Dangerous Legacy Page 4

“Surely not at you!”

  “I think the shots were meant to scare off the game warden.”

  “That’s silly. Why would anybody bother a warden out there? They’re always around.”

  “Not this guy,” Maggie said, steeling her nerves for the predictable reaction when she added, “This warden was new. It was Flint Crawford.”

  Faye choked and sputtered. Maggie patted her back until she stopped coughing enough to ask, “Who?”

  “You heard me. I didn’t get a chance to ask him much, but he did say he’s left the military and gone into law enforcement.” She made a face. “Isn’t that special?”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing, for the present. I actually thought the shooter might be Uncle Elwood when it first happened. You know how he hates wardens and Crawfords.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  With a deep sigh, Maggie told her, “Somebody ran me off the road tonight.”

  Faye grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what happened? Where? How?”

  As Maggie began to cite details, she managed to omit Flint’s part in her rescue. Anyone could have tracked her. He just happened to be handy, that’s all.

  And why was that? she asked herself. Of all the possibilities, why would God—or the sheriff—send the one man she desperately wanted to avoid? Moreover, why would Flint volunteer? There were lots of men who knew the area better than he did, particularly since he’d been away for six years.

  High-pitched, childish laughter drifted from the living room. Mark was happy. Contented. Safe. Was that about to change?

  Maggie rose and refilled both coffee mugs. “So, what are your thoughts? Do you think Elwood heard Flint was back and tracked him down at my place? Would he be angry enough to shoot around me when I might accidentally be hit?”

  “I don’t know. I’d hoped he’d mellowed in his old age.”

  “He was worse in the past?” She was astounded. “That’s a surprise.”

  “It wouldn’t be if you knew the whole story. It’s what actually started the feud between my people, the Witherspoons, and the Crawford family.”

  “Go on.”

  Sighing, Faye complied. “I didn’t see any of this firsthand, of course, but the story hasn’t changed much since the beginning. Elwood, his dad and his brother were all drafted. Ira Crawford was—”

  “Flint’s grandfather Ira?”

  “Actually, his great-grandfather. As the youngest, Ira was about the same age as Elwood even though they were technically a generation apart. People had big families in those days and sometimes aunts and uncles were as young as their own nieces and nephews. Anyway, Ira’s leg had been damaged in a logging accident, so he wasn’t called up like the other men were.”

  “They were jealous? That seems like a pretty lame reason for a feud—no pun intended.”

  “No, no. That wasn’t the problem. The Witherspoons asked Ira to look after their farm, since the properties were adjoining and they’d been friends for years. They trusted him.”

  “Ooookay.” Maggie could tell that her mother was struggling to present the tale accurately and having difficulty keeping her account unbiased. “I knew Elwood always had a chip on his shoulder. Was it because he didn’t think Ira did a good enough job?”

  “Oh, no. Ira did a great job. In more ways than one. Unfortunately, his choices benefited himself, not his former friends.”

  Losing patience, Maggie wanted to insist that her mom get to the core of the problems and had to struggle to keep from interrupting.

  “Elwood was the only man in his immediate family to survive combat,” Faye said sadly. “He never lost hope of returning to his waiting bride. She’d wanted to get married before he shipped out, but the family had resisted because she was so young.”

  Pausing, Faye sipped her coffee, then cleared her throat. “Here’s where it gets complicated. While Elwood was gone, his best friend, Ira, took care of his farm by straightening some crooked fences and claiming a water source that generations of Witherspoons had counted on.”

  “That’s terrible. No wonder Elwood was upset.”

  “Oh, it gets worse. The land wasn’t the only thing Ira stole. He courted and married Elwood’s intended. She became Bess Crawford, Flint’s great-grandmother.”

  “Oh, my...” Maggie’s hand covered her mouth. “Bess and Elwood? That seems awfully far-fetched.”

  “Now maybe. Not back then. Elwood was a handsome young man. But Ira had two advantages. He was injured, so he could play on her sympathies, and he was here, on the spot, while Elwood was overseas, perhaps dying in battle the way his kin had. By the time the dust settled, Ira was a prosperous farmer and rancher and Elwood had nothing left to come home to.”

  “But he did come back. He’s still here.”

  “True. He eventually married, but it didn’t last. His ex got custody of his only son. After that final loss he was never the same. That was when he became a recluse and moved away from civilization. In more ways than one.” She was slowly shaking her head. “I can’t say I blame him.”

  “What about the feud stories? Did the families really kill each other’s shirttail relatives?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “Then how come some survived?”

  Faye shrugged. “Who knows? A lot can happen in sixty, seventy years. The law was stretched even thinner back then than it is now. They were never real keen on stirring up the old fight by asking too many questions, so unless somebody made a big stink, nothing was done.”

  “Unbelievable. I almost feel sorry for Elwood, even though I suspect he’s been poaching.”

  “Do you have proof?” Faye asked, dishing up a plate of spaghetti and meatballs and placing it in front of Maggie.

  “Thanks.” She savored the spicy aroma for a moment before answering, “I thought I did. When somebody took a potshot at the warden today, I was just about positive.”

  “You could still be right,” her mother remarked.

  Maggie forked in a delectable mouthful and nodded. “I could. But it doesn’t explain why I was forced off the road tonight.”

  “Probably just an accident.”

  “That’s what the sheriff said.” Maggie didn’t believe that for a second. She stifled a shiver. Somebody had purposely tried to injure her—or worse—and until she figured out who, she’d have to be doubly vigilant.

  Not to mention trying to keep Flint from seeing her son, she added, growing so uneasy she could barely force herself to continue eating. He was not going to be a happy camper once he realized whose child Mark must be. When Mark was a baby she’d refused to admit anything. However, as time had passed, he’d grown to closely resemble his daddy.

  No one but her mother had speculated aloud about Mark’s origin, at least not in Maggie’s presence. While Flint was away, it had been easier to keep her secret. Now that he was back in town, it was only a matter of time until disturbing rumors reached him.

  Maggie knew she should stay ahead of the gossip and tell Flint everything. And she would. She must. The sooner the better.

  She put down her fork and pushed her plate away. The butterflies in her stomach were keeping the delicious food from settling. As a lovelorn teenager, she’d found that convincing herself that Flint didn’t care helped her cope. Then, as time had passed, she’d hardened her heart by assuming she’d never see him again.

  So, what now? Explain? How? She huffed. Managing that was going to be impossible without making him furious, whether he was happy about being a father or hated the idea.

  “Not hungry?” Faye asked.

  “Too much on my mind.”

  “The shooting or the accident?”

  Maggie shook her head. “Neither
. Flint.”

  “That is a problem.”

  “Ya think?” Maggie rolled her eyes before glancing toward the living room where Mark and Wolfie were playing. “Any ideas about what I should do next?”

  “Praying always helps me,” Faye said as she cleared the table.

  “Okay, what do I ask for? I used to pray Flint would come back to me, but he didn’t.”

  “Really?”

  Maggie noted her mother’s raised eyebrows. “I meant when I needed him, not now.”

  “In whose opinion?”

  “Oh, no. No way.” She was shaking her head. “My life is in order and I’m happy. This is a terrible time for Flint to suddenly show up.”

  “Well, he did, and since you say he has a job here, I expect he’s planning to stay. Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf and is hoping you’ll take him back.”

  “That’s not why he transferred.” Maggie pulled a face. “He told me it was because Bess and Ira needed help.”

  “Oh, dear. That certainly complicates things.”

  Maggie agreed. “I had no idea how much until you told me the whole feud story. Elwood may not even care that Flint’s a game warden. He may hate him more because he’s helping his great-grandparents. For all I know, Flint may be living with them on the farm the way he used to when he was a kid.”

  “Sounds like we should both pray for peace before we ask the Lord for anything else. I’ll have a chat with Harlan the next time I see him, too.”

  That comment drew a slight smile from Maggie. “You mean you don’t rely totally on prayers?”

  Faye chuckled. “Prayers come first. But the way I see it, there’s nothing wrong with depending on the people God has put in my life, as well. He gave us brains. I imagine He expects us to use them. And if that means alerting the sheriff, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “You’re going to tell him everything?”

  “About the feud, yes. Any conclusions he chooses to draw regarding my grandson will be up to him. I don’t suppose there are too many folks who don’t already suspect who Mark’s daddy is.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Well, don’t be. You made a mistake, turned your life around and God forgave you. Besides, you ended up with a beautiful child. That can’t be bad.”

  “Then why do I feel so guilty?” She began to pace. “If only Flint hadn’t left when he did.”

  “What excuse did he give?” Faye asked.

  “None. One day he was here and the next he was gone. You know that. You helped me pick out my prom dress and then went with me to return it after he stood me up.”

  “Yes. I remember. I just thought...”

  “What?” Pausing, Maggie peered at her.

  “Nothing. My memory of those days is kind of foggy. I had a lot on my mind, what with your daddy’s illness and all.”

  Maggie slipped an arm around her mother’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “I know. I’m sorry you had to worry about me so much then, too. You had a lot on your plate.” She glanced at the sink. “Speaking of plates, why don’t I help you finish the dishes before we go join the boys?”

  Smiling wistfully, Faye agreed. “Okay. I guess I should be thankful you adopted a dog for Mark’s playmate instead of taming a raccoon.”

  “Or a skunk,” Maggie teased. “Good thing my job teaches me to avoid making pets of my patients. Some of those baby animals are adorable.”

  “Not as adorable as my grandson.”

  Despite herself, Maggie silently added, Or his daddy.

  When Flint had first shown up at the compound, every nerve in her body insisted he was nothing but trouble. Then, after he’d shoved her out of the line of fire, she simply credited his actions to his training and combat experience. But when he’d tracked her into the woods after the accident and offered comfort, she lost her defensive edge. Fortifications she’d erected around her tender heart had been breached. Cracked. Left crumbling.

  She didn’t love Flint, she argued. Not the way she once had. And yet there was something there. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  Something almost as scary as the apparent threats to her continued safety and well-being. And that of her son. Their son: hers and Flint’s. An innocent child caught between the past and the present, whose future might be in jeopardy because of the sins of his parents.

  Maggie finally understood why her own family had tried so hard to keep her away from Flint.

  Too bad their efforts had come too late.

  FIVE

  Flint’s division headquarters was in Mammoth Spring and included six counties, meaning he wouldn’t normally have been sent to officially visit Maggie’s rehab center if Captain Lang hadn’t made it a priority.

  The sheriff had graciously agreed to keep an eye on her when chores on his great-grandparents’ farm kept Flint too busy. The place had really deteriorated while he was away. No sooner did he repair one thing than another broke. He’d finished nailing down the leaky barn roof and then the tractor had refused to start so he could use it to restack bales of hay.

  Flint saw only one viable solution. He’d have to convince the elderly couple to stop farming. A successful operation needed a lot more supervision and daily care than he was able to give it. Ira could hire his hay cut and baled, but without good cattle management he’d go deeper in debt every year, and the stubborn old man insisted on keeping all the records himself.

  Using a rag to wipe black grease off his hands, Flint headed for the house.

  Bess met him at the back door with a smile. “Good. I was just coming to get you. Lunch is ready.”

  “Okay. Let me wash up first.” Although she was in her eighties, Bess still had the kind of energy and zest for life Flint remembered from his youth. She wore her gray hair in a long braid and perched her glasses on the end of her nose to peer over them even though they were bifocals.

  It had been a bit of a shock to return and find such big changes in everything else. The house was in better shape than the outbuildings, but not by much. It needed painting as well as several new sections of chimney pipe to safely vent the wood-burning stove. Flint had already suggested they add propane heaters and had had his idea totally rejected, even after offering to pay for the tank and installation.

  Still pondering the immense task of fixing the old house, he joined the older couple at the kitchen table. Ira had always been the one to say a prayer of thanks for the food, but since Flint had returned, Bess had begun asking him to do it.

  He slid his chair up to the table and noted that Ira was already eating. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to show up with tractor grease under my nails. Did you say grace, Papaw?”

  The old man’s rheumy, greenish eyes were focused on the distance and he was eating as if by habit rather than for enjoyment the way he used to.

  “He was starving,” Bess said, “so we started without you. Gotta keep my hungry husband happy.”

  “No problem.” Flint followed by a quick bow of his head and a soft “Amen.”

  “So, did you get the roof nailed down good?”

  He met her questioning gaze with one of his own. “Uh-huh. How long has it been since Papaw ran that tractor? It’s a mess. I had to drain the fuel and clean the filters before it would do more than cough a few times. It’s running rough now, but at least it’s running.”

  “We haven’t had a lot of need for our own machinery lately,” Bess said. “We hire most things done. That’s sensible at our age.”

  Glancing at Ira as she spoke, Flint waited for some sign of agreement. What he got, instead, was a muttered curse, something the confused old man would never have done if he’d been in his right mind.

  “I’ll be glad to do whatever I can on my days off,” Flint said, “but you reall
y need more help around here than that.”

  “Don’t need nothin’ from nobody,” Ira mumbled gruffly.

  Well, at least he’s speaking, Flint thought, wondering how to best keep him engaged. This kind of attitude, let alone peppered with bad language, was not like the man he’d idolized from the moment his great-grandparents took him in and provided a stable home.

  “You two have always looked out for others. It’s time we repaid you.”

  “If it needs doin’ I’ll take care of it,” Ira insisted. He pushed to his feet, leaning on the edge of the table for support. “Don’t need no interference from you or anybody else.”

  Bess reached toward Flint and touched his hand as her husband did his best to storm off despite stiff knees and hips. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s just achin’ more with winter comin’ on,” she said. “He gets this way when he’s hurting bad.”

  “What does his doctor say?”

  She chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Not much other than hello when we see him in church. Your papaw hasn’t been to a doctor in a coon’s age.”

  “Probably more like an elephant’s age,” Flint countered with a shake of his head. “It’s probably not safe to let him continue to drive, either. What if he gets lost?”

  “He won’t. We got that GPS thingie on the new pickup.”

  “I saw it under a tarp in the barn. Can’t you do something about getting him to see a doctor?”

  “Well, I suppose you and I could try to stuff him in a feed sack and deliver him to the doc that way, but he’d be plenty mad when we let him out.” She sobered. “I’ve done my best to talk him into seeing our family doctor. It’s no use. Ira just gets upset, like now, and storms off. I suspect he’d be in a better mood if he’d take something for his pain, but he won’t touch a pill. Not even aspirin.”

  “Because of my mother?”

  “And her mother before her.”

  Signing, Flint clasped Bess’s thin hand, taking care not to squeeze the distended knuckles. “Just because addiction happens to one person in a family, that doesn’t mean the rest of us are doomed.”

  “I know.” Bess’s eyes were misted. “We did our best with our daughter. Even helped her raise your mama. But drugs got ’em both before they were old enough to vote. I think Ira blames himself.”