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  Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze, spooning off another bite.

  “What if that guy at the feed store presses charges against you?” she said.

  Her sobering question raised issues he didn’t want to get into. “He won’t.”

  As stubborn as the twelve-year-old he remembered, she pressed the point. “What makes you so sure?” She scraped the crystalized edges from her ice cream.

  “Because he’s not going to admit he was bested by a cycloptic cripple.”

  Her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth and she stared at him. “Is that really how you see yourself?”

  Now it was his turn to break eye contact. The conversation was not going the way he’d planned.

  The spoon slipped from her fingers and clanked on the edge of her glass. She fixed him with a hard look. “You’re not defined by your injuries, Eli Hawthorne. We all have scars, wounds, handicaps. We’re all crippled and shortsighted in some way, physically or spiritually or mentally.” She huffed out a tense breath and slid her gaze to the window.

  He thought she’d finished, but she looked back and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “You’re more of a complete man than anyone I’ve ever known.” One side of her mouth twitched.

  “Besides my dad.”

  Toby’s arrival provided Eli the escape he needed, and he rerouted his compounding emotions through a stiff cough into his elbow.

  “Allergies?” Toby said as he set two burger baskets on the table and a third one heaped with a mix of regular and sweet potato fries.

  “No,” Eli cleared his throat. “But could I get a glass of water? Two glasses?”

  “Sure thing. Enjoy.”

  * * *

  Laura’s chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply and struggled with her emotions. Good thing Toby had shown up when he did. No telling what she would have said next.

  She knew Eli wouldn’t pray with her in public. He didn’t pray in his own house, but she bowed her head anyway and offered silent thanks for the wounded warrior across from her.

  When she looked up she caught him watching her. She’d give her new boots to know what he was thinking.

  “Smells like the real deal,” she said, her mouth watering at the grilled beef promise. Lifting the top bun, she pushed aside lettuce and tomato and squirted a ketchup circle on the thick ground-meat slab. Then she dotted in two eyes and a smiling mouth.

  Eli choked on his bite, laughing.

  “What? Don’t like the idea of a happy meal?

  He held the napkin to his mouth, coughed hard and shook his head. “You make me laugh, Laura Bell.”

  She shot him a warning look, but he’d already stopped before tacking on the irritating nickname. “Somebody’s got to cheer you up.”

  “You always were full of surprises,” he said. “I remember the day you told me you toe-tipped all the way down to the pond.”

  The words tugged at her heart. “Mom always said toe-tipping was more fun than tiptoeing.” She reached for a copper-colored fry and took a bite. Then she took another bite, and another. “Wow, these are good.”

  “Told you,” he said with a serious nod.

  “No wonder you’re surviving on fried fish at home, if you eat here often enough.” She sipped the creamy root beer, smoothed now by the melted ice cream. “But it’s not exactly health food.”

  He grabbed a handful of fries, dropped them in his basket and swirled ketchup over the top. “I’m not much of a lettuce eater.”

  “Unless it comes on meat with a bun.”

  He pointed a French fry at her. “You got me there.”

  The door opened and Laura turned to see several teenagers walk in, followed by a family with two young children. The place was much more crowded than when they arrived. Several people sat on a long bench in front of the window.

  “Busy place,” she said.

  Eli looked over her shoulder and scanned the room, then checked his watch. “Dinnertime. This is not just the best place to eat in town, it’s the only place this time of day.”

  They finished their meal, and Eli pulled out his wallet and headed for the cashier. Laura lifted her glass on pretense of finishing the float. “Be right there,” she said.

  He took the bait and turned away. She slid from the booth and hurried to the picture wall across the room.

  Champion 4-H steers, sheep, hogs, rabbits and goats posed with beaming youngsters in traditional county fair photos. Old black-and-white prints highlighted the town’s history, and several newspaper clippings boasted the names of graduates, notable locals and deceased old-timers. A few wild rodeo shots brought a smile to her lips, and then she saw it. The framed color portrait of a clean-shaven young man in U.S. Marine blues and white cap. Serious. Proud. In a separate frame below the photo, a newspaper headline shouted what people at her mother’s funeral had whispered. Local Man Injured: Lone Survivor of Roadside Attack.

  No wonder.

  Eli waited in his pickup, the same sober look stamped on his face as in the picture. He leaned across the seat and pushed her door open.

  “Can I say—”

  “Don’t.”

  She shot him her most furious glare. “—that was best burger I’ve ever had.”

  His jaw clinched. He took his hat off and set it on the box between them and ran both hands through his hair. “Sorry.”

  Garcia was right. Eli’s biggest wound wasn’t physical, and right now it gaped open—bold and bloody and untended.

  Lord, give me wisdom.

  “What happened to Pete’s Café?” She refused to add to the injury. They’d had enough trauma for one evening.

  Eli must have agreed, for he backed out and onto the street with a more relaxed expression. “It’s still up here on the left, next to the real estate office. Just open for breakfast and lunch now.”

