out of the picture her life would change for the better. Would it?

She gave her head a shake to dislodge the brief moment of melancholy and doubt. She could not let gloomy thoughts take hold. She had no idea how to move ahead with her life, but she knew that if she dwelled on her mistakes and her past, Elton would win, and she refused to let him rule her life from the grave. She would get past this, just as she’d always done.

Could she, all alone?

One day at a time.

Rachel’s gentle reminder. In the early days, when Meg had been racked by unbearable pain, Rachel had told her to take it hour by hour, one day at a time. She also told her that to find her way back she should look for joy in small things, telling Meg that God sprinkled dozens of blessings throughout our days if we only took time to look for them.

Well, there was this place, she thought, looking around. It was surely a blessing, since she had slept without interruption or bad dreams. And, she thought wryly, as the dinner bell rang a second time, it was a blessing that she didn’t have to cook supper.

She stood and stretched her arms and shoulders with care to get out the kinks. Giving her faded skirt a shake, she started back to the house, using the much-traveled deer path. She was a few feet from the clearing when she stopped dead still. Like a wild creature sensing danger, her head came up. A sharp gasp escaped her.

Ace stood on the path, blocking the way to the house just as the breadth of his shoulders obstructed the clearing behind him. He loomed over her. The lacy pattern of sunlight and shadows gave his lean cheeks the impression of wearing war paint, like the pictures she’d once seen in a book. He looked untamed and dangerous. His sheer size and raw maleness were overpowering, making her feel weak and defenseless.

“What are you doing here?” The breathless question sounded accusatory even to her ears.

His troubled blue eyes seemed to take in every inch of her in a single glance. “Mother was worried that you’d gone too far or got turned around. She was afraid you didn’t hear the bell, so she sent me to find you.” His voice was deep and low, mesmerizing. The frightened fluttering of her heart slowed.

“I was down by the creek. I’m fine. I’m here.” The explanation came out in a flurry of words that tumbled over one another.

“So you are.”

Did she imagine the flicker of gentleness that came and went in his eyes? Without warning, he reached out toward her. With a little yelp, Meg cringed and brought up both arms to cover her head in an instinctive gesture of self-preservation. The action was both instant and involuntary as he took her wrists gently.

Breathing hard, eyes shut tight and little whimpers of fear escaping her, she waited for the blow to come, but instead she heard words murmured in a language she didn’t understand. Soft words. Soothing words.

“Meg.” His deep voice persuaded, compelled. “Look at me.”

Bit by bit, as if she were expecting it to be a trick, she did as he commanded and saw the remorse clouding his crystalline eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was only going to get a twig out of your hair.”

Trembling, Meg stood stock-still. She’d seen regret before. She’d heard all the ways to say
I’m sorry
. She’d learned not to believe them. Still, something held her immovable. What was it she saw or felt in him that told her she could trust him, despite his fierceness?

“No!” she heard herself saying. “I...I’m s-sorry.”

Moving at a snail’s pace so as not to alarm her further, he let go of her wrists. Then he held one palm up in a
stop
gesture and reached out with the other to pluck the twig from her tangled hair. Without a word, he held it out to show her.

She felt like a fool for overreacting. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, daring to let her gaze make contact with the disturbing intensity of his. She saw nothing there but the same tenderness she heard in his voice.

He nodded. “I know you don’t have many reasons to believe anything a man says, but I want you to know that I have never raised my hand against a woman, and I never will. You have no reason to be frightened of me. Ever.”

Then, without waiting for her to answer, he held out his arm as if he were a well-heeled gentleman from the city and she an elegant lady going to some fancy social event. She looked from his arm to his face in confusion. She was no lady. He was no gentleman.

When she made no move to take his proffered elbow, he stepped aside for her to precede him to the house. She brushed against him on the narrow path and caught a whiff of leather and pine. She stumbled and glanced up at him, even as he reached out to steady her. Once again her heart began to beat faster, but not because she felt threatened. Disturbingly aware of his nearness, she cast an occasional glance over her shoulder just to be sure he was keeping his distance.

She didn’t want him too close. The question that tumbled through her mind was
Why?

