higher now. Meghan squinted against the glare. Her surroundings seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps she hadn’t been completely unconscious when Donna brought her here. She didn’t remember anything except the old lady’s place, the wonders of the barn, and the mutant spider that tried to kill her.
* * * *
Poor little thing near broke his heart with her tears. He should have made a curtain and brought in the slop jar. No need to be pushing so hard because she seemed a bit better. Charlie had said head wounds were tricky. Maybe some more birch tea. Had she seemed warm when he wrapped her back up? She’d sure been flushed earlier.
He fought his conscience all the way back toward the house, ignoring Spirit’s whinny even when the girl raised her head to stare. Her pleading eyes were his downfall. He angled away from the path to the house until his feet trod the one to the corral.
Spirit danced along the fence line like he did when Will brought him a mare. His head held high, silver tail flagging, all snort and blow. The show seemed to work for this filly, too. She took her arms from around Will’s neck and held them out to the stallion, a broad smile lighting her face that moments before had been wracked with sobs. More surprising was the horse’s response, he hung his head over the top rail and nuzzled her face, nostrils flaring to catch her scent.
Will propped his foot on the lower rail and her butt on his knee, using one arm to steady her as she stroked Spirit’s thick neck and made cooing noises like a mourning dove. The stud’s ears flicked forward to listen, a rumbling nicker his answer to whatever she said. She kissed his nose, rubbing her cheek against the velvet muzzle.
Now that was just plain sad. He was jealous of his horse.
He’d never seen the stud respond to anyone this way. He tolerated Charlie because he sometimes fed the stock when Will was away. Will had fought to earn the horse’s trust and broke him slow and easy to keep it. What about this girl drew them both in and held them tight?
“We best get you in before Charlie takes a razor strap to me.” He waited while she gave the horse another kiss and a scratch behind his ear, slipped a hand under her knees, and turned toward the house.
Chapter 9
One of these days Donna planned to find out how Bob acquired his pull. Sure he was a District Court Judge in Arkansas, but this kind of power didn’t come with the title. When they had Meghan back safe and sound, Donna would make a point to find the skeletons in his closet, but in the meantime, his need to flaunt his power could be useful.
Donna sat on the tailgate of the truck where she had been instructed to remain—or get locked in the CSI van. The convoy had arrived at the farm a couple of hours after dawn and turned the place into a veritable ant colony. FBI types scurried to and fro with cameras and sample cases filled with God knows what. They had allowed Donna to go into the house to point where everyone had sat and whose cup belonged to whom. They repeated the same procedure with the barn. She hadn’t been in the loft, but she pointed where she and Meg stood. Most of what she had touched remained in the trailer at the sheriff’s station where yet another team searched for clues. Dan had stayed behind to oversee their progress and report back to his dad.
The team dusted for prints and searched for trace evidence, but as she feared, any tire tracks or footprints had been washed away in the deluge. More than seventy-two hours had passed since Meghan vanished.
She was not dead! No matter what the statistics said, Donna would know if Meghan had ceased to exist. Until they produced a body, no one would convince her otherwise. The pitying glances and hushed whispers already curdled her stomach.
Walkie-talkies squawked, cell phones rang, and the forensic teams went about their business. Donna swung her legs back and forth off the tailgate, arms at her side, hands pressed against
* * * *
Poor little thing near broke his heart with her tears. He should have made a curtain and brought in the slop jar. No need to be pushing so hard because she seemed a bit better. Charlie had said head wounds were tricky. Maybe some more birch tea. Had she seemed warm when he wrapped her back up? She’d sure been flushed earlier.
He fought his conscience all the way back toward the house, ignoring Spirit’s whinny even when the girl raised her head to stare. Her pleading eyes were his downfall. He angled away from the path to the house until his feet trod the one to the corral.
Spirit danced along the fence line like he did when Will brought him a mare. His head held high, silver tail flagging, all snort and blow. The show seemed to work for this filly, too. She took her arms from around Will’s neck and held them out to the stallion, a broad smile lighting her face that moments before had been wracked with sobs. More surprising was the horse’s response, he hung his head over the top rail and nuzzled her face, nostrils flaring to catch her scent.
Will propped his foot on the lower rail and her butt on his knee, using one arm to steady her as she stroked Spirit’s thick neck and made cooing noises like a mourning dove. The stud’s ears flicked forward to listen, a rumbling nicker his answer to whatever she said. She kissed his nose, rubbing her cheek against the velvet muzzle.
Now that was just plain sad. He was jealous of his horse.
He’d never seen the stud respond to anyone this way. He tolerated Charlie because he sometimes fed the stock when Will was away. Will had fought to earn the horse’s trust and broke him slow and easy to keep it. What about this girl drew them both in and held them tight?
“We best get you in before Charlie takes a razor strap to me.” He waited while she gave the horse another kiss and a scratch behind his ear, slipped a hand under her knees, and turned toward the house.
Chapter 9
One of these days Donna planned to find out how Bob acquired his pull. Sure he was a District Court Judge in Arkansas, but this kind of power didn’t come with the title. When they had Meghan back safe and sound, Donna would make a point to find the skeletons in his closet, but in the meantime, his need to flaunt his power could be useful.
Donna sat on the tailgate of the truck where she had been instructed to remain—or get locked in the CSI van. The convoy had arrived at the farm a couple of hours after dawn and turned the place into a veritable ant colony. FBI types scurried to and fro with cameras and sample cases filled with God knows what. They had allowed Donna to go into the house to point where everyone had sat and whose cup belonged to whom. They repeated the same procedure with the barn. She hadn’t been in the loft, but she pointed where she and Meg stood. Most of what she had touched remained in the trailer at the sheriff’s station where yet another team searched for clues. Dan had stayed behind to oversee their progress and report back to his dad.
The team dusted for prints and searched for trace evidence, but as she feared, any tire tracks or footprints had been washed away in the deluge. More than seventy-two hours had passed since Meghan vanished.
She was not dead! No matter what the statistics said, Donna would know if Meghan had ceased to exist. Until they produced a body, no one would convince her otherwise. The pitying glances and hushed whispers already curdled her stomach.
Walkie-talkies squawked, cell phones rang, and the forensic teams went about their business. Donna swung her legs back and forth off the tailgate, arms at her side, hands pressed against
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