  “Dad used to take us there sometimes for biscuits and gravy.” She chuckled. “More health food.”

  “They still serve it. That’s their specialty.”

  They cruised by the closed café and Laura noticed several empty storefronts. “Looks like the town isn’t as prosperous as before.”

  “The economy has hurt the smaller businesses. Especially in a place as remote as Spring Valley. Not many people other than ranchers come through here, except tourists on their way to the national park in the summer.”

  “But that’s part of the charm, don’t you think? Small town and all that. Personally, I’ve had enough city life to last me forever.”

  She pulled her hair back and leaned against the door for the full effect. “Smells like alfalfa.”

  “Hastings recently cut his.” He pointed ahead to the right and soon they drove past a green field shaved flat with the cuttings laid out in neat rows. “No doubt he’s hoping it’ll dry before we get another rain.”

  Longer shadows reached out from trees and buildings as they headed back, and evening settled around them with a peaceful sigh. As they neared Eli’s ranch, a male pheasant dashed across the road, his white-banded neck held aloft. Eli slowed along his fence line, taking in his operation from an outside perspective, then returned his attention to the road as they approached the S-curve.

  “Do you mind stopping so I can check for mail?”

  “Sure.” He turned off at her lane, slowed to a stop and put the truck in park.

  “Be right back,” she said.

  Laura hurried to the bright bell and tugged her box open. Empty. Maybe she should subscribe to the local paper or a magazine.

  “Expecting news?” Eli asked when she returned.

  “Not really. I guess it’s a habit. Most everything I do is online. It’s just that sometimes I think it would be fun to get a letter, but I don’t know who would write to me.”

  He ga
ve her an odd look as he shifted gears and took the hill.

  At the top he parked next to the Mercedes and shut off the engine. In no apparent hurry to leave, he popped his seat belt and relaxed his arm on the open window frame.

  “I forget about this view.”

  “I know. I’m surprised all over again every time I come home. You’d think I’d get used to it.”

  Considering the beauty before them, she added, “It’s really the only thing I found unchanged on my return. Everything else is different.”

  He scanned the panorama, turning his head as he looked to the right.

  “Same thing when I got back from Afghanistan, though I wasn’t gone as long as you. Granddad was different, more frail. Garcia was a little more bent and gray. Goldie aged, and of course everything I did required a change on my part.”

  She glanced sideways at him, wondering if he would talk about what happened.

  “But the cattle and the horses and the land were exactly like I remembered them.” He looked at her then. “They helped me get my balance.”

  “What about God?”

  Eli sat quietly for so long she thought he hadn’t heard her. She didn’t want to repeat the question, and decided the timing must not be right.

  In a tight, thick voice, his answer broke the silence.

  “God didn’t help me when I got blown out of the Humvee. I didn’t expect His help when I got home, and I don’t need His help now.”

  Tears pushed at her eyes, but she knew he’d think she pitied him. Would he believe her if she told him they were tears of sorrow because he’d missed out on the greatest comfort and help of all?

  The sun settled lower and the night sounds stirred. Crickets sang and the bull frog tested his voice. Her resident owl called across the hillside, answered moments later by another.

  “How do you know he didn’t help you?” she said softly. “You could have died.”

  “I used to wish I had.”

  He answered quickly, without pause or consideration. A longtime, deep-seated reply.

  Laura removed the box from the seat and scooted closer. She felt him go tense again as she reached across him, laid her hand on his left cheek and turned his head to face her.

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m so very glad you didn’t.”

  Chapter 16

  Eli lay on his back, staring through the dark at the ceiling he knew was there but couldn’t see.

  Laura stirred things he’d long since buried, and he didn’t particularly enjoy digging up the remains. He touched his cheek. He didn’t know which burned more—the warmth of her fingers or the heat of her words.

  She’d invited him to go to church with her tomorrow, and he’d dismissed her invitation with a huff and curtly refused. Why couldn’t he at least have been civil about it? She wasn’t the enemy.

  Was there an enemy?

  He’d not considered an identity, but he lived on alert against some unknown assailant. He’d targeted the punk at the feed store, and he focused a lot of his anger on the cattle rustlers.

  Maybe he was the enemy. His own stubborn attitude and resentment.

  He rolled to his side and through his upstairs window had a clear view of Laura’s hill. A light glowed from the west end of the house, probably her bedroom. Her porch light cast a thin yellow film that haloed the front door. It blinked.

  He stared, waiting for the light to blink again or go out. Maybe Laura had flicked it off and on. Then the light from her room dimmed as something partially blocked it.

  Adrenaline shot through his arms and legs. He bolted and grabbed his jeans. Forgetting his leg, he nearly fell when he tried to stand. Frantic he plopped back to the bed, reached for his booted prosthesis and attached it beneath his pant leg.

  He grabbed his cell phone, took the stairs two at a time and pulled his other boot on in the back porch. On his way to his truck he called Laura’s number. She finally answered as he sped down his road toward the pavement.

  “Hi.” Her soft voice squeezed his heart and he thought he would choke.