* * *

Nita Allen had been busy while Meg hid out in the woods. Her little house fairly sparkled. Ace’s mother had taken the cleaning begun by the church ladies a step further. She’d scrubbed the windows, polished the beat-up buffet table Elton had found dumped somewhere and brought home to her in the wagon, and washed the dust from her scant collection of mismatched plates and glassware. Even the globes of her kerosene lamps glistened. The scents of fried potatoes and pinto beans mingled with the sharp, clean odor of the lemon balm and beeswax used on the furniture.

A crockery bowl with a blue rim was filled with crisp fried potatoes. The pot of beans with a dipper in it sat on a folded dish towel, as if the table were a piece of fine furniture that the heat might ruin. A plate of corn bread baked in a small iron skillet had already been sliced into wedges. A bowl of fresh butter sat next to a jar of pickled beets, and a small plate held wild green onions.

It was like walking into a fairy tale. Thanks to two strangers, her tired little house felt like a home, but not because it was clean and tidy. Even though she worked hard and had little, Meg had always kept a clean house. Elton demanded that.

The difference was in the
feel
of the house. She’d experienced no dread or fear when she’d walked through the door. No need to walk on eggshells to keep whatever tentative peace might be found on any given day. No need to guard her tongue lest she set Elton off with some innocent comment. No dread of when he might come back and shatter the temporary respite she found during his absences. No despair.

The house felt warm. Welcoming.

As she stood letting the differences register on her mind, her stomach growled. Nita smiled. Embarrassed, Meg turned away, but for the first time in weeks, she thought she might be able to eat more than a few bites.

When they were seated and thanks had been given for the food, Ace began to pass the bowls. Feeling she should show her appreciation in some way, Meg scooped a few potatoes onto her plate and said, “The house looks so nice, Mrs. Allen. Thank you. And supper looks delicious.”

“It was nothing. Things were already in order. It just needed the dust washed off. Did you have a good rest this afternoon?”

The question surprised Meg as much as the answer that came to mind. She realized with something of a start that she had rested, and not just during the time she slept. There had always been something about her special spot that brought her at least passing peace. Today had been no different.

“Actually, I did.”

“That’s good.” Nita finished filling her plate and turned to her son. “Did you let everyone know Meg is back in business?”

“I did,” he said, slathering some fresh-churned butter onto a piece of corn bread. “Hattie is really excited. So is Ellie.” He glanced at Meg. “Keeping up with the wash has been hard for them since you’ve been out of commission.”

Though she did weekly laundry for a few of the more affluent people in town, Hattie’s Hotel and Boardinghouse and Ellie’s Café were Meg’s biggest customers.

“I’ll take the wagon in and pick up what they have early in the morning,” Ace told her. “If you ladies will have the kettles boiling when I get back, we ought to be done by evening.”

It was good to know that her services had been missed, but she hated relying on someone else to do her work, even though she needed the money.

“I think I’ll be able to help with the ironing,” she said, looking from Ace to Nita, knowing Ellie and Hattie would have several tablecloths to do up with starch.

“I don’t think it will hurt you, either,” Nita said, “as long as you don’t overdo things. I’ll bring my ironing board and iron in the morning. Together, we should be able to get it done in no time.”

It sounded like a good plan, Meg thought. She would iron until she got tired, do any mending and gradually work back into her regular routine. A step toward taking control of her life once again.

Meg had forgotten that the Allens would be leaving soon, probably as soon as the supper dishes were done. After all, they had their own chores to do. It occurred to her with something of a start just how much of a sacrifice they were making to help her. Their log cabin that sat on a small parcel of land must be at least four miles from her place.

Though she hadn’t wanted to spend any more time with them than necessary, now that she knew they were about to go, she wondered how she would pass the long hours of the night that stretched out before her, empty and lonely.

She’d spent more nights than she could number here alone except for her kids, and she’d stayed by herself last night, but she had been so numb, so exhausted from the ride from town, that sheer weariness and a dream-filled, restless sleep had claimed her early in the evening.

Now that she was a bit more herself, the thought of being alone was a little troubling. Except for the kids, she’d been here alone when Elton and Joseph Jones had barged in after their prison escape. Without warning, her heart began to race. As Rachel had taught her, Meg forced her breathing to a slow rhythm and reminded herself that she no longer had to worry about either of them.

“I hope it’s all right, but I picked up some mending for you while I was in town.”

She was grateful for the sound of Ace’s voice that brought her wandering thoughts back to the present.

“Just a few things Ellie needed repaired and a tear on the sleeve of one of Daniel’s shirts that Rachel hasn’t had time to get to.”