  “Laura, I’m on my way up. Don’t go to the door. Don’t leave your room. Turn off the light.”

  Silence.

  “Laura?”

  “Eli, what are you thinking?”

  “Are your doors locked?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Are you in your bedroom?”

  “Eli!”

  “Is your room on the west end of the house?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Turn off the light and get away from the windows. I’ll be there in less than a minute.”

  He ended the call and shoved the accelerator to the floor.

  The truck rocked through the S-curve as his headlights jerked right and then left. Skidding into the right turn at Laura’s lane, he geared down into second and gunned up the hill. An intruder would hear him coming and probably take off. Better that than getting there too late.

  At the top of her hill he stopped in the driveway and killed his lights and engine. From the glove compartment he retrieved a mag light and a 9 mm pistol, then he pulled the keys from the ignition.

  Instinctively he crouched, ran to the end of the house and hugged the wall as he eased to the front corner. He stopped. Listened. Waited. A board squeaked. He crossed his wrists, the gun in his right hand, the mag light in his left. Raising them together, he clicked the light as he stepped around the corner and shouted.

  “Stop!”

  The light caught the prowler’s legs as he dived off the porch and ran for the road.

  Eli followed him to the head of Laura’s drive where he aimed his gun into a corner of the pasture and fired into the dirt. The report echoed through the hills and silenced the crickets.

  Satisfied that he’d scared whoever had been snooping around, he stuck his gun in the back of his jeans and returned to the front porch.

  He pounded the door. “Laura. It’s me. Eli.”

  In a moment she replied. “Eli?”

  “Yes.”

  “Prove it.”

  He smiled. “New boots, red tops, burgers and fries.”

  The lock clicked, the handle turned and in the thin yellow light the door cracked open. Laura reached out, pulled him in and then quickly slammed the door and locked it. The sight of her silky nightshirt and a shotgun in her arms was not an image he’d prepared for.

  Suddenly self-conscious, she thrust the gun at him. “Be right back.”

  He admired the old Winchester and eased the hammer back, grateful that Laura hadn’t blown a hole in her front door and him.

  She returned in cutoffs and a T-shirt and took the gun. “Thank you. Again.”

  On tiptoe she stretched and lightly kissed his cheek. “How did you know?”

  He glanced at the sofa, surprised she’d have something so worn.

  “Oh, please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Hot tea? Ginger ale? Water?”

  “No thanks.” Adrenaline still shot through his veins. “This isn’t exactly a social call.”

  He took the center section of the couch and she sat at his left, holding the gun. Scratches and mews caught his ear and he looked toward the kitchen.

  “That’s Pete and Re-Pete, my kittens.”

  “You going to hold that all night?” He nodded at the shotgun.

  “Oh.” She went to her bedroom, returned empty handed and again sat on his left side. “How did you know?”

  Hesitant to admit his sleeplessness and aerial view of her house, he knew only the truth would satisfy her. “I couldn’t sleep and I looked out my window and saw your porch light flicker. At first I thought it was going out. Then something passed in front of your bedroom window.”

  She blanche
d at his explanation and tucked her feet beneath her. “Did you hit him?”

  “No. I shot into the dirt. I just wanted to scare him.” He leaned in and laid a hand on hers. “I really don’t shoot people. But when they’re sneaking around where they shouldn’t be, I don’t mind scaring them a little.”

  She shuddered and turned her hand over to link her fingers in his.

  It didn’t help his adrenaline flow.

  “So you were watching me?”

  “No. Honestly. My window looks out to the north. Your house is in view, but so are all the hills behind you, and Pennington’s place. I happened to be looking in the right direction at the right time.”

  “Do you think it was Pennington?” Her fingers squeezed a little tighter.

  “No. Not the way this person moved. Pennington couldn’t scramble off the porch like that without breaking his neck. I think it was a kid. In the morning I’ll check for footprints. Until then, I want you to come home with me.”

  For all her trembling, he saw the hackles rise at his insinuation that she couldn’t take care of herself. “I do have a shotgun. That piece of iron I was holding when you got here?”

  “I understand. I’m not asking for you. I’m asking for me.”

  Mentally she weighed his words and he saw it in her eyes.

  “I’ll never sleep if I think you’re in any danger,” he said. “And I need to sleep. I’ve got a fence to build.”

  She caved at his attempted humor, and her fingers relaxed. “Just tonight.”

  “Just tonight. We’ll figure out something else tomorrow.” He reached to adjust his patch and a cold wave of nausea swept through him.

  Her hand tightened. “What? What’s wrong?”

  He tried to disengage his fingers but she wouldn’t let go.

  “Eli, what’s the matter?” Fear returned to her eyes and guilt twisted his gut for causing it.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I forgot my patch.”

  Visibly relieved she closed her eyes and expelled a long sigh. When she looked at him again, she searched his face, touching his right eyelid with her gaze and his chest with her free hand.

  “This is where you are.” She pushed slightly against his heart. “The Eli I remember. The Eli I’m so glad to know again